Perfect day

It's a funny thing, getting married after being widowed.
However happy you are, there is always a little voice in your head telling you that things shouldn't be so good. You always need to be careful about hurting someone else's feelings. It doesn't matter that you have thought about your loss for every one of the previous 1370 days or 32,856 hours or roughly 1,971,360 minutes, it still seems wrong to be happy at having good news to pass on to someone who may feel sad as a result.

In the end, R's family decided that they couldn't come to our wedding. I understand their feelings, but I so wish that it had been different. They gave their blessing, but didn't feel they could give their presence. I missed them very much. There were quite a few other people whom I thought about inviting, but they had been primarily 'his' friends, so it just didn't seem right. This may have just been my problem - I appreciate this.

But all those caveats aside, it truly was one of the happiest days of my life.
It was cold, but the sun shone on us. We planned a relaxed, informal event full of fun and music, and that is exactly what we had. A smallish private ceremony was followed by a ceilidh in a tent in the garden at home, with additional music from our favourite local bluegrass duo and other friends.

It was wonderful, joyful and full of people who care about us and wish us well for the future. And I guess that is all that matters.