How fragile love can be

I found my wedding speech in the attic a few years ago. I was clearing out the attic of our broken family home, getting it ready for sale.

The speech was in a box of old love letters and photographs. Remember love letters? I’m sad my kids will never get one.

It rattles me whenever I read my wedding speech, because I don’t remember us loving each other a bit more every year. I just remember the part where we loved each other a bit less.

The reason I’m reminiscing is because I wasn’t sure what to write today. Whenever I’m stumped I check what was happening this time last year, the year before that, the year before that …

Often something resonates and sends me off down a creative path with a new blog idea.

I wasn’t stumped because I couldn’t think what to write. I was stumped because I knew what my heart wanted to say, but my head kiboshed it.

I am bursting with the unexpected joy that middle-aged dating has delivered me.

But something holds me back. I don’t know whether it’s because people who really shouldn’t read the blog, but do. I don’t know whether it’s because I’m scared I’ll jinx it. I don’t know whether it’s because I’ve become momentarily, uncharacteristically shy …

So you’re getting a revival of my wedding speech instead, which goes like this …

A lot of people say Stuart and I are made for each other, which is funny because we’re so different.

He found our Spanish trek exhilarating, I found it harrowing.

He’s a night owl, I’m in bed by 10.

He’s a party animal, he calls me Operation Noah.

He loves plays, I love trashy movies.

He watches Four Corners, I watch Dawson’s Creek.

Luckily, food has been a great equaliser between us. In fact, I like to think we’ve eaten our way to a healthy relationship. As you probably know, I have a photographic memory for meals. I can remember what I had for an entree three years ago. I can probably remember what YOU had for an entree three years ago. And many of my fondest memories of my husband involve eating.

The litre of green wine and platter of pulpo we feebly shared after a hard day on the Pilgrim Trail.

Slurping scallops in butter and soy at Bridgewater Mill.

The Portuguese bouillabaise on the banks of the river at Brunswick Heads.

The snapper pie they wheeled on a trolley to your table at The Boathouse.

That burger I had at Hungry Jacks on our combined buck’s/hen’s night …

Anyway …

Somehow we’ve made our relationship work. We’ve grown into adults together, learned to appreciate the people we’ve become. And we’re lucky enough to love each other more every year. I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather spend the rest of my life with. Not even David Duchovny.

When I’m with him, he makes me feel like the most beautiful, talented, smart, funny woman in the world. I know he adores me and I feel incredibly lucky to have him. Even if he does leave his toenail clippings on the arm of the sofa …

The speech reminds me how fragile love can be, how easily it can be lost, how much it hurts to pick up the pieces when everything falls apart and how lucky I am to get a second chance to bask in its glow.

It brings unexpectedly to mind a few sentences from Corinthians: Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

And that’s how I hope to love this time around.

Song of the day: Simple Minds “Glittering Prize”

 

 

 

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