Today is my second wedding anniversary.
We had never really planned on getting married- Martin and I were quite happy as we were, our little family ticking along nicely, life as pleasant as we made it. We'd discussed it, figured it would be nice somewhere down the line, but with the costs of weddings and families on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean it wasn't really a priority.
And then life changed, and we realised it was now or never. And so we planned a wedding- a small affair for the end of January with our close friends, a little reception at our local pub. Martin's mum was here after I'd finally convinced him that maybe she'd like to stay for the wedding after Christmas (he hadn't actually shared the news that we were planning to get married!), a friend had made us a cake..... It wasn't a big or impressive plan, but it was ours and for us it was just what we wanted.
Martin's health had steadily been getting worse through January 2020. We'd gone from a little tiredness before Christmas to being very poorly, unable to eat, uncomfortable with the pain..... The disease had caught up and taken over and there was nothing we could do.
Two days before the wedding, Martin ended up in hospital. And that was that, our wedding was postponed to the following week. He came home the evening of what had been meant to be our wedding day, and it was the last time he was at home.
We ended up back in the hospital the following weekend. We were meant to get married on the Tuesday (4th Feb) and it was very clear that wasn't going to happen. In between doctors and visitors and signing our wills, I managed to get to the local registry office to rearrange our wedding for a final time, with permission granted to be able to marry at the hospital itself. Third time's the charm......
The night before our wedding, we were moved to a different ward- a ward and a room, in fact, that we recognised from when my mother was being treated for pancreatic cancer. She had always told me I wouldn't be able to get married without her being involved..... Rather than staying apart and not seeing each other, I stayed on the chair next to Martins hospital bed. Neither of us could sleep- him through the pain, me through the worry for him. No excitement for the wedding, no elation. Just intense helplessness at being unable to take away his pain.
We were awake at 5 am. We got up and went to use the bathroom, take a shower- Martin needed help with both by this point. I remember him leaning on me to walk to the bathroom and smacking me on my backside, telling me he wanted to see me naked.... I couldn't have imagined not being with him on the morning of our wedding, tradition or otherwise.
Friends and family arrived through the morning- including Martin's dad from Argentina. As I was getting ready others tended to Martin, helping him get dressed in his wedding outfit, and were so kind and caring I was reminded how lucky we were to have such incredible human beings in our lives.
I didn't wear white. I wore blue, and carried a horseshoe rather than a bouquet. There was no aisle to walk down with my father- The nurses had prepared the ward's garden room for us all, and it was there we gathered as we waited for Martin to come down the corridor in a wheelchair. I stood with my dad, tears in his eyes as he was amazed that I was apologising for forgetting to send him a birthday card the day before.
I don't remember the words said. I don't remember photos being taken. It went by in a blur as I saw only one thing.
Martin.
Martin was never the most romantic boyfriend. He preferred to show his love in little, mundane things rather than grand gestures; scraping the ice off my car on cold mornings when he left for work, rocking the babies back to sleep in the middle of the night, making tea in the morning when he preferred coffee.
But that day, he surpassed himself. I had watched the man I loved fight so hard for so long, and I knew how tired he was, how difficult things had become. And yet, he dug down so deep, and took every last bit of strength, every piece of himself that was beginning to slip away due to the cancer, gathered it all up and used everything he had to get through the ceremony, to say his vows, to slowly and carefully (and with a little help) sign our marriage certificate. For me.
That day we had our first kiss as a married couple.
It was the last time he ever kissed me.
We never toasted our wedding. No glass of champagne raised to the bride and groom- Martin went straight back to bed and I had a cup of tea with my family and friends that were present. I had enough time to get out of my wedding dress before being told that we were being moved via hospital transport to Thames Hospice in Windsor that afternoon. The doctor told me they'd arranged for flowers in our room because of the marriage- Our wedding night I spent on a chair next to his bed wrapped in a blanket rather than my husbands arms.
I have never got to celebrate my anniversary. Five days after our wedding I was sat in a funeral directors office, choosing a coffin. I can never complain that my husband forgets the date as he will never be here to forget, to make it up to me, to roll his eyes when I remind him. I have just one photo from my wedding day on display- in the rest it is too obvious that he is no longer there, that he is dying, and I can't bear to look at them.
He gave me so much that day, and I can never repay him. It was never going to be a perfect day, but he did his utmost to make it as good as it could be, knowing he was leaving us- we had had our happy ever after in the 11 and a bit years we had been together before we got married without realising it. We may not have had the most traditional, the most extravagant, the most incredible day, but I married someone that loved me so much he used all his strength to show me his love, right to the end.
This was our day, and it was special, in it's own bittersweet way. But the memories are mine alone, I can't share them with him. And each year it comes and it reminds me that I never had a married life with my husband, I never will, and that my wedding day was the last day I ever heard him say, 'I love you.'
I'm writing this in the early hours, and soon I will try to get a little sleep. I will wake in the morning and face another day without him. It will be just another day for so many, but for me, It's a reminder of how much he loved me, and how much I miss him. However much it hurts, I wouldn't change it for the world.
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