Seven years

I started a post yesterday, but couldn’t bring myself to finish it through the tears. You see, yesterday was my 7th wedding anniversary—and the 4th one I’ve spent as a widow. And it really hurts to realise that, which means that the past couple of days have been filled with tears and sorrow.

But I couldn’t let the fact that I had a wedding anniversary go unacknowledged, so here I am acknowledging it.

May 21, 2005 was the happiest day of my life. I never would have imagined then the pain I’d be in now, but I would do it all again in a heartbeat. After all, you have to grab love and happiness when you can get it—and if you’re lucky, that love will be so strong that it carries on for eternity.

I love you, Paul.


Way back when, Paul created a couple of short photo videos to share with our family and friends who were unable to attend our wedding, so I thought that 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 loaded with the original music. So no other link needed!

8 Replies to “Seven years”

  1. I’m never sure if anything anyone says actually helps in these situations, or just makes things worse.
    I think I told you that a close friend of mine died a few months ago, his daughter read this at the funeral and I found it very comforting. Anyway, I hope this is one of the times that words actually do help a little.
    Death is nothing at all.
    I have only slipped away to the next room.
    I am I and you are you.
    Whatever we were to each other,
    That, we still are.
    Call me by my old familiar name.
    Speak to me in the easy way
    which you always used.
    Put no difference into your tone.
    Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
    Laugh as we always laughed
    at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
    Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
    Let my name be ever the household word
    that it always was.
    Let it be spoken without effect.
    Without the trace of a shadow on it.
    Life means all that it ever meant.
    It is the same that it ever was.
    There is absolute unbroken continuity.
    Why should I be out of mind
    because I am out of sight?
    I am but waiting for you.
    For an interval.
    Somewhere. Very near.
    Just around the corner.
    All is well.

    1. What a wonderful poem. Once again, you’ve managed to find the right words to share. I really do feel that Paul is there with me, even though I can’t see him.

  2. What a beautiful bride! And I love the look of complete joy on both of your faces. As always, I love you and I’m sending hugs from a million miles away.

    1. Thanks, Amy. This was one of our favourite photos, taken just outside the church after the ceremony. We had no idea the photographer was even there, which helped with the ‘natural’ pose!
      I love you, too, my friend, and I can feel your hugs wrapping around my soul! x

  3. i’ve no experience of such a profound loss, so like ephemera i have no idea what words would help or comfort.
    the poem does however, seem to say much of what i would hope for – living with a loss but learning to live purposely, hopefully while keeping a good memory alive in the missing gap of the absence.
    happy anniversary Frances and Paul 🙂

  4. Your gorgeous photo makes me smile. I’m so happy that you got to feel such joy at that moment 🙂

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