As I read my vows, I got a stark view of the future. My soon-to-be husband’s snow-covered hair gave me a glimpse into our future. I was marrying a Silver Fox, and I was so excited to take this next step and marry the person I wanted to grow old with. In the middle of a blizzard, on the top of a mountain in Colorado, illuminated by the headlights of two cars and surrounded by three friends — we declared ourselves married because we couldn’t risk waiting and finding out that America wouldn’t recognize our rights.
I always thought that I’d get married on my terms after I met the right person and we were ready. But to actually GET married, we had to navigate a global pandemic, a cross-country quarantine, and a blizzard — overshadowed by shifting political winds driving questions about the legality of same-sex marriage illegal.
My husband is my best friend. We had met three years before getting married — somehow Kaleb got conned into helping my roommate and I move into our Upper West Side apartment. A friendship grounded in warehouse raves and working out together quickly turned into something more. Two years after meeting we were moving in together to a brownstone in Park Slope. Shortly after moving in we became Domestic Partners on Halloween and then started designing matching engagement rings.
On the day NYC went into lockdown, I proposed in front of a mural in Bushwick. It was a chaotic time, and celebrating with family meant lots of Zoom calls and Facetimes. During those chats, family and friends often asked what our plan was to get married. Kaleb and I agreed that we would not make any plans for a wedding until the pandemic was over. We were unable to celebrate our engagement in-person; getting married during all the uncertainty seemed like a non-starter.
But then, Ruth Bader Ginsburg died. And while Amy Coney Barrett was being confirmed, Justice Roberts and Justice Alito started questioning the constitutionality of same-sex marriages. Roberts wrote:
“By choosing to privilege a novel constitutional right over the religious liberty interests explicitly protected in the First Amendment, and doing so undemocratically,” Thomas contended, “the Court has created a problem that only it can fix. Until then, Obergefell will continue to have ‘ruinous consequences for religious liberty.’”
While the election was still uncertain, it was likely that Barrett would be confirmed. And that combined with existing Justices questioning the validity of same-sex marriage, started to weigh heavily on us. So we applied for a marriage license.
When we applied, we were not sure if we would actually get married. But we decided that having options was probably a smart move during a very weird time. We were angry. Angry that we felt pressured to get married — in a time when we could not see family and friends — because the ability of our marriage to be federally recognized was uncertain in the months ahead. We were scared. Scared that the election might lead to four more years of protections for LGBTQ people being torn down. We were upset. Upset that we would probably have to get married without friends and family present. In those few weeks, I shed many tears and lost many nights of sleep.
It was an agonizing decision. All the joy of getting married felt like it was ripped from me by politicians. How do we get married without our friends and family being able to stand witness? Telling family was a gut-wrenching experience. It felt like we were being forced to get married in the middle of a pandemic because not doing so meant that we might not have the ability to get married later.
When I told my mother that we had applied for a marriage license, she started to cry. In a few moments, she cycled through all the emotions I had felt for the past few weeks – excitement, anger, sadness. Since getting engaged, we had moved across the country to Denver, and the conversation quickly turned to the fact that no family would be able to come with travel restrictions.
We then started to plan a wedding in the middle of a pandemic. How could we make the day special while following the best practices of social distancing? The last thing we wanted was to create a super-spreader event and have our ceremony be the catalyst for friends getting sick. We talked to our COV-pod and decided to hold a small ceremony in the mountains of Breckenridge — one of our closest friends would officiate. We found a photographer who would capture the ceremony so that we could share the memories with our family, and we set the date.
On Thursdayhe Thursday before we were to be wed, we ventured to the Denver County Courthouse to get our marriage license. And after we received our paperwork, the County Clerk and security guards started clapping and cheering. Their excitement felt so disconnected from conversations going on at the national level about marriage equality. And it was at that moment that I finally felt peace with the turn of events that led us to this day.
I still can’t quite reconcile the disconnect between how random humans feel about our marriage and how “The Court” wants to feel about it.
On Saturday, November 14, we started our drive to the mountains. Typically this drive takes about 90 minutes, but on that day, we had a surprise snowstorm. I-70 started to become a whiteout, and we were inching along the highway. At three hours in, we started to call our two other friends and see if they would be able to make it. At four hours in, the photographer called and told us that the highway had been shut down and he would have to turn around. At five hours in, our friend called us to say they had swerved off the highway, and the trooper that had been helping to pull them out was also stuck. At six hours in, we got to our hotel and decided to quickly change.
In our wedding day attire — we drove to the lookout point where we had decided to hold the ceremony. The mountain pass was windy and snow-covered, but we were able to make it to the lookout and the three friends who had been able to make the drive right as the sun was starting to set.
It was 11° with the wind chill, and we were almost out of sunlight. We turned on the high beams of both cars and pointed them at our makeshift altar. The wind was howling, and we quickly became covered in snow. Our officiant sped through her ceremony while one of our friends struggled to keep her camera warm enough to keep taking pictures. When I heard my partner’s vows, I tried to choke back tears – mostly to keep them from freezing on my face. After reading my vows we were pronounced married and shared a kiss and a warming embrace.
A bottle of champagne was popped, and after a few sips, I realized it was too cold to actually enjoy. I rushed back to the car to warm up before calling some close family to let them know we had eloped. The events of the day seemed fitting for a year that has been so chaotic — there was almost a poetic justice to the craziness of the ceremony.
And in reflecting on the day, I couldn’t think of anyone other than my husband who I would want by my side during the up-and-downs of life. Regardless of what is to come with our legal system, I’m excited to grow old and see Kaleb’s sliver hair become a daily reality.