A little over fourteen years ago, fed up with being single and wasting my time on unsuitable man after unsuitable man, I cast a spell to summon someone into my life who’d be worth the effort. He first messaged me on a bear website we were both members of three days later, and a few weeks after that, on the first weekend we spent together, it took us hardly any time at all to realise we’d fallen in love. We’ve been there ever since.
That’s us in the picture, taken in the forest of Puzzlewood by a helpful passer-by a couple of months ago. I’m the one with the long beard, and Stewart is the teddy bear with the cutest ears in England. People say all the time that we look alike and ask if we’re brothers. I can’t see it myself – Stewart says the fact that we both have beards crashes their mental facial recognition software – so maybe what they’re picking up on is how close to one another we are.
I’m probably not the easiest husband. I’m grumpy and uncoordinated first thing in the morning, irascible when something’s annoyed me at some point most days, and I muck about tiresomely at bed time. But he loves me all the same, and I love him back. He’s always been there supporting me – when I gave up on a succession of duff jobs so I could write, through the deaths of both my parents, and when my ever-present shadows have got the better of me. He gives me the security I need and the space to be myself. My life wouldn’t work without him in it, and I still can’t quite get over how lucky I am that he met me fourteen years ago and thought “Yup, I’ll keep this one” – and has. Fucking lucky, that’s how lucky I am.
I love you, Big Bear. Happy birthday.