Our romance began during the peak of a scorching summer. I was 23, trying to build my hairstyling career by working with local creatives. One afternoon, a message popped up on my Facebook from someone named Matthew Eledge.
His profile described him as a “Martian” and an “artistic warrior,” which caught my attention. He appeared unique and intriguing. He communal a short film writing he was making and asked me to contribute.
Our paths crossed at a cozy little French café tucked away in Omaha.
I got there ahead of time, he showed up late, using a bowling bag like a briefcase and sporting an orange tank top.
We talked for hours about art and life, drinking wine and connecting. That summer, we filmed his movie in a small village during a brutal heatwave. I styled the wigs. He captured my heart.
By fall, the film was done, and I moved in with him. We dreamed like artists do of love, Paris, and freedom. A year later, we packed backpacks and traveled across Europe, sleeping in budget hostels, sharing meals, and talking endlessly. In Turkey, I realized: we needed so little to be happy. I knew I wanted forever with him.
But life doesn’t stay still. My mother was diagnosed with cancer. Around that time, we also got engaged. We hadn’t planned on marriage, but with my mother’s health worsening, I wanted her there. Right after gay marriage became legal, we made it official.
That decision had consequences. Matthew worked at a private Catholic school, and when the school found out about the wedding, they refused to renew his contract. The story gained national attention. Students protested. The school didn’t change its mind but we still got married, in the woods where we’d first fallen in love.
My mom passed away not long after. She saw both my wedding and my sister’s, who rushed hers so our mother could witness it from her hospice bed. It was a heartbreaking and beautiful time.
Afterward my nephew Easton was instinctive, I realized I wanted to be a dad. Matthew, ever supportive, pushed us toward making that dream real. IVF was our path. But it was expensive, cold, and corporate, until my sister offered her eggs. Then, Matthew’s mom shocked us: she volunteered to carry the baby. At 60, we thought it was impossible. But doctors cleared her. She was healthy and ready.
Matthew’s mom, Cele, became our surrogate. The embryo made it. We were stunned, excited, and terrified. When we found out we were having a girl, we named her Uma Louise, a name filled with power and meaning, passed down through the women who helped create her.
At 38 weeks, Cele gave birth. Watching her deliver our daughter was one of the most powerful experiences of my life. When I held Uma for the first time, I saw my mother in her face.
Cradling my daughter now, I realize a love stronger and deeper than I ever thought possible. Our daughter was made possible by a community of women strong, giving, and full of love. Our story couldn’t be made up. It had to be lived.
