“Go and love someone exactly as they are. then, watch how they transform into the greatest truest version of themselves. when one feels seen and appreciated in their own essence, one is instantly empowered.”
“It wasn’t a shotgun wedding. He proposed before Dad got diagnosed. We’d already scheduled the ceremony. We’d rented a large room at the museum. And Dad promised me that he’d make it. He said he’d still be healthy enough. But as the date got closer, he got sicker. And we didn’t want to risk it. So we changed our plans. We moved up the date. We held a tiny ceremony at the registry office. Maybe twenty people came. Dad stayed in bed until it was time to go. But he made it the entire day. He drove me to the wedding in the same car that he’d driven my mum, a green MG Midget. He walked me down the aisle. He gave a speech at the reception. There was no focus on being ill. Or why we moved the wedding. It was just a nice speech. I have a film of it, but I haven’t watched it yet. I think it might be too sad. Dad passed away five months later. My husband and I had a vow renewal recently. It was exactly one year from the planned date of our original wedding. We held it at the same museum. It was the original guest list. There was a lot of soul searching involved. We weren’t sure if it was the right thing to do. We weren’t sure if people would understand, especially because it happened to fall on my dad’s birthday. But it turned out lovely. Really lovely. There was so much Dad in the room, his photos were everywhere. But this day was about us. About our relationship. About showing the world how much we loved each other. About our future. And about moving forward.”
(London, England)
“It was the shortest day of the year: December 21st, 1987. I’d stepped out of the office to go on my lunchtime run. I was jogging along the river, just a few hundred meters from this spot, and I noticed somebody pointing into the water. There was a man out there. He’d jumped off the Waterloo bridge. I could see him in the middle of the river, waving his arms. Now I’m a total sissy when it comes to the water. When I go to the beach, I don’t just race into the sea. I go inch-by-inch. Like a sissy. But on this day I took off my shoes and leapt into the river. It was a very high wall, and the whole way down I’m thinking: ‘Shit this is going to be cold.’ But as soon as I hit the water, I got my mind on the job. I swam 50 yards until I reached the man. By that time he was unconscious, but I pulled him toward the shore. A police boat arrived and hauled us out with ropes. They took me to the station, filed a report, gave me some old clothes, and sent me on my way. There were no newspaper articles. No interviews. I told nobody except for my boss, because I had to explain why I was late for my 2:45 meeting. But I did get one little thing. Hanging in my home, at the top of the staircase, there’s a certificate from the police commissioner. It says: ‘Gallantry Award: Rescued A Drowning Man From The River Thames.”
(London, England)