Although it seems a bit incongruous, today is still actually a day of celebration for me. If you hadn’t been born, I would never have had the joy of knowing you, of marrying you, and of adventuring with you. My life has been enriched inestimably by my being married to you for thirty-three years. Who I am today is due, in no small part, to the investment that you made in my life—your encouragement, your trust, your acceptance, your love. I am thankful for having had you as my wife.
And so, today, with conflicting emotions, while still mourning your premature death, I celebrate your life. I look back with joy on all the fun we had together. I look back with thankfulness at all the crises that we faced, which were, somehow, easier to handle because we were together in unity and love. I look back with gratitude for the way that you quietly loved me into the Kingdom of God—never nagging, only hoping and praying.
I look back with pleasure at what a wonderful mother you were to our children and I delight in the indelible stamp of your character that you have left upon the life of each of them. Truly, I can say that your memory lives on in Kathleen, Patrick, and Brigid. I am immensely proud of them.
In amongst the celebration, there is still anger—anger at what you went through; anger that we cannot grow old together; anger that you never got to see any of your grand-children; selfish anger that I am alone. No one can ever substitute for you in my life. I don’t think I even want anyone else, because I would always be comparing them with you. I don’t think it would be fair for me to share my life with someone else if that is how I feel. And so, I’ll continue to walk this path alone—content to look back with pleasure on the life that we shared—until we meet again.
I loved you then, I love you now, and I shall always love you. Happy Birthday, my darling!
Happy birthday, my wife, my partner, my lover, my friend.
I shall never forget you!