Last night I dreamed of the day I met my wife for the first time. The dream didn’t exactly line up to reality – I don’t recall being hounded by paparazzi or driving around town – but it made me stop to appreciate the woman I married.
She renewed me. When we met, I was coming off the back of some painful experiences with love and I had gone through the stages of feeling angry and then doing my best not to care. The moment I ‘let it go’, I met her.
We started out by chatting on the phone and online, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Her voice was immediately beautiful and I was intrigued to know her better, so we arranged to meet in London and spend the day doing some of the touristy stuff that people do in our fair capital. I met her at Fenchurch Street station – that place will always be significant to me.
We lunched at Planet Hollywood (I wish I still had that picture of the most epic chocolate brownie in all humanity), and we visited an art museum. Naturally, we swung by Leicester Square and Covent Garden. We talked and talked, and before long I was keen to hold her hand – a simple gesture but one we were soon doing.
It annoys me that I can’t remember where we first kissed – it was an Underground station and it was pretty spontaneous, and it felt wonderful. As the evening wore on we settled into a Starbucks and cuddled and kissed some more, and when it was time to see her back to the station, I knew I had to see her again.
That night, as I drifted off to sleep, I could still feel her arms around me. I had never experienced that feeling with anyone else, and I’ve never felt more secure.
She still makes me feel this way. Despite the mistakes and the cockups and me being an idiot from time to time, she has somehow retained her sanity and helped me to keep mine. She has given me the greatest of all gifts – a beautiful daughter. My wife has left me in fits of hysterical laughter (man with the face), can cheer me up simply by holding my hand, and has done more for me than I can ever repay. I love her.