Eighteen
It's eighteen years since we were married. I've not seen you for fifteen of those years. I only knew you for five years. That works out as an 11th of my life, as I'm now so incredibly old. Something you never were. Of course, that's not how it works. It's twenty years since we met and I've thought of you every day since then. That's the true story. You didn't disappear from my life just because you died. You're not getting away from me that easily! You don't move on. That's not how grief works. You learn to live. You do stuff. But you don't forget. You carry the memory, and it has weight. Not a burden, but something kept close to hand. Something always there, close to you. Part of you. You came into my life, Kelly, and you stayed with me. You were always such great company. Eighteen years. The marriage has come of age. The marriage can now marry without our consent. No midnight flits to Gretna Green for it. It can do what it wants, go a...
