Women for Civil Rights & Liberties

When we signed our marriage papers, people stared because I was Black and in a wheelchair. That wasn’t new to us. The looks had started long before that day. Michael’s parents asked if this was “too much responsibility.” Friends told him his life would be “limited.” Some asked me privately if I was sure I wanted to be a burden to someone I loved. We heard it all—and kept going. We met at work. We talked. We argued. We learned how to move through the world together, one practical decision at a time. Love wasn’t dramatic. It was showing up to appointments, figuring out ramps, sharing bills, choosing patience. The wedding was simple. Real. Ours. Life didn’t get easier after marriage. It got fuller. Jobs changed. Bodies aged. Children grew up. Grandchildren arrived. Now, people don’t stare as much. They see a home that works. Every morning, Michael brings me coffee. He forgets the sugar. I remind him. We weren’t trying to prove anything. We just kept choosing each other.

True love still exist.