Thirty two years ago today, I was sitting on the phone with Mary Ann on one of those clear plastic landline phones that now looks like it belongs in a museum. It was her birthday, and I was fifteen years old, just two months away from turning sixteen. After working up whatever courage I could gather, I asked her to “go out” with me. She said yes. Neither of us could have understood what that yes contained.
Since that day, I have had the privilege of witnessing nearly every version of Mary Ann. I watched a beautiful young woman become an extraordinary grown one, not by abandoning who she was, but by deepening into it. She is an incredible friend, neighbor, mother, and partner. She moves through the world with a kind of goodness that is difficult to manufacture and impossible to fake. Her religion, as she puts it, is simply “being a good person,” and she practices it faithfully.
She does not practice it through declarations or complicated philosophies. She practices it through the ordinary choices that make up a life. She shows up. She cares for people. She remembers what matters. She extends love beyond what is required and places our family at the center of everything she does. Jettie gets to have the kind of mother usually reserved for fairy tales, and I get to share a life with someone who has remained beside me through every strange turn, reinvention, collapse, awakening, obsession, and new version of Z.
There are people who love the person you were when they met you. Mary Ann has loved the entire process. She has been here for all of it, growing and changing alongside me while somehow remaining completely herself. After thirty two years, that still feels like an astonishing gift.
I wish I had piles of money to spend today on lavish gifts, ridiculous surprises, and maybe a small parade moving slowly through town in her honor. But money has never been the most honest measure of what she means to us. So this is the gift I have today. I want to say publicly that she is remarkable and remind both the world and her that the love she gives does not disappear unnoticed. It becomes the atmosphere of our home. It shapes our daughter. It steadies me. It travels outward through every person fortunate enough to know her.
Thirty two years ago, I asked Mary Ann to go out with me. I had no idea where we were going. I am endlessly grateful that she said yes.
Happy birthday, Baby. We love you more than any gift could possibly explain.