We did it!
We did what?
We committed.
Committed to what?
To love. To life. To myself, to him, to us, to all of it. To everyone, to everything.

Two weeks ago, over the Summer Solstice weekend, Medjool and I gathered with close friends and family to celebrate our love. It was a gorgeous coming together—if I may say so myself.

There were so many delicious ingredients to the weekend—some of them echoing the three-day celebration Mike and I created for our wedding back in April 1996 in the Lake District. Then, as now, we invited those who had travelled furthest to join us for a Friday evening meal. Saturday was the main event—a civil wedding ceremony in a beautiful hotel with gently falling snow. Sunday brought a gentle walk before everyone began their journeys home.

Fast forward twenty-nine years. Double the age I was then, Medjool and I shaped something similar in structure—but this wasn’t a wedding. Not even a civil partnership do-dah. This was a Commitment Ceremony—an invention of our own, sparked by finding a beautiful place, and by a shared desire to keep nourishing what we’re growing together.

On Friday night, we welcomed Medjool’s English family, my family, and dear friends spanning many seasons of my life. I introduced my guests in chronological order—in the order in which we came into one another’s lives—starting with my mum, who nurtured me from before I was born, then my dad, my sister, and on through a beautiful ribbon of friends and chosen family. Whether we’ve shared decades or just a few years, each guest was hand-picked. And with just a few words for each, I tried to honour what makes them matter to me.

Saturday brought glorious weather. We spent the day mostly outdoors, and held our ceremony beneath the shade of a Copper Beech. Our guests—vibrant in their colourful clothes, gathered on picnic blankets and chairs—looked radiant. I still can’t quite believe they all came—some from near, some from very far—to stand with us. What a gift. What a grace.

We had support shaping the ceremony from Isla Macleod, a gifted ceremonialist and ritual designer. She helped us craft a gathering rich with tenderness. Medjool wrapped me in a shawl made from my original ‘terra cotta’ silk wedding dress—a gesture of inclusion and blessing from Mike. Our guests formed circles around us, hand in hand. There were many such moments.

Elina—someone I’ve only come to know and love in the past couple of years—officiated, though “Celebrant” doesn’t quite capture the gentle, spiritual presence she held. She invited us to honour the land beneath our feet, the ancestors before us, and the abundance already here.

The ceremony flowed into joyful song—thanks to the Snieulettes, a female a cappella group—and then into food, drink, and the ongoing music of conversation.

On Sunday morning, we invited those who had travelled furthest to walk with us in the woods—a slow, spacious way to integrate, connect, and begin the process of farewelling.

And just like that, we were picnicking. Then packing. Then the magic weekend was over.

I felt showered in love all weekend. Held and honoured by the people who came to witness this chapter in our story. It all felt… a little surreal. The kind of beautiful surreal that leaves me wondering whether it happened at all. But it did. The photos, the gifts, the notes—they remind me it was really real.

Thank you—each of you—who carved out time and energy to witness our love for love, and our love for life.

Medjool about to wrap the shawl of my wedding dress around my shoulders.

Here is what I said:

At 29, I stood before family and friends, and made heartfelt vows to Mike.
I chose not to say, “Till death do us part”—it sounded too old-fashioned, and too dramatic.
But death did part us. I will always be sorry for that—even though I’ve come to learn that death eventually takes everything.

Now, twice the age at 58, I stand here again. Not as a young woman starting out, but as someone who has loved, lost—and loved again.

This is not a do-over. And Medjool is not second best. It’s simply a continuation of love and life—

Mike is here—not in person, it’s true, but he is here in the ways I am capable of loving Medjool, in the family we created together, and in the friendships that are here today.
So is Julia—our baby girl—whose fierce soul and broken heart continue to guide me on what matters.
And Edward too, my youngest brother, whose humour and love remind me not to take life too seriously.

When I met Medjool – online – I quickly knew he was right for me.
I also knew that I was right for him—even if he didn’t realise it himself!
But as much as I trusted our fledgling relationship, I wanted certain others to feel the same way.

There were six people whose opinions mattered—Ben, Megan, Julia, Helen, Ros, and Clive.
If any one of them had reservations about Medjool, I would listen.

Five of those six people are here today.
It means so much to me that you trusted my determination—to choose love and life.
And it means even more to me that you have embraced Neil and my love for him.

Some of you were there in April 1996 when I made vows to Mike.
What a gift to have you here again as I make new vows to Medjool.
Thank you—for your love, your friendship, and for accompanying me through so much.

So grateful my parents are still alive and able to join in

And now, to Medjool—

I vow to honour myself in our love.
To stay faithful to my needs, my values, and my dreams.
To tend to my ongoing becoming, and to give myself fully to this gift of life that is mine to live for now.

I vow to love you for who you are now—and as you transform over whatever time we have.
To revel in your generous, all-encompassing love.
To adventure with you. To stretch you and challenge you.
To say what is true, even when it’s hard.
And to forgive you—even when no forgiveness is needed.

I vow to nurture the ‘we’ that is greater than you and me, and that lives through us.
To make space for worthy work and plenty of play, music and learning, joy and grief.
To keep prioritising us—especially when life is messy.
To tend our love like a garden—nourishing what gives life.

I vow to remain rooted in our circle of friends and family.
To honour our children—who have carried much already and still engage in life with grit and grace.
To give heartfelt thanks to my parents, Hilary and John, whose love and steadiness have held me through every chapter of my life.
To turn to our friends and families with trust and humility.
To ask for help. To offer support.
And to remember that our love is nourished in community – with all of you.

I vow to let our love flow abundantly.
To love life and live love fiercely—knowing how much is uncertain, how much is unknown.

Medjool—you are my Chapter Two, not my Second Best.
A continuation of a marvellous love and life story—one that includes everything and everyone that came before.

To you, I say yes—
to love,
to life,
to death, to grief,
and to everything in between.