Vicky Ewan: Celebrating milestones amid loss and love

They met in the early 1970s, and, after a whirlwind romance, were married in June 1973 - this year would have seen them celebrate their golden wedding anniversary.
We first started talking about marking this auspicious occasion back in 2021, when the country - nay, the world - was quietly suffocating in the throes of the pandemic. Even to float the idea of a sociable gathering seemed ludicrous and faintly fantastical, and the conversations at that stage were idly speculative.
The original plan was a party in triplicate, to cover three noteworthy events occurring in close proximity: my parents' fiftieth anniversary, a milestone birthday for my husband, and our silver wedding - memorable dates, all.
I was initially astonished to discover we were due to be thrice blessed - I am rather ashamed to admit that I have only recently registered the fact that my parents must have celebrated their own 25th anniversary the year my husband and I were married despite the ridiculously rudimentary sum involved in working out the maths.
I imagine I was too self-absorbed that summer to pay it much heed, and I don't doubt that my parents, modest and unpretentious, would have drawn little attention to this worthy event. I like to think it was because they were as wrapped up in my wedding as was I, but that seems only to rationalise my selfishness. I sincerely hope they managed to set aside some time to enjoy a commemoration of their happy wedding day.
My husband is not relishing the prospect of increasing age and is resisting the looming threat of his significant birthday and all it implies. Less sensitive to its nuances than he, I am nonetheless surprised myself at the impending change of decade.
It's the silver anniversary, however, that is the most flabbergasting occurrence. Surely, that momentous achievement is only realised by mature, wise couples in their dotage, a feat more likely to be acknowledged by a stately river cruise and dinner in the bosom of one's family than the midweek, child-free fun fest my husband and I have planned.
I am incredulous that we have reached this pinnacle, and don't feel at all wise enough to have been married for 25 years. True to form, my husband regularly regales anyone within earshot with the truism that he would be out on good behaviour now, had he done away with me on our wedding day. I suppose I should count myself lucky he exercised such valiant moral rectitude. Regardless, I am looking forward to our next 25 years - assuming, that is, that my husband manages to maintain his restraint.
My fervent hope is that we at least equal the parameters set by my parents. At the time of my mum's death, they had been living together in wedded bliss for almost exactly 49-and-a-half years.
Last summer, as the country began its somewhat painful process of emerging from the pandemic, it seemed more necessary than ever to find ways to celebrate the good things in life.
We all needed positive events on which to focus and to anticipate a future bright with the promise of renewed freedoms and a return to some semblance of normality. Unfortunately, my mum's health had already shown the first signs of fragility, a development which brought matters into even sharper focus.
She rallied, but I was acutely aware, for the first time, of her mortality, and anxious more keenly than ever to capitalise on the landmark occasions we could celebrate as a family. As time went on, freshly attuned to my mum's vulnerability, I was forced to acknowledge the possibility that she would be unable to participate in any festivities, recognising that any further impediment to her health - or, unthinkably, her actual demise - would render a joint celebration impossible.
On reflection, it seemed prudent to segregate the three events we wished to mark, and we made the ultimately judicious decision to celebrate separately. The invitations I duly compiled and dispatched a year in advance of the date promised a special celebration dinner for the golden Oldies, with a venue carefully chosen by my husband and me for its beauty and charm, which would be enhanced on the evening by elegant entertainment.
Sadly, that happy event could not come to pass. When the anniversary date eventually arrived, marked in the morning by a Mass said for my dad's intentions, the rest of the family gathered together for a meal at my dad's house. It may not have been the sumptuous repast we had anticipated, and the mood may have been more sombre and reflective than we had desired, but it was poignant and beautiful in an unexpected way.
As we sat together, sharing memories and hearing stories both familiar and unfamiliar, it truly felt as though my mum were present with us, in the hearts and minds of the people who most loved and missed her in the world.