20 years of love and loss

Today marks two decades since I married the love of my life. Twenty years. The number hangs in the air, heavy with memories, yet surprisingly light with a quiet gratitude. It’s a strange anniversary to commemorate as a widow, a day that typically celebrates a shared journey, now one I navigate alone, widowed for the past sixteen of those years. Yes, I’ve been a widow much longer than I was ever a wife – but both my “wife” and “widow” experiences have shaped my life so profoundly that they almost feel intertwined.

I remember our wedding day vividly. The nervous excitement, the laughter, the marriage odds the priest gave us… And, of course, the joy! Oh, there was so much joy that day! Paul and I were so full of dreams, convinced that our love would conquer all. And for a while, it felt like it did. We built a life, brick by emotional brick, filled with love and laughter, whispered secrets and inside jokes, and the comforting rhythm of everyday routines inspired by shared hopes and dreams. We celebrated big wins and comforted each other through the challenges we faced. Paul was my rock, my confidant, my favourite person to simply be with; to grow with.

Paul died just before our fourth wedding anniversary. Sometimes, I find myself wondering what we would have done to celebrate the day: A meal, of course. And probably a bit of smugness about how terribly happy we were and about how wonderful life was treating us.

As each year passes, I often find myself reflecting on what that year would bring. How would we have celebrated five years? Or ten years? And now, twenty years. That’s a Big One, and I imagine we would have done something appropriately special to mark the milestone.

Anniversaries make my love for Paul feel so much stronger. Our love, whilst no longer a physical presence, remains. It’s refined by time, shaped by absence, yet still carries the elegant strength of something truly precious. The cracks that grief inevitably leaves are there, yes. But whilst my heart is shattered, it is still whole, and it is still beating. But the scars serve to highlight the intricate patterns of what was, and what still is in my heart.

The tears come less often now, replaced by a soft ache when I remember the love lost. I find myself smiling at old photos, listening to songs that were “ours,” and even sometimes catching a glimpse of someone that reminds me of you… taking my breath in that moment of hope. Yes, these anniversaries, even in solitude, serve as powerful reminders of the profound impact Paul had on my life. They are a testament to a love that transcended time and, ultimately, death.

Today, I won’t be sharing a celebratory meal with Paul, or clinking glasses in a toast to our future. Instead, I’ll spend some time quietly reflecting on our journey, cherishing the beautiful love we built together. And I’ll hold onto the hope that, somewhere, he’s smiling too, remembering the day our story began.

Happy 20^th anniversary, Paul. You are always with me. I luv ya, luv.

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Way back when we first got married, Paul created a couple of short photo videos to share with our family and friends who couldn’t attend our wedding, so I thought I’d share them with you here again. Just in case you want to roll your eyes over how terribly sappy and in love we were.

The “formal” shots
YouTube did not allow me to upload this video with the music Paul had it set to, so the track on the embedded video isn’t as fun. Click here to load the original version.

The “candid” shots
This one is loaded with the original music. So no other link is needed!