Here we are! Hip, hip, hooray! My love is 46.

Your journey, through my eyes, has been one of adventure; hills climbed, mountains conquered, some wars won, and most demons slain. You have shed tears over this last year, walking through hurt, and celebrating an equal number of joys, all the while seeking meaning in this thing we call life. Every step has brought you closer to understanding, with changing reasons, shifting seasons, and the realisation that we only have one life.

The world is richer for your giving heart, your mischievous smile, and your '80s dance moves. Hip, hip, hooray! You are 46, my love!

There’s a song that plays in my heart for you, The Great Pretender, that speaks to the loss that haunts you when you were not ready to say goodbye, so now you carry grief in your every day – an ambassador of hope to so many young boys struggling to be vulnerable, fighting society's myths that men should not grieve or cry. Strength is vulnerability, and in being human, grief transcends gender, sex, creed, culture, and age. 

"Oh-oh, yes, I'm the great pretender

Pretending that I'm doing well

My need is such, I pretend too much

I'm lonely, but no one can tell.

Oh-oh, yes, I'm the great pretender

Adrift in a world of my own.

I played the game but to my real shame

You've left me to grieve all alone.

Too real is this feeling of make-believe,

Too real when I feel what my heart can't conceal."

I am proud of you; in the everyday battle you are fighting, and I believe in the man you are becoming. I celebrate your victories, especially the greatest one yet to come – of reconciling days gone by, accepting hearts now walking with the stars, and releasing all your yesterday’s regrets.

Now we are here...

As scales balance, loss and love (this paradoxical yin and yang) demand a graceful entry, and to the lucky few, a purposeful exit to life. Then there is one magical moment, when souls pass by – some turning right and others veering left, a few lingering in the centre – and two come together, destined as one.

She, a wandering soul, still in her books with glasses on, staring into the night skies and basking in the sun's warmth, and made of love, pushing through pangs of hunger in all she does. Though her quietness calms her, she seeks her lone wolf.

She takes solace in his ever presence, waiting and watching, his scent known to her. He pushes, she pulls, navigating through borrowed hours, carving their own individual paths adorned with scars and a story uniquely theirs.

As we forge new paths together, I know you will find the balance between letting go and holding on. On your birthday, my love, I wish you love, forgiveness, and a life that is truly your own.