I knew I was doing the right thing, but I couldn’t get myself to press “send.”
It was late on a Wednesday evening in April and I was sitting in front of my laptop, fingers frozen over the keys. Writing to our family and friends, every word felt heavy. I read over the draft and felt pure dread.
Sending the email would mean letting go of what I'd been fantasizing about for most of my life: My dream wedding, scheduled for May, 26, 2020. The day I would say “I do” to Michael, my then-fiancé and now husband.
We had been planning it for a year, and I was beyond excited to bring my vision to life. I was picturing Mike and I walking down a magnificent catwalk, looking like royalty, with everything decked out in white—the flowers, the tables, and the drapery. We’d be surrounded by all of the people we love, dancing the night away to reggae and soca, slow jamming to hip-hop and R&B, in celebration of our love and culture.
Thinking about it all brought me so much joy that I didn’t mind doing the work to make it happen. Most nights, after 12- or 24-hour long shifts at the hospital, I would come home, workout, meal prep, then iron out wedding plans until 1 a.m. Sometimes Mike would find me asleep on the couch.
“Babe, please come to bed,” he’d say, and I’d go to our room in a daze.
By March of this year, everything was just about set and we couldn’t wait for our special day. At the same time, however, COVID-19 was turning the world upside down. Mike and I were glued to CNN, watching the case numbers and death toll rise. Every day I went to work as an OB/GYN, put on my N95 mask, and all of my layers of protection to take care of my patients. I ached for those who tested positive and had to stay isolated in their rooms. Every time I looked into their eyes, I could feel their pain. How lonely they felt. My mom got it too, and we were all worried about what could happen.
It was serious, scary, and overwhelming. (Still is.)
And it was clear to Mike and I that our wedding would have to be postponed until 2021. I'd have to let all of our guests know, but when I tried that night in April, I just couldn't end it all in an email. I needed to talk to Mike, to share how much all of this hurt. I cried, and cried, and cried, and Mike was my rock. He held me on the couch as my heart broke.
But what I didn’t realize at the time was that our mourning—letting go of all that we had planned—was making room for something else. Something we could have never imagined.
Shortly after that night, Mike and I decided that our marriage would not be canceled. We thought, “If this pandemic is still present next year and we are not able to gather, what would be the point of postponing our love?” We don’t know what the future holds.
We decided to plan a “micro” wedding: a small event that only a few people would know about. It would be our secret. With everything pretty much shut down, I didn’t know what we were going to be able to pull off, but we knew that we wanted it to feel elegant and memorable.
When we learned that Philadelphia's Logan Hotel, where I was supposed to have my bridal shower, was offering its courtyard to people whose ceremonies were affected by the coronavirus, Mike and I picked June 6 as our celebration date. That was only two weeks away, and so the scramble began.
I had to find another dress because the original one I ordered was still in Russia. Mike didn’t have his tux yet, so we were on the hunt for that too. I had to find someone to do my hair, my makeup, my nails, and the flower arrangements. I made countless phone calls and wrote many emails to this vendor and that vendor. I can’t tell you how many noes I heard before I found some yesses. It was so tough finding people who were comfortable to do things in a pandemic.
Still, we were doing it somehow. We explained to our 21 guests that we were taking all of the necessary precautions. The chairs would be placed six feet apart to practice social distancing. I even put together gift bags with hand sanitizer, masks, and mints. Part of me couldn’t believe this was actually coming together.
For a while, all I could think about was the wedding, my work, and my mother’s health. But as the day approached, something else started to weigh on me: Mike's safety. After police killed George Floyd, we watched the fires burn in Minneapolis, and felt the outrage that many Black people feel around the country. I understood the sadness, the fear.
I couldn’t help but think of Ahmaud Arbery and how he was killed by white men on a run in his neighborhood. Since quarantine started, Mike and I have gone on walks almost every day. Sometimes together. Sometimes alone. To think that he could leave my presence and then be gone forever absolutely terrifies me.
What gave us hope were the thousands of people marching against racism and calling for justice. I don’t think we’ve ever seen this amount of people get behind this movement so passionately. Mike and I wanted so much to go to a protest, but we couldn’t make it to any because of work. We thought we'd have to support in spirit.
Ironically, three days before the day, our hosts called us to say that a protest was scheduled in Philadelphia at noon near the hotel. And the night before, we found out that all of downtown Philly was going to be on lockdown. We were up until 2 a.m. trying to figure out how we were going to drive outside the city to pick up the cake (among many other important things). And we thought our biggest worry was going to be rain.
But it was the clearest day ever. A hot one too. Ninety degrees.
Around 1 p.m., I was standing outside of the hotel, sweating in my wedding dress, veil, and all. I had been waiting for someone to bring me my bouquet so I could go see Mike for our first look. But it already had been 25 minutes and I was beginning to think I had relaxed too soon.
Just moments prior, it had seemed like everything was falling into place perfectly. The cake was there. My hair was done. My sister glued on my nails. All of our vendors and guests had made it safely—even the cellist who walked blocks and blocks with her instrument to get there. So, finally, I felt like I could breathe and settle into the importance of the day. In my room, I took some time to transcribe my vows into our vow book and reflect on the fact that I was starting a new life with such a phenomenal Black man. Someone that I am so proud of. I was ready to commit to what was next for us.
And yet, as I was standing on the corner, it felt like the universe wanted to stall.
Suddenly, I heard the putter of helicopters, then muffled chants. Everything became louder and louder. I noticed a group of protestors marching my way with signs and flags. I could feel my heart pound in my chest. I was so happy that I got to see the movement in person. And apparently, they were excited to see me.
Once they got to my block, everyone was cheering for me. Smiling at me. People shouted, “Black Lives Matter!” at the top of their lungs and some leaned toward me to say, “You’re beautiful.” Before I knew it, the protestors surrounded me in this circle, and I felt like I was being wrapped into this bubble of positivity. People were taking pictures and applauding. It was all so profound. I couldn’t stop shaking. There was this incredible energy. One that surged through my body and I said, get Mike.
“Get Mike!” I yelled over and over because my fiancée needed to feel what I was feeling. Somehow my now sister-in-law was there just in time to read my lips and ran around the corner to get him.
When Mike arrived, I couldn’t believe how handsome he was in that black tux. Tears started streaming down my face. There was no containing it. He grabbed my hand and leaned in for a kiss that I would never forget. The crowd roared. It was so enveloping that we couldn’t help but feel unified with everyone around us. We couldn’t help but salute it.
So we raised our fists and held them strong, knowing that this moment would live forever in our souls.
That euphoria carried into the rest of the day.
It was like someone turned the contrast up on the world. The grass was greener. The white flowers for decoration seemed whiter. And the sky was bluer than I had ever seen it. It was if everything came to a standstill. The helicopters were gone. The chants had quieted.
It was all so serene.
My mom walked me down the aisle as the cellist played a breath-taking solo. What a miracle that was. It was the first day my mother had left the house since she got sick. Three days after her negative COVID-19 test. I was so overwhelmed with gratitude to share this moment with her. We had talked about it for so long. Holding her arm, I felt like a child again: cherished, supported, and liberated.
After Mike and I said our “I dos," we released doves not only to symbolize the faith we had in our union, but the hope we have for the future of the world. In that moment, I felt more love for him than I ever had before. I smiled so wide for the post-wedding photos.
As Mike and I were posing for the camera, one of our relatives walked up to us all excited about something. Said we made the front page of The Inquirer. Apparently, photos of us from the protest were going viral and at first Mike and I didn’t believe it.
Then we started getting all these messages from friends, long-lost colleagues, and even strangers. We realized this viral thing was real, and we laughed about how we failed so terribly to keep this our little secret.
Even though we had accepted that our faces were posted all over the internet, we were still confused as to why two normal people getting married would make front page news. And as I thought about it, none of this was about Kerry-Anne and Mike. This was so much bigger than us.
At this time—when many are experiencing deep isolation and disconnection—people saw us as two hearts coming together and giving birth to a new future. People saw a symbol of Black love in a country that is still doesn’t fully embrace it, that sometimes denies it. A country that may not know where to find it. But it exists.
To me Black love isn’t about Black people. And it’s not just about love. It’s about the display of innocent affection between two people of color that often gets overlooked in the media, in Hollywood, and in storybooks. We need more and more people to see this love so that it’s normalized and so that we as people are humanized. Seen as whole.
I think this is part of how we create a society that treats everyone equally. A society where everyone is free and full of love and joy. That’s the kind of world in which Mike and I hope to raise our kids.
Just happily ever Gordon.
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Dr. Kerry-Anne Gordon is an immigrant and OB-GYN on the front lines of the COVID-19 pandemic.
