This last November we would have celebrated the eighteenth anniversary of our marriage, but it was aborted just before reaching adulthood. ‘Till death do us part’ arrived too soon for our wedlock to come of age. I was convinced it would attain a very respectable seniority, we would make it that far, but I never realized how wrong I was. You dying before the era in which retrospection would be our dominating activity, was an entirely unfathomable scenario to me. It often still is.

Monday November 23^rd of the cursed year of 2020, the weather was just as beautifully crisp as it had been on our wedding day, and the cloud-speckled blue skies kept luring me back to it. The day I wanted to tell and show the world how much I love you. I don’t think I have ever relived our wedding as vividly as on the first anniversary I had to endure as a widow. That day was an open wound. It sounds bad, but the days that are like pus-filled boils are so much worse. An open wound hurts more, but it is pure and honest, it sparkles. You can behold the pain. The boils, on the other hand, are depressing, covert and stinking and secretive. You don’t acknowledge them until they start throbbing with dull persistence. They are the uneventful, futureless days that hide the pain that is always there.

Our wedding was extravagant, an event. The nuptials and the festivities surrounding them were nothing short of spectacular, and a lot of work went into organizing it. We argued more than we had ever done before. No one told us that getting married was this nerve-wracking, and too late we saw the value of a wedding planner.

Our, or rather, my ambition, was an important cause for the intensity of the preparations. My perfectionist nature (not something to be particularly proud of by the way, it’s a pest and an obstacle more often than not) lay at the root of the desire to make our matrimonial day just as extraordinary as the way I proposed to you.

Yes, I proposed to you, and the way I did it almost scared you off enough never to want to have anything to do with me for the rest of your life. Slightly exaggerated, perhaps, but you did for a moment doubt my sanity. And who’d blame you if they knew my plan was to stalk you?

So how did I go about this? Well, I collected several odd postcards, many that for a while were freely available in restaurants and bars and doubled as ads, depicting things that could be said to have a connection to you or us. One of them was a picture of Bob Marley, a musician whose music you loved. Another showed a cartoon of a man and a woman talking about marriage and yet another displayed the picture of a ‘lying pill’, referring, of course, to my little smoke and mirrors game. On the back, I wrote a single cryptic line that alluded either to the picture, or to you or us. Altering my handwriting was easy, since it is wild and illegible, so all I had to do was adopt a tiny and neat script for the texts on the cards.

Every day I mailed you one of those postcards, so you received one daily, except on Sundays. This went on for a while, and you grew increasingly worried. You discussed it with friends, who hadn’t a clue. My only accomplice was my mother, who mailed a card for me once, when I was unable to do it myself.

All the while, I managed to keep a straight face, even though sometimes I had to pivot away to hide my satisfied grin or swiftly duck into the bathroom to release some silent giggles. You never suspected anything.

Until one day I got sloppy. This had been going on for a few weeks already, and I was almost ready to pop the question, just one or two more cards while I was waiting for the engagement ring to be finished. For a few imprudent minutes, I left the designated card on the console table next to the door, quickly bounding up the stairs to get my wallet.

You were on the second floor, so I figured it was safe to do so. But unexpectedly and suddenly, you went downstairs and got to the card before I did. The look on your face was one of utter confoundment and concern. It took quite some effort to convince you it was okay, and that no, your girlfriend wasn’t a psychopath. I asked you to have a little more patience and rushed to the goldsmith in the hope of finding the ring finished. Fortunately, I did, and when I returned, I asked you to marry me. And with a lingering hint of confusion hovering over your euphoria, you said yes.

Upon learning that the secret stalker was I, your mother questioned the sagacity of marrying someone who is such a proficient liar. She came around eventually and I even think she likes me.

In the far south of the Netherlands, we had our own little tour of castles. The ceremony took place in Kasteel Oost, dinner was served in the limestone caves of Chateau Neercanne, where in 1991, during the Eurotop, European leaders were treated to a banquet with Beatrix, our queen at the time, and we spent our wedding night in Chateau St. Gerlach. Family and friends did too, and afterwards we learned that our mischievous friends snuck into the hotel spa in the middle of the night, armed with an array of alcoholic beverages.

You were nervous, but so was I. I had my period way too early and lost an unplanned amount of weight. Waiting for me to arrive with my father, you were a bit ill at ease, and so guilelessly handsome. The video that holds images of our vows shows the tension in both our jaws as family members wept with affection, and my, “yes, with all my heart!” instead of a simple “yes, I do”, felt a little forced. But that hint of corniness should not eclipse its truth. The awkwardness I felt had to do with breaking through Dutch’s limited capacity for drama. Marriage was never part of my plan, until you made me want it wholeheartedly, if only to tell the world (and even more: you) how special you were, are and forever will be.

Our family and friends showered us with an overwhelming amount of love in the shape of a hilarious power point presentation of our development from baby to adult, a video in which all our friends wished us well in their own unique ways, a beautifully engraved mirror, and an amazing work of art, created with artifacts from our childhood. We received deep poetry from people we would never have expected it.

My father gave me the gift of accompanying me on his saxophone while I sang to you Bette Midler’s The Rose. I cherish our practice sessions in obscure little studios during the weeks leading up to our wedding day.

At the end of this day, we retreated to our beautiful room, exhausted with gratitude and incredulity at all the effort everyone had put into their gifts. Not only did the two of us exchange hearts, we received a truckload of love from our friends and family as well, and we felt like the luckiest people in the world.

Our out of the way location meant the wedding party was quite small, which was a source of stress, since it meant making a difficult selection and excluding friends and family members. The wealth of having many friends and a large family here became a bit of a burden. However, we didn’t see the need of limiting our legal union to only one day of celebration, so a week later, to make it up to all our other friends, we also threw a big party in Amsterdam.

We truly went all out with this wedding of ours, and there were times afterwards I remember feeling somewhat conscience-stricken at its lavishness. But never will I feel that way again. Now that you’re no longer with me, I am so grateful for the opportunity of having had this extraverted, gorgeous and generous wedding. It exemplifies our life together and your passing taught me there is no use in holding back.

Always drenched in love, the time we were given was full and rich, and there isn’t much we failed to do. We traveled to exotic places, experienced freedom and ecstasy and wonder and illness and sorrow. You and I, we took risks and explored different paths that were sometimes challenging. But no matter what, we remained each other’s confidants and support through all of it. Together we tackled parenthood, which was not always easy, but a great source of joy and learning. We created two incredible girls and even though we ourselves felt like we were still kids when we were gifted them, we must have done something right. They are turning into beautiful, good people with big hearts.

You should have been with me still; our grandiose, wild plans were nowhere near exhausted. We talked about them the day before you died. But although my gratitude wears a sturdy veneer of agony, I’m endlessly grateful for all we were fortunate to have. More than anything else, your passing taught me there is no use in holding back. Life and love should be done fully, with wild abandon, like there’s is no tomorrow. Because sometimes, there really isn’t.

The 23rd of November 2002 was our day. And so was every day after that.