We never said "I do"

I never thought I would be one day here, in this position, in front of all these people, but the truth is that life has surprised me a lot in the last few years, so I guess this is one of those occasions where life was bigger than my own dreams—and that's quite a thing.

I grew up with a single mother, wishing for a big family, as if that could be something I could hope for, rubbing a magic lamp or buying a lottery ticket. When I became an adult, though, my focus changed, and I forgot for a while what I wanted, how, when, and most of all, with whom. 

I met you at work, and the first time you asked me out, I told you it was against my policy.

"I don't date work people," I told you, and you smiled and told me you would not stop asking.

I laughed, but your face was so damn straight, so serious, so peaceful... I don't even know how it was, but I know I believed you. And the truth is that you kept your promise, even when I told you, not when I told you I was busy when I went out with other people instead. You were there through all that, and you picked me from the floor the day I realized I liked you. But I was stubborn, even more than I am now, and I told you to leave me alone... for twelve hours. You have Penelope to thank, my high school friend, the sister I never had, for what I did that day. That's the day I cooked dinner for you, despite we never ate it. That night, we climbed to our iron bridge, and I cried like a little girl and apologized for my stupid fears. That's when we kissed, and I knew I would be yours forever. And I was... I am.

In the following months, we ignored each other in daylight at work and did not leave each other's side as soon as we left the building at night. One day, it was clear that people around us knew, and I was so into you that I did not matter anymore. You completed me; you did not define me, control me, or expect anything else from me but me, even when it was not pretty... and most of the time, it wasn't.

After five months, you moved to live with me in my little girly apartment, and that got our families talking. You asked me to marry you one month later, which shocked everyone around—even me. You kneeled in the middle of a park with that little wooden box in your hand and asked me to marry you, despite the fact we'd never talked about that, and we had no idea what the future would bring. Maybe that's why you asked me; I was vocal about wanting adventure, and you made it your mission in life to give it to me. But we never got married, even if we talked about it for years and our family and friends joked about it. Instead, we bought a house, and the builder went bankrupt; our daughter was born, and we moved to an apartment we managed to buy. We worked like crazy, had our first son, and shortly after, despite having good jobs, family around, and friends who loved us, we moved away from everything and everyone. Together.

I quit everything for you because I did not want to be without you, and it was taught. You know what it made to me, to this competitive mentality of mine, to see you after your office days while I spent months taking care of the kids and the moving boxes. It was not funny or good, but we pushed through it, and I returned to work as we had always planned.

We planned a lot. We discussed work and kids, professional opportunities, and parent-teacher meetings. We were a team, and people around us talked about how involved you were and how we managed to get it all done.

The jobs got tougher, and our patience disappeared at times, as happens to the sun in this country we live in. Things can be bright one moment and stormy the next. We endured some storms together. We survived it all. You started your own company, where you worked as CEO, engineer, and cleaning lady. I quit my tour to dominate the engineering world and moved to a less dynamic environment. You loved the new challenges, and I hated mine. You changed again, and our little boy, who is not little anymore, came into our lives. I moved to another position, you came to work for the same company I did, and we thrived. Oh, how good we did, with our good jobs, a new baby, a fabulous house, two more brilliant kids, and friends around us.

The time passed, and we climbed the organization, showed how good we were, and felt nothing could stop us, but then, one day, I broke. My soul and my body gave up, and for months, you were there, took care of me, and left me alone when I could not see you or anyone else. But we overcame, as we always did. We climbed that mountain together, and as I reached the peak and returned to work, I realized that was not what I wanted anymore. How selfish of me. How childish, said many. But you didn't. You held my hand, as you did many times before, and told me:

"We are together on this."

And so it was. I quit my job and poured my soul into my pink laptop. I wrote and wrote as if my life-- our life-- depended on it. I had rejections, too many to count, but you never doubted me. You laughed and told me the good days would come. You challenged me to continue, read, learn, and care for myself and my craft for so long that I doubted myself and you, thinking we were delirious. But we were not. The sun popped up again and shone upon us. 

Things were good, extraordinary, for many years. We saw our children grow even better than expected. We watched them leave the house. We were sad and happy as empty nesters. The silence became our neighbor, but we did not care. We had plans, dreams, and everything we wanted, and then, one day, we realized we missed something else. We missed time. That was the day you visited the doctor. You had been so stressed with your latest project that you had not slept for many nights, and you were cranky. Your body was aching, and I had to force you to call that lady who saw so much happening in our lives. She's here today. I see her as I see your work colleagues, your brother, and our kids. Even our granddaughter is here, and she is laughing. Beautiful little thing... she has your eyes.

You were my life. Without you, I am incomplete. You owned my heart and sequestered my soul. And I am so mad at you right now because you dared to leave me here, with all those people that loved you, with our children, with their own families... and this little urn in my hands that holds what's left of your body. 

We never married, we never said "I do," or cut a giant cake. We didn't have a honeymoon, but now I have you in my hands, the ones you held so many times. I hold you now despite you being the one who held me for so many years. 

I do love you, and I will always will, and I know somewhere in the universe, right now, you're replying something like:

"I know, it makes sense."

And, you know what? It does. 

It does.