“Will you love him, comfort him, honour and protect him, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him until death do you part?”

For the duration of our marriage, I did those things. All 46 of those days. I know, quite the achievement for a newlywed in love with her brand new husband.

I didn’t think about it when I was saying I do. All I was thinking was, in less than 2 minutes, this guy, this beautiful, funny, kind, salt of the earth, infuriatingly imperfectly perfect guy will be my HUSBAND.

I didn’t think that in 46 days, I’d have to say goodbye to him or that these words would stick in my mind.
Until death do we part… Until death do we part? Nope.

I will love him until the end of my days regardless of where life takes me. I will try to honour his existence as best as I can until I take my very last breath and I will protect his name and character until I forget my own.

What a stupid line that is – ‘Till death do us part. Then what? All the love and faithfulness and honour and care? What, it just goes away?

Let me just say that the love especially doesn’t go away. It magnifies to the point of feeling like you’re going to burst. It’s like all the love you could possibly ever feel is bundled up and shoved into you like an overinflated balloon and mixed with the most horrendous psychosamatic broken hearted pain ever known. Unbearable, unrelenting physical pain and love. The kind that doesn’t end when his death parted us.