With every checkmark, there comes a bee. Our list seems magical. Or no, rather cursed. The enumeration of things we still have to do remains, or at least seems infinite. And the number of times I ask myself in a day or at night ‘if it's really okay that we've already given a checkmark’ is countless. That's why I have a panic attack on Monday. On Tuesday, I'm completely in a relaxed it'll-all-be-fine mood. On Wednesday, it's a river of tears. Of happiness. Of tension. Of disbelief that it's really going to happen. On Thursday, I email and arrange everything and it all seems unreal. Not mine. Not ours. And today, Friday, I'm packing my suitcase and sitting with my laptop on the subway typing this article. Last week, I completely missed that; no time. This week neither, but of course, I can't let my last blog before I can call my love ‘my husband’ pass by.

My husband has actually been my husband since the day I met him. At the Amstelveldje. It was August 4th, a Saturday in 2013. I saw him, for the second time. And just like the time before, he didn't see me. It became Sunday. And just after midnight, he saw me as I saw him. A week later, he came to my house with a bottle of red wine, which quickly became our home. That bottle goes everywhere with us and shines in one of our kitchen cabinets in New York. A few months after that bottle of red, a bottle of champagne came along. The bottle with which we celebrated that we were moving to New York. The cork from this bottle is floating somewhere in our glass vase with corks, just like the one from our first real date in Maastricht. The birthday dinners in restaurants. Madison Park. Attera. Pizza Beach. And, the one when we sailed over the Hudson at sunset. Every time the vase has become too small, a bigger one comes. Because we will always celebrate life and corks belong to that.

And now I'm sitting in the dark. I tried to finish my last article while checking the box ‘unmarried’ in the subway. But I arrived at my destination earlier than expected. Then came a phone call. An email. A question. An answer. And upon returning home, I first wanted to pack my suitcase. Everything comes out of my closet. Everything gets ironed. Then I make outfits. Then I change the outfits. Matching shoes go with it. No, that one that’s already hanging in the closet has to come. And so it took until it was dark. My dress is a witness to the spectacle. But it's done. And me? I suddenly can't believe that I'm on the plane tomorrow. We've been living towards this for two years, and suddenly it's already in eight days. The wedding. And my dress with all our loved ones will be witnesses to this. I believe another river of tears is coming.