In true distraction technique style and following the expensive precedent I’ve set, I’ve jetted off on holiday for this significant date. A little city break to a place where my wife went just a few weeks before she died – Budapest. I wish I knew where she stayed, what she visited. I’ve been playing a little game of “I wonder if she’s been where I am”.
Today, you see, is my wedding anniversary. The second. She was dead by the time the first one came round too. I never got to celebrate with my wife because our marriage was a disaster and she killed herself. Would our marriage have lasted? Sometimes I don’t know. But when I said my vows to her on May 26th 2013, I meant it and I know she did too.
If you are reading this post, I urge you to click here or scroll to the bottom video and listen to this piece of music. It had me in tears the first time I heard it and that was when wife was ALIVE! The tune is an arrangement of a poem by Rumi who is always full of wisdom and beautiful words. A group of my friends formed a mini choir and sang it during our blessing ceremony which my grandmother led. It was outside in the garden of a country house, the sun was shining, the acoustic was bizarrely good and our guests were spread out on picnic blankets on the grass, sipping prosecco and eating gay rainbow wedding cake.
May these vows and this marriage be blessed.
May it be sweet milk,
this marriage, like wine and halvah.
May this marriage offer fruit and shade
like the date palm.
May this marriage be full of laughter,
our every day a day in paradise.
May this marriage be a sign of compassion,
a seal of happiness here and hereafter.
May this marriage have a fair face and a good name,
an omen as welcomes the moon in a clear blue sky.
I am out of words to describe
how spirit mingles in this marriage.
Our marriage was a fucking disaster quite frankly and it was both of our faults. It was not sweet. By the end, it was not full of laughter. Her depression meant she wasn’t capable of laughter and neither was I. We showed little compassion for one another; the happiness had gone.
I can’t believe how much things have changed and how warped this poem’s meaning has become to me. Spirit does indeed mingle in my marriage – because I’m married to a dead person. It fucking hurts and I hate it. I am out of words to describe how shit this journey is at times.
Happy anniversary, darling. I still love you even though death did us part far, far too soon. Measure in love.