For the first and hopefully the last time in my current life, I just married the man I’ve been seeing for nearly 12 years and living with for 9 years.

He’s a visual artist, as well as a singer-songwriter who plays keys for a local Portland prog rock band and whose comedy music has been featured on Dr. Demento’s radio show multiple times.

We actually met via the Internet while I was still in the UK, stumbling through the wreckage of past lives feeling just a bit stunned and helpless.

He’s the reason I stayed in the US.  No regrets.

We married in a small private ceremony at our little church.  Even though it was raining earlier in the day, by the time we got married the sun was out and a bright shaft of light came through the windows of our chapel as we exchanged vows.

A few friends were there including two witnesses, but we’ve decided to save the big ceremony for when we can afford it.  This was us making it official for legal reasons.

It still felt really amazing though, knowing I just married a guy who’s been with me through so much.  My love, my husband, my muse, the guy who’s actually put up with all my eccentricities.  The guy who’s been there to hold me when the guns of the Western Front start thundering through my memories again.  The guy who’s given me a second chance at love after my last, luckless, hapless life as a six-time divorcee.  The guy who stayed with me through my gender transition, a risky move to the West Coast, and in times of hardship and poverty that would put the screws to any relationship.

I’m able to feel joy again today, after being pretty much numb to all emotions since November.  I’m in love with a wonderful man who has made my present life, for all its hardships and setbacks, that much easier to cope with.

Thank you, my love.  For the rest of my life I will be yours.



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