Secrets of a Long Marriage

I’m taking this month to recharge after the holidays by doing very little to write about, so I thought I'd share my reflections on a question I saw on social media today: "If you lost your memory and had to choose one person to tell you who you were, who would you choose?" The realization hit me instantly, followed by my weekly "little cry." The only person who truly knew me is gone.

John was my constant companion, my confidant, the one who understood my quirks, fears, and dreams in a way no one else could. Over 28 years, we built a life together out of tiny jigsaw pieces - car journey debates, inside jokes, hopes for our future and shared dreams for our children. You don’t realize at the time that these moments are being stored away by your partner to create a complete, multi-dimensional picture of who you are. The intimacy of the knowledge that comes from sharing your life and your heart and soul with someone for a quarter century is immense.

Losing John left more than a physical absence; it left a profound emptiness where that understanding used to live. Our partnership was a sanctuary where I could be 100% myself, free from the judgment or performance that often comes with social interaction. We take these things for granted daily and yet they are what quietly bring us peace, comfort and strength.

It makes me wonder: who else truly knows us? Our friends and family see snapshots - the specific "personas" we show them. If they spoke at our funeral, the portraits they’d paint would be lovely, but incomplete. Depending on whether you asked a parent, a colleague, or a daughter, you would hear a different narrative. It highlights the inherent solitude of being human. We are all complex puzzles, and most people only hold a few pieces.

For me, John was the only one who held the full map of my heart. To have someone know your every wish or worry without a word being spoken is an invaluable gift - something precious to be treasured. It is an intimacy that can't be rushed; it is cultivated through decades of shared laughter and tears, from the insignificant to the fundamental. In John, I had a friend and partner who embraced me exactly as I was. And I him - we were each other's refuge, each other's biggest supporter, and each other's custodian of knowledge. And I miss him so deeply.

So, here I am: back at square one. I am beginning again, looking for someone new to "choose" me as their person and be able to offer that same sanctuary. I know it takes half a lifetime to build that kind of understanding, but I carry the memory of that love with me as I move forward.