Two years ago I married the love of my life. It was one of the loneliest days of my life.
It had nothing to do with the groom. He is, always will be, the great love of my life and ours is a wonderful marriage, strengthened by our three wonderful little boys and our happy little home in Hamilton.
But come February 21, the day of our second wedding anniversary, there won't be a dinner out, or a bunch of flowers or a card because it just wouldn't seem right.
It wasn't meant to be like this. Like so many hopeless romantics out there, I had imagined my wedding day to be one I would remember, fondly, for the rest of my life.
After Paul popped the question we planned our wedding to take place in Northern Ireland, where my Kiwi-born betrothed was raised and where his family still live. The original date was pushed back by nine months or so – our first son Charlie being a spanner in the wedding works – and in the meantime we decided to make our trip to Northern Ireland a permanent one and stay there.
By the time the wedding rolled around, circumstances had changed for lots of my friends and family, with babies of their own, new jobs, no annual leave, etc, so I found myself in an unusual position. I wouldn't have any guests of my own at my wedding. No friends, no family, no-one.
There would be no-one to walk me down the aisle or make a father-of-the-bride speech. My dad died when I nine years old, my mother and step-father not able to travel from Australia for the big day. I had no bridesmaids, I had been in Northern Ireland for only two months, and I had no time to make new friends.
It was a beautiful wedding, held in an old country manor house. It snowed, the flowers were beautiful, my dress was beautiful, and my husband so handsome in his suit. Our little boy Charlie, just turned one, looked cute as a button in his wee kilt.
I will always be grateful to the all the guests who came and celebrated with us, to all the well-wishes and efforts that were made - I really will. One dear mutual friend of mine and Paul's, Tom from Queensland, was amazing enough to fly 30-odd hours for the wedding, earning a place in my heart forever.
But there was always a feeling that something was missing.
During my husband's speech, he surprised me by reading out messages from family and friends back home in New Zealand. It really hit me then how much I missed having them there with me. I cried, not at the bad jokes they made, but with longing for them to share a glass of champagne with me.
It's not my intention to sound like a spoiled brat, ungrateful and mean. Ultimately the location and details of the wedding were my choice and mine alone.
But to all the brides-to-be (and grooms) reading this, please think carefully about where you decide to tie the knot.
Overseas weddings can be fun, exotic and exciting. But you can, like me, find yourself on the biggest day of your life without the most important people in your life there to share it with you. You might only get one shot at it, so make it count.
An album full of beautiful photos and a gorgeous dress and stunning locations each have their own merit, but memories, well they are priceless.
In the years to come, you won't care so much about the sandy beach backdrop or quaint country house or Italian piazza as much as you do about who was with you on your wedding day.
I have a box full of wedding photos tucked high up on a shelf that's gathering dust; I've not been able to look at them for a long time.
Maybe when Charlie and his little brothers are a bit older I will take the box down and we will look at the photos together. We will probably tease Charlie about his little kilt and Paul and I will marvel at how young we looked.
Others have looked at the photos. "Oh, you looked wonderful," they say. Yes, I think to myself, only no-one I knew was there to see it.
Stuff.co.nz