This past weekend, she and her beloved Dan invited their nearest and dearest to gather around them and celebrate their incredible love story, their deep friendship and the start of their new chapter as husband and wife.
|Barn from my run-- Frederick, MD|
Mer and I are soul sisters of sorts. We knew we were meant for each other almost immediately when we met. It was a beautiful October day, and we were sitting at a patio table a month into my freshman and Mer's junior year of college. We were both pouring a lot of our energy into reproductive rights and sexual health at the time, and both had plans to deliver babies for a living. She had a smile that stretched from ear to ear, a bustling, infectious energy, and like me, a mom sick with cancer. Unlike me, though, Mer had already been seasoned by the rigors and roller coaster of care-taking, grief and fear that come with long-term illness. I was new to the game. I didn't know then how much her resilience and arms-wide-open approach to life would guide me through my own waves of grief and change.
|Downtown Historic Frederick|
On Valentine's Day of my sophomore year, Meredith sat with me for hours while we tried to coordinate an ambulance dispatch to my mom's house in New York from our student center in Massachusetts, then drove me home in the middle of the night so I could be with my mom in the ER. The next afternoon, Mer was supposed to take a huge statistics exam. But the moment I started to fret over my interrupting her near perfect academic record, she shushed me and calmly explained to me that she'd talk to her professor about what had happened. She was sure she'd understand. Meredith's always had a little more faith than I.
Years have passed since then. Between the two of us, we've accrued two bachelors degrees, lost three parents and stood fast alongside eighteen years of cancer's and loss's Big Life Lessons. We've both loved a lot, and said bittersweet goodbyes. Separately, we've traveled. We've cooked. We've gone for runs, long walks, hikes. We've both done a lot of yoga. We've read novels and planted gardens and worked on farms. We've drunk a lot of wine. We've sat in chilly movie theaters and watched chick flicks and fallen asleep early. We haven't once lived in the same city since Mer graduated from college in 2006.
And through it all-- all the loss, and reeling, and grief and joy-- we've both hungered for love. The kind that builds you up and fills you out, makes you burst with a sense of belonging and recognition and compassion. We've yearned to nurture and also to be cared for. We've looked for kindness and humor, sharp minds and good looks. And we've both doubted its existence.
But two years ago, when she least expected it, Mer met Dan. The first time we spoke about him, her voice sounded different, calmer. She was already sure, she told me, using the words kismet and beshert. And this past Sunday, she married him.
|Mer at her Tish, sounding ever so sage |
on matters companionship,
love and marriage
Mer, Dan and a handful of us stayed up late into the night. We laughed a lot, so hard our bellies hurt. New friendships were formed (not surprisingly, as the two of them only associate with the creme-de-la-creme of the human race, as far as I can tell), the ring of love radiating outward from the newlyweds.
Never, in my life, have I felt such faith. That things have a way of working themselves out, and life takes shape, curveballs and all. We can go along for the ride, or we can resist. Love morphs and ebbs, but, like matter, it doesn't ever disappear. Not really. As long as we invite it in and tend to it kindly, it'll tend to us as well.
So here's to Mer and Dan. To many, many happy years. Thank you for reminding us all of the reasons to believe.