Today is our 4th wedding anniversary. Chris and I got married on this day four years ago.

We had already been together for 30 years at that point. We had had a son, bought a house in the suburbs, had a daughter, adopted a cat and a dog, put our kids through university, celebrated Chris' 65th birthday and my 54th.

Though I was busier than ever at work, I had started to think about retirement. One month before our wedding, I had contacted the Government of Canada Pension Centre. I learned that our being married would simplify Chris' access to our pension if I were to die before him. I added "wedding" to my to-do list, where it might have stayed—unchecked—for months.

Everything changed on July 29, 2020. On that day—a Wednesday—I was unexpectedly diagnosed with ovarian cancer. On Thursday, I applied for a marriage licence. On Friday, Chris and I picked up the licence, and I found an officiant. On Tuesday, Chris and I wed on our back deck, with our children as our witnesses. The ceremony took 10 minutes, but it suited us—rain and all. Though we didn't exchange formal vows on that day, we have demonstrated, for 34 years, that we would be there for each other—in sickness and in health.