When we were married in the Conargo Church on Easter Saturday, March 26, 2005, and we uttered the words ‘till death do us part’ neither of us could have foreseen that day would come less than 14 years later.
It was perfectly ludicrous - a Catholic, married an Anglican, in a tiny unordained church, that used to be owned by the Presbyterian church, in a village only known for its pub. Everyone who was there received a bumper sticker which read ‘Conargo Church’ in the same typeface as the iconic Conargo Pub sticker.
I woke up on our 14th wedding anniversary in an empty bed.
And I cried.
I thought I had fully prepared myself for it. I knew it would be tough.
But a combination of an email the day before that completely destroyed me with its contents, a bad night’s sleep, and opening Instagram and seeing the most lovely post by a blogger I follow who had happened to be married to her husband on be same day 14 years prior, completely unravelled me.
I was not winning at widowing. In fact, I was not adulting or even humaning, well.
Each of our four children wandered in to our bedroom that morning and gave me the most wonderful sleepy morning cuddle and wished me a happy anniversary and told me they loved me.
Turns out, while I wasn’t coping, it appeared we had won at parenting these amazing little compassionate people as they sobbed with me about having to remember our wedding day without the most significant other person there.
Our wedding was the best party ever.
What was meant to be a weekend event turned into a five-day affair of fun, laughter, catch ups and celebration as our guests took advantage of the Easter long weekend.
Conargo Pub sessions, pre-wedding dinners, a recovery brunch that included swimming in the lake of my parents’ garden and sinking the rowboat (just like they had all done at my 21st birthday recovery four years prior) ... The stories from our wedding weekend have been relived with enthusiasm ever since when the group gets back together. Pete’s analogy of ‘two wombat fighting in a sack’ has gone down in folklore for his one liners.
Turns out, those same people were the ones who rallied and made Pete’s farewell exactly the same. One full of love and laughter.
We loved our friends and family sharing that day with us 14 years ago, and I will never be able to tell them how much it meant to me that they were able to recreate that when we farewelled him.
Our first anniversary without him was so hard and so wonderful.
Our friends took to me to lunch and cried with me, appeared in the afternoon with wine and cried with me, I had flowers - beautiful bright flowers that reflected Pete - sent by my family and friends.
Our friends rang me for my anniversary - on that day and the days after. They cried some more with me. They retold the wedding stories. And we all remembered what a great party it was.
Because that’s what we wanted it to be - a party to celebrate our wedding to one another - and a day we would all remember, forever.
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