The Moth Radio Hour: In The Name of Love
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We're excited to announce our fall lineup of storytelling shows from New York City to Iowa City, London, Nairobi, and so many more. The Moth will be performing in a city near you, featuring a curation of true stories. The Moth main stage shows feature five tellers who share beautiful, unbelievable, hilarious, and often powerful true stories on a common theme. Each one told reveals something new about our shared connection.

To buy your tickets or find out more about our calendar, visit themoth.org slash mainstage. We hope to see you soon. From PRX, this is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Meg Bowles. It's been said that being loved by someone gives you strength and the act of loving someone gives you courage. In this hour, we bring you four stories that explore the power, the joy, the obstacles, and sometimes even the dangers of love.

Our first storyteller, Susie Afridi, was raised in Jericho in the West Bank until the age of 14 when her parents immigrated to America. She shared her story at a Detroit main stage event we produced in partnership with Michigan Radio. Here's Susie Afridi, live at the Moth. So I was raised Greek Orthodox Christian in a small town of Jericho. The youngest of six kids, dad was a welder, mom was a farmer.

While growing up in the West Bank, we were constantly fed Islamophobic horror stories. Remember how in the 80s you were told this is your brain on drugs with the egg cracking commercial? We were told this is your life on Islam. And that's why they give us white names. I mean, people often ask me if my real name is Fatima or Khadija, but it's actually Susie. My sister, who looks way more Arab than me, her name is Jane.

But her eyebrows alone speak Arabic. So they give us these white or Christian names sort of as a message for the Muslim boys to stay away. It's kind of like name hijab. That along with a giant five-pound gold cross usually does the job. And so eventually we immigrated to America. And by the time I was 26, after my father passed away,

I was constantly told by my aunties that I had missed the marriage boat. My sisters were long married by now, one at 16 and one a little later at 19. And so I was on a mission. I had to find a nice Christian Palestinian boy. So now, where do you find those? At Greek Orthodox church festivals, of course. So every Sunday, I would hit the festival circuit hard.

And then one Sunday, after eating one too many baklava's, I went to a picnic organized by Arab and South Asian students. And as soon as I arrived, I meet the cutest guy. And this guy, his eyes were like this beautiful green color. They were like the color of expensive olive oil. Now this guy is talking to me, words are coming out of his mouth, but all I'm thinking is, "Please be Christian, please be Christian, please be Christian."

somewhere in the world where Pashtun and Pakistan. My heart sank. Olive oil is Muslim. You have to understand, we were absolutely forbidden from falling in love with Muslims. I mean, by the time I was 10, I knew that when a Christian Arab girl falls in love with a Muslim, one or all of the following would happen: she is disowned, her mother gets a heart attack, or she dies in an honor killing.

And I had always obeyed my parents, never considered dating a Muslim. But when Saks, that's his name, asked me to dinner, everything went out the window and I said yes. I mean, I thought to myself, this guy is smart, handsome, funny, charming, speaks four languages, has lived all over the world. It was just love at first sight.

So we started seeing each other a lot, almost every day, and within a couple of months of dating, secretly, we exchanged I love you's, and at this point, I felt I had to tell my family. But I was really scared, because I knew there would be backlash.

And I remembered, you know, from the stories that I'd heard as a little girl, there was this woman in our neighborhood who just suddenly went missing. And later we found out that she was murdered for falling in love with a Muslim. And so I started weighing my options and I thought, okay, best case scenario, a girl would run away with a guy, but she would never see her family again.

And this was unthinkable for me because my family were not people that I saw like once a year on Thanksgiving. I saw them almost every day. They were like the magical people in my life. In fact, I lived at home with my mom and my brother. So I decided that I would start by telling my mom, but she's a heart patient. So I had to break it to her gently.

So I chose the right time. I made her a nice cup of Turkish coffee. I chose the afternoon time right after Oprah. Do you guys... Do you remember when Oprah used to give things away and we were all happy? But my mom said... I told her all about sex and how happy he makes me. And then she said, no, no, and no. But then she felt sorry for me a couple of days later. And she said, okay, I will meet him as a friend. Only as a friend. I'm actually imitating her accent right now, but you guys can't tell. Because...

It sounds exactly like mine. So within a couple of hours of my mom meeting Sax, all of my siblings and their spouses found out about my new friend. And I was suddenly the family scandal. And I was hit with an avalanche of phone calls and emails. They made me feel so bad. They said that I had brought shame to the family.

My happiness was nowhere on their radar. All they cared about was how people will react. There's this phrase in Arabic, "Kalam innas." It literally means, "What will people say?" And it's the dictator that's in our head that just stops us from doing anything. My brother at the time was appalled at the position that I had put him in because his father-in-law is a priest.

Now, for sex there was no problem because in Islam a man can marry any woman from the Abrahamic faith. In fact, at the time his cousin was marrying a Jewish girl from New Jersey and no one really cared that she was Jewish, but I think they did care that she was from New Jersey.

And by this time, Saqs had already proposed to me on the beach in Half Moon Bay and I had said yes, but the whole going down on one knee thing doesn't really mean anything with Arabs and Muslims because if your parents weren't there, it didn't happen.

And so his parents wasted no time, they flew in from Pakistan for the tulba, which is kind of like an official ceremony where the elders from the boy's side ask for the girl's hand in marriage. And considering how serious this was, my siblings boycotted, and that really hurt, but this was only the beginning.

But I noticed my mom soften as soon as Zax's father walked into the door. I mean, imagine this tall, kind, elegant, very soft-spoken, very well-mannered man. As soon as she saw him, she took me aside and she said, if he turns into his father, you'll be fine. Yet, you know, they left that evening without a definite answer in hand, just a promise that she would get my brothers on board.

The next morning, my mom gets on the phone and starts lobbying for me like a congresswoman asking for votes. But instead, they launched a campaign against me. I would come home from work and find hotter stories cut and pasted from the newspaper and left for me to consider on the kitchen counter as if they were recipes of lives gone wrong.

And to make matters worse, I was facing this campaign to dump sacks at home and at the same time, on the media, there was a full campaign against Islam with Bush's impending war on Iraq. I remember my sister called me one day and she said, "I just heard that the Afridi tribe," that's his family name, "are a bunch of drug smugglers." And I thought, "That's so absurd because

He comes from a family of diplomats. I mean, some people in his family have literally entertained the Queen of England. And some people in my family entertain in the garage. So one day in the spring of 2002, I come home from work and I find all of my siblings and their spouses sitting in our living room on our hideous sofa set in silence, looking as if somebody had died.

And my sister stands up, and she looks at me and she says, "Susie, we are disowning you." I felt like I was handed a verdict. I felt an intense pain, as if somebody had just stabbed me. So I tried to reason with them. I said, "Please, just meet him, judge him for his character, instead of just judging him for being Muslim. This is the definition of racism." I had no luck. My mom tried to reason with them, but she was old and defeated, and no one was really listening to her.

My brother-in-law, who had kind of given himself the title of family patriarch after my father passed away, spoke for everyone. He said, I don't care if he is Banazir Bhutto's son, I still would not approve. And then, right before storming out, he looks at my mom dead in the eye and he says, you don't know how to raise girls.

In that moment, I just hated being Arab. I hated the fact that this close-minded man could have any say in my destiny, could have any authority over me. It made me so sick. I was devastated, un-numb. I spent the entire night on the phone with Zaks. He tried to comfort me. He said, "Don't worry, I'll win them over." And I said, "How? They're not even willing to meet you." The next morning, I made a decision.

I told my mom that if they want to disown me, they can go right ahead. I'm a grown woman, I was educated, I had a job. If things don't work out, I won't come back to them. They won't have to take care of me. Yes, I love them, but my future belongs with sex.

And so after the intervention, there was a clear divide. I had my mom, my sister Jane, and one of my brothers on my side, and the rest were dead set against me. But I wasn't backing down. I started taking sacks to family gatherings, birthday parties, barbecues, any chance I could get, even first communions. We were determined to win hearts and minds.

But his diplomatic charm and moderate views made it very difficult for them to find anything on him. The only thing that they had was his religion. And so some of them never actually referred to him by his name. They just simply called him the Muslim.

Their comments and jabs were endless and so hurtful. I remember during one family dinner, my little two-year-old niece, Janelle, jumped onto his lap because she adored him. And my sister-in-law sees this, and she looks at my mom and she whispers in Arabic, she says, "There you go, he just found his second wife." I ate that comment along with many others.

We lost a lot of battles, but we won the war. Ultimately, we got married. And I realized that I would not have been able to make that choice if we were still living in the West Bank. I would have probably caved in. Instead, I think I made my first feminist stance by standing up to the Arab patriarchy. So eventually, we had two weddings, one in California. The one in California was like the everything-goes-wrong version of that movie, My Big Fat Greek Wedding. LAUGHTER

And the one in Pakistan was a fabulous five-day affair. My in-laws pulled all the stops. My family did not attend that, and that was really their loss. And after that, we kind of grew apart. I didn't talk to my older sister for a number of years, and then my oldest brother moved to Canada, and I didn't see or talk to him till 14 years later at our mother's funeral. And I was very nervous about seeing him. I wasn't sure what was going to happen.

But as soon as he sees me, he hugs me and he has these giant arms. And he says the most remarkable thing to me. He says, "Susi, you did the right thing by standing up to us. You married into a beautiful family. I'm sorry. I was wrong." I was stunned because Arab men never say they were sorry or wrong. And all these years I had felt like a pariah. I had felt like my marriage was not ideal.

And to hear these words from him, it just meant the world to me. In the end, I didn't get disowned, and no one had a heart attack. We're still happily married. We have a beautiful son. And now I jokingly say that I married a Muslim, and no one died. Thank you so much.

Susie Afridi says that for years it felt as though her family members were just waiting for the day they would eventually be proven right, certain that it would happen. She said her family would always tell her, he may be moderate now, but as he gets older, he'll become a fundamentalist, and they warned he would eventually oppress her. But in reality, Susie says Saks has been her greatest supporter. He encourages her to talk about her experiences as an Arab woman and has really championed her as she shared her story with Moth audiences.

Susie and Sax recently celebrated their 15th wedding anniversary. They now live in New York City and have a beautiful son named Zizou. You can find out more about Susie and see the pictures she shared with us of her family and both of her weddings on our website, themoth.org. Coming up, a story of love and legacy when the Moth Radio Hour continues. ♪

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts and presented by PRX. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Meg Bowles. Since 2012, the Moth has produced an annual main stage event on Martha's Vineyard. And over the years, I've been fortunate enough to have the opportunity to get to know the island and many of the people in the community there. And

And every summer while I'm there, I make a pilgrimage of sorts out to Menemsha, to a place called Larson's Fish Market. You see the Larson name a lot around the island, so one summer I decided to ask Betsy Larson, the owner, if she might be interested in sharing a story with us. And she said, oh no, you need to talk to my brother Danny. So she gave me his number, and I called him up, and he agreed. He jokingly says now, perhaps he agreed a little too quickly. Here's Dan Larson, live at the Moth. I'm supposed to take my time to make sure it's good.

I got it. I didn't kill. Another thing I didn't think through. But a couple years ago, we were up on Abel's Hill, and it was a funeral of my father. We were burying the man that meant the most to me, my hero. I'll get better at this. And I'm looking around. I don't really want to make eye contact with anybody because I'm

feeling kind of fragile. And my whole family's there. And every time I look at anybody, they're looking at me. And so I decide I'll look around. So I look around and there's all the gravestones of my family, my uncles, my aunts. And then there's my grandfather. And when I was a kid, my grandfather was the most important person in the world to me. He was my everything. I loved that man. He was always there for me and a kind man who would

signed on as a able-bodied seaman when he was 14 years old and left Norway. And he sailed all around the world. And he ended up in Martha's Vineyard to repair the boat. And he was part of the crew that went up island to look for beetle bung trees because they were tall and straight and they would work to fix the spars and stuff. And he told me this story about when he first saw Mnepsha. And the way he described it, you know, through, you know, with this heavy accent and

I don't know, it just still sticks in my mind today, but he fell in love with the place. He left, he went to sea for a while, but he loved this place so much that he uprooted his family from Norway and brought them here. And it's not too easy to move to Chilmark. Unless you've been there for at least 400 years, they really don't think you should vote. So it was really difficult if you didn't speak English, but they made it, and...

And they thrived, and they were fishermen, and they were good fishermen. I mean, we never wanted for anything, and everything they did came from catching fish. And they built families, and they had, you know, they built their homes, and they had families, and they were fishing all the time, though. So my grandfather kind of picked up the slack with me, and he would always tell me, well, they're doing for you because, you know, they want the best for you. And he...

I thought a lot of things were musings of an old man, but he was pretty wise. And he worked on the nets. He was part of the deal. He made the bellies and the wings for the nets and mended the sails. And he had these beautiful hands. And they were big and they must have been bigger, you know, when he was younger. But, you know, they were crippled with arthritis and they were smooth. And I mean, you just knew he was a fisherman looking at his hands and

I can remember him rubbing me on the head, how smooth they were, and he never, he was never mad at me. And I know I was a real pain in the ass kid. Because a lot of people have told me, but I never ever once heard that man say anything but, you're a good boy. And he picked me up after school one day when I was having a bad day, him and David Vanderhoop, his friend.

And he was supposed to drive me home, which was about 200 yards away from school. And that was about all my mother was going to let him drive me because he couldn't see too well because of diabetes and stuff. But he decided since I was having a bad day, he was going to drive up to Gay Aquina to Mrs. Greeter's and get me an ice cream. And so we took a ride up. Didn't hit anything. Didn't pass anything, but didn't hit anything. laughter

Got the ice cream. He cheered me up. He brought me home. That caused a fight with my mother. But I remember it was, you know, he'd do anything for me. And, you know, we'd spend the nights there. I never saw the TV go on in that house because he would tell us stories. My cousin John and I, he would tell us stories. And one day when we were down on the dock, my favorite thing to do was to go down and when the boats would all be blown in, I'd go down and they'd all be telling stories and lies and stuff and

running around on the deck of the boat and somebody offered me a candy bar and I ran over and he grabbed me and he goes, I got one of those little Lucky Larsons and I'm going to stow them up in the forepeak. And I'm like, sketch it. And I got away and I ran back to my dad and everybody's laughing and I asked my grandfather, what's this about Lucky? And he goes, they're not lucky. Lucky doesn't have anything to do with fishing. You've got to be ready.

You got to be there, and everybody's got their chance at luck. He goes, but you are lucky. You're lucky we're here. You're lucky you have the family you have, and someday you'll know how lucky you are. So like most of the things I heard when I was a kid, that didn't make any sense. And when we got to be about seven years old, six or seven, they took us fishing. One trip, they took us out there, and it was a long trip, but...

It was more like a babysitting thing, I think. But they took us, and my father brought me up in the mask, and he tied us up. I mean, you probably go to jail now if people heard what they did. They took us up in the mask on the first cross tree and tied us up. And we loved it. We had pockets full of candy bars, and we were looking at sharks and whales and watching swordfish get harpooned and feeling part of it. It was unbelievable for a kid.

And when I got in, I raced to my grandfather's house, and he made me feel like the only reason the whole thing worked was because of me. And, you know, he was just, to this day, he affects me. But anyway, we, you know, I grew up finally. And when I was, he died when I was 14. I didn't think I'd be able to go on, but he had always told me it's important to go on. Whenever he'd tell me a story, I'd go, wow.

I don't know how you made it. He goes, you just got to go on. He says, no matter what happens to you, you just got to go on. I grew up, you know, and did all the things that people do when they grow up. You know, got married. Had some beautiful kids. Unbelievable kids. And went about, you know, ruining my life and all that stuff. Growing up, still. And it's, you know...

My father, one day I'm sitting at my father's house, and I'm there with my kids, and we stopped in, and we're having coffee, and we're sitting around the table, and I'm at the end, and my father's telling my son a story, and one that I'd heard a thousand times. And so I'm kind of spaced out and looking down at some article in a magazine, and I looked up, and I saw my father's hands around the coffee cup, and I went, oh my God, and I

It kind of choked me for a minute because I thought, geez, that reminds me of grandpa. And then I looked up and my father had the same like neon blue eyes that my grandfather had. They're really kind eyes. And they had this way of looking. My grandfather, every time he looked at me, I knew he loved me. It was weird. And my father's looking at my son like that. And my son's looking back at my father like I must have looked at my grandfather.

And I turned around and I looked and they told me to breathe when I got like that. And they told me to be kind. But you know, anyway, so I turned back around and I look at my brother and my sisters and my kids and my nephews. And I'm at the funeral and I look up and there's 300 people there. And there's all these friends and family.

And I think, we're planting our blood and our flesh in this ground, and I belong here. And I thought, you know something? It took me 65 years to figure out what he meant about being lucky. But thank God I figured it out. Thanks. That was Dan Larson.

These days you can find Dan at his fish market, Edgar Town Seafood, every morning at 6 a.m. His sons are there now helping him to run the business in hopes maybe Dan will start to take it easy and stop working so hard. Dan says he probably should retire, but he likes going to work and seeing people. He doesn't think he's the retiring type.

A couple of days after Dan shared this story, I was out by Abel's Hill and I decided I'd go pay his grandfather and father a little visit. I was walking through the cemetery, which is incredibly beautiful, with these enormous trees and gorgeous stone walls, and I was having trouble finding the Larson family headstones. And at one point, I stopped on the hill trying to decide which way to go. Do I go right? Do I go left? And then I heard this voice from far away over my shoulder yell out, It's further on down! And I...

Turned around thinking someone else was in the cemetery probably looking for another grave. You know, voices carry. And so I turned around and I looked, but there was no one there. Not a soul in sight. So I walked a bit further down the hill, and there they were. All the Larson's graves there together in a row. And I told Dan later about hearing the voice, and I started by saying, you'll probably think I'm crazy. And he said, oh no, I hear voices there all the time. It's just that kind of place. ♪

You can see a picture of Dan, his grandfather, and even a picture of Abel's Hill on our website, themoth.org. Our next storyteller, Gabby Shea, shared her story at a Story Slam event we held in New York City. The theme of the night was music. Here's Gabby Shea live at The Moth. All right, so my husband and I, we were really good friends before we started dating. And music has been a part of our relationship from the beginning.

My husband introduced me to hip-hop, The Roots, Common, Black Star. I'm kind of embarrassed to say that this white dude from Flatbush, Brooklyn put me on. So our first official date was to a Common concert. I was in heaven. I had my man at my side and my boo was on stage serenading me. It was absolutely perfect. And when Common started to perform The Light,

Frank pulled me a little closer and I knew that I was done and we were in it for the long haul. So we had talked about marriage for a little while and I said to him, "Do not propose to me until I find a job." I did not want to plan a wedding while I was dead broke. And lucky enough, I found a man that listens because I started my job November 25th, 2002 and I got engaged December 19th, 2002. So,

On our engagement night, we were at yet again another Common Concert. My brother came along, my friends came along, so I was really, really excited. So we get to SOB's a little earlier than expected and we're kind of hanging out with the crowd and in comes Questlove from The Roots. So I'm all excited and giddy because we love The Roots. And he walks past us and my now husband taps him on the shoulder and whispers something in his ear.

Questlove looks at me and he, you know, extends his hand and he smiles and he says, "Hi, I'm Amir." And I'm like, "Okay." I take his hand and I say, "Hi, I'm Gabby." I thought it was kind of strange, but whatever. So before he's able to say something else, Frank whispers something else in his ear. And he kind of gives me this strange look and he says, "Uh, enjoy the show," and he runs off. All right. Again, I thought it was weird, but I'm here to enjoy the show, so I let it go.

So Common gets on stage and he's performing. The crowd is going crazy. Everybody's loving him. And halfway through the show, he starts with, "I never knew a love, love, love, a love like this." And I'm like, "This is my song." I close my eyes. I lean up against Frank and I'm feeling the music. And then Frank taps me on my shoulder. And my first thought is, "Are you kidding me? Like, this is our song. Why are you interrupting?"

So I slowly turn my head, because I'm ready to tell him this, and I catch my breath because I am staring into the most beautiful diamond ring that I've ever seen. So through my tears, I look around and everyone is smiling, and I think to myself, what the hell is going on here? Come to find out that they all knew it was happening. See, he had posted on okplayer.com, and everyone in the audience expected that something was going to happen.

So Erykah Badu grabs my hand, she's checking out my bling. Music's soul child claps him on the back and is like, "Congratulations." And as I'm hugging him, Questlove runs over and snaps a picture. I happened to email him the next day and to my surprise, he emailed me back with that picture.

So throughout this whole time, I knew that Common wasn't paying attention to us because he's on stage and he's performing. But a few months later, he was interviewed. And I'll read you an excerpt.

At a performance in New York City last December, Common turned to see a man holding a sobbing woman tight. Common was performing "The Light," one of his many meditations on true love. He had no idea why the woman was crying. Common's lyrics hit a deeper chord. The weeping woman, Common later learned, had received a marriage proposal during that very song. It's an honor to create music to affect someone's life like that and have something so special be done at one of my concerts.

Now, granted, thank you. Love, love, love that he remembered me. 'Cause keep in mind, Common is my hall pass. However, I shed a couple of tears, but I wasn't sobbing and weeping the way that he-- But I was cool with it. I was cool with it.

So Common and I crossed paths a couple of times over the years. Once at an album signing where I had him sign my wedding invitation, which included lyrics to "The Light" and the centerpiece was the photo that Questlove took of my husband and I. And then another time at a press junket that he was doing for his movie "Just Right." This time though, I brought a family photo 'cause I wanted him to see his honorary granddaughters. In my mind, he is their godfather.

I get that it's a bit stalkerish. However, I wanted him to see how he affected me and how his music affected my life. Now, they say that every love song is connected to a story, and I am 100% certain, no doubt in my mind, that the light is absolutely connected to mine. Thank you. Thank you.

Gabby Shea and her husband have been married for 15 years and have three beautiful girls. Gabby says she wishes that she was as thoughtful as her husband was when he orchestrated this plan. It was beautifully executed and made for the perfect proposal. They both still absolutely love Common and quest love from the roots. Gabby says to have them be part of their love story is any fan's dream come true.

Coming up, a story of what happens when love and the law go head to head. That's when the Moth Radio Hour continues. Yeah.

I never knew a love, love, love, a love like this. Gotta be something for me to write this. Queen, I ain't seen you in a minute. Wrote this letter and finally decided to send it. Signed, sealed, delivered for us to grow together. Love has no limit. Let's spend it slow forever. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts and presented by PRX.

This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Meg Bowles, and our last story comes from Jim Obergefell. For many years, Jim lived a fairly quiet life in Cincinnati, Ohio, with a successful career as a real estate broker, until his life took a dramatic turn. He shared his story in San Francisco at an evening we produced in partnership with local public radio station KQED. Here's Jim Obergefell, live at the Moth. I fell in love with my husband John the third time we met.

I knew right from that moment that he was the person I wanted to spend my life with. I told him, "I want to be a couple. I want to date." He tried to talk me out of it. He said, "Jim, I'm not good at relationships. I've dated a lot of men." And he had. And it didn't go well. But I wouldn't be talked out of it. And so we became a couple. And we built a life together. Over the years, we talked many times about marriage. But we decided instead of having a symbolic ceremony,

we would only marry if it actually carried legal weight. One day, John was walking around our condo, and I noticed that his walk sounded different. His left foot seemed to be slapping the floor harder than his right foot. When you've been together with someone for 18 years, you pick up on those small things. So I asked him, "Did you sprain your ankle? Did you pull a muscle?" And he said no. And that slapping sound didn't go away.

So I convinced him to see our doctor, and that started a series of doctor visits and tests that lasted several months. One day I was sitting at the kitchen island when he came home from a neurologist appointment, and when he walked in the door, I jumped up, hugged and kissed him, and asked how it went. The tears started to fall, and his voice faltered as he said, "Our worst fears were confirmed. ALS, Lou Gehrig's disease."

ALS is a death sentence. There's no cure and no effective treatment. And most patients die within two to five years of diagnosis. Now John had always been the dreamer, the flighty one. He always saw possibilities and not necessarily reality. That was my job as the practical one. I kept us grounded. Friends like to describe me as the anchor to John's kite. With his diagnosis, we changed roles.

He became the practical one. He was the one who talked about what we needed to change, what we needed to do, what we needed to plan for, specifically worrying about me after he was gone. When I needed it most, John became my anchor. ALS progressed quickly. Barely two years after I asked about that slapping sound, the love of my life was bedridden, incapable of doing anything for himself, and in at-home hospice care. I was his caregiver full-time.

Every routine we had built over 20 years together was supplanted with a new routine of caring for John, making sure he was safe and comfortable. After all, that's what you do when you love someone. You take care of them, the bad and the good. A few months later, I was standing next to his bed, holding his hand, as we watched the news. We were expecting a decision from the Supreme Court on the Windsor case. The news came out, and the Supreme Court struck down part of the Defense of Marriage Act.

And in a spontaneous, joyful moment, I leaned over, hugged and kissed John, and said, let's get married. And luckily, he said yes. And for us, this was so important because we wanted to only marry when our government would acknowledge us, would say we exist, would acknowledge our relationship. And that's what the Windsor decision did. It didn't bring marriage to any new states, but what it said was that the federal government had to recognize lawful same-sex marriages for tax returns,

federal benefits, social security, things like that. So now I had to figure out how do I get this bedridden dying man to another state just so we can do something that millions of people take for granted. So I started to do my research and we settled on Maryland as the place to get married, mainly because Maryland was the only place that did not require both people to appear in person to apply for a marriage license.

My whole goal was to make this as painless and pain-free on John as it could be, so that helped. Okay, so now we know where we're going. How do we get there? I wasn't willing to put him in an ambulance for that long of a trip. It just would have been too physically painful on him. He couldn't fly commercially. That left one option for us, a chartered medical jet. And let me tell you, if you've never priced one of those, they're not cheap.

I went to Facebook and I thought, well, maybe one of our friends will know somebody, a pilot, someone who works for a chartered medical jet company, something just to make this a little easier. And the most amazing thing happened. Our family and friends immediately started replying, sorry, Jim, we don't know anyone. We can't help in that way. But you and John deserve to get married and we want to help make it happen. Our family and friends banded together and through their generosity, they covered the entire $13,000 cost of that jet.

So on a beautiful July morning in 2013, I dressed John in a pair of khakis and a plaid shirt with Velcro closures in place of buttons. I put on a crazy plaid pink jacket, and we rode in the back of an ambulance to the airport. And we boarded this tiny jet along with John's Aunt Paulette, who would marry us. And we flew to Baltimore. We landed at BWI Airport and parked on the tarmac. And I raised the head of John's gurney so that he was sitting up, and I took his hand

And in that cramped medical jet, Aunt Paulette married us, and we got to say those magical words that we never expected to say. I do. And it was the happiest moment of our lives. We were on the ground for maybe 30 minutes before we were back in the air flying home to Cincinnati as husband and husband. And we said that word an awful lot. In the days that followed, I don't think two sentences left our mouths without the word husband. Good morning, husband. Would you like something to drink, husband? I love you, husband.

And that was all we wanted, to live out John's remaining days as husband and husband. A few days after we married, friends were at a party, and they ran into a friend of theirs, a local civil rights attorney named Al. And our story came up in conversation. Our friends got in touch and asked if we might be willing to meet with Al. John and I discussed it and said, well, why not? Al came to visit, and in walked this brilliant, kind, gentle man. He sat down with us and talked with us.

And he pulled out a piece of paper. And this piece of paper was a blank Ohio death certificate. And he said, "Now guys, I'm sure you haven't thought about this, because who thinks about a death certificate when you've just gotten married? But do you understand that when John dies, his last official record as a person will be wrong? Ohio will say he's unmarried, and Jim, your name won't be there as his surviving spouse." We were speechless. Al was right. We hadn't thought about it. And dammit, we just jumped through all these hoops to get married?

and the state of Ohio is going to pretend that we don't exist. They're going to erase our marriage from John's last official record? It hurt. It was painful. And it was personal. So John and I, we were never political. We weren't activists other than signing checks. But we decided to fight for our marriage and for people like us across Ohio. And we filed suit. We sued the state of Ohio to say, "You have to fill out John's death certificate accurately when he dies and recognize our marriage."

Eleven days after we married, I left home to John's words, "Go kick some ass, Jim." And I went to federal court, and I took the stand, and I had the chance to read a statement to federal judge Timothy Black.

I got to explain to him and describe to him what John meant to me, what our marriage meant to us, and how harmful and hurtful it was to know that the state of Ohio wanted nothing more than to erase the most important relationship of our lives from his last record as a person. The state of Ohio kept saying, "But the people of Ohio voted for this, and that carries more weight than your constitutional rights."

I will always remember how Al, our attorney, replied to that. He said, "The surest way to abridge the rights of a minority is to allow the majority to vote on it." At 5:00 that day, Judge Black released his ruling. Starting with the sentence, "This is not a complicated case," he ruled in our favor and said, "Ohio, when John dies, you must recognize their marriage on his death certificate." John and I had three months more together as husband and husband. And in October of 2013,

I read aloud to him from one of his favorite books, Weave World, by Clive Barker, and I still remember the last sentence I read. Lions. He'd come with lions. And I'm grateful the last voice John heard was mine. And he died. A few months later, the state of Ohio couldn't let this lie, so they appealed to the Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals. And our case, along with several others, was heard by that appeals court.

And about a year after John died, I got a phone call to tell me, "Jim, the Court of Appeals just ruled against you. They have given Ohio the ability to erase your marriage from John's death certificate." And I worried every single day I went to the mailbox. I thought, "Is this the day I'm going to pull out an updated death certificate with the most important relationship of my life erased from John's death certificate?"

But I clung to the silver lining. I wasn't going to give up. I was going to fight and I was going to take this all the way to the Supreme Court if I had to. And that's what happened. In April of last year, I walked into that courtroom, the Supreme Court of the United States of America, and I took in this grand room, the marble walls, the marble columns, the red, white, and blue ceiling, and these dark red drapes with gold fringe that honestly put me in mind of a French whorehouse. And I wondered...

Will the court live up to those four words inscribed in the pediment of their very own building? Equal justice under law. I thought about John. I thought about our marriage. I thought about my co-plaintiffs, another widow, parents, couples, children. And I wondered, are we going to walk out of here knowing that our marriage licenses, our death certificates, birth certificates matter? And are they accurate? Do they hold value?

A short two-month wait later for the court to deliberate and write an opinion, I was back in that courtroom, waiting to hear their decision. The Chief Justice announced that Justice Kennedy would read the first decision, and they read our case number, and I startled in my seat and I grabbed the hands of the friend sitting on either side of me, and I listened as Justice Kennedy read his decision. I struggled to understand this legal language, and I thought, "Well, we won!" But then I wasn't so certain.

And once it finally really hit me that we did indeed win, that the Supreme Court made marriage equality the law of the land, I burst into tears. And I wasn't the only one breaking the usual state decorum in that courtroom. The silence, the typical silence of that courtroom was broken by gasps and tears and sobs. And it was such a beautiful feeling to realize I could walk out and no longer worry about getting that updated death certificate. Al and I

led our group of plaintiffs and attorneys arm-in-arm through this amazing crowd on the plaza of the courthouse. The air was electric with a palpable sense of joy. And as we wound our way through the crowd, it split before us. And we were showered with cheers and tears and smiles and this amazing, utterly happy feeling of celebration. And I realized in that moment, for the first time in my life as an out gay man,

I feel like an equal American. And I did it all because I loved my husband. And now, a bit over a year later, I chuckle when I think about Obergefell v. Hodges. I have to pinch myself that that Obergefell, that's talking about me. And I chuckle when I think about all of these law students for the rest of time having to learn how to pronounce and spell Obergefell.

But mostly, I think about John. I think about the love we shared, and I think about the fight that we were willing to fight along with so many other plaintiffs. And we fought for pieces of paper: marriage licenses, death certificates, birth certificates. And when I realize that it's all about a piece of paper, it takes me back to how I ended my vows the day we got married. I'm overjoyed that we finally have a piece of paper that confirms what we've always felt in our hearts.

that we're an old married couple who still love each other. I give you my heart, my soul, and everything I am. I am honored to call you husband. Thank you.

Jim Obergefell calls himself an accidental activist. But when forced to fight for what he believed in, he did. And in the end, love won. The city of Cincinnati gave the street where John and Jim lived the honorary name of John Arthur and Jim Obergefell Way. That street was John's view of the world for the last seven months of his life.

In addition to becoming an activist for LGBTQ rights, he recently became ordained over the Internet and has married same-sex couples in Cincinnati, Columbus, and Cleveland. You can visit our website to see pictures of Jim and John's wedding and photos from the historic day when marriage equality became law. And while you're there, you can re-listen or share the stories you heard in this hour and find out more about our live events. That's on our website, themoth.org. ♪

That's it for this episode. We hope you'll join us again next time for the Moth Radio Hour. Your host this hour was Meg Bowles. Meg also directed the stories in the show. The rest of the Moth's directorial staff includes Katherine Burns, Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin-Janess, and Jennifer Hickson. Production support from Timothy Liu Lee. Special thanks to WCAI in Woods Hole, Massachusetts.

Moth Stories Are True is remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from David Sovtik, Anbjorg Lien, Common, and Mark Orton. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by me, Jay Allison, with Vicki Merrick at Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts.

This hour was produced with funds from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.