Civil Unions: one year later

Two couples reflect on the impact of the Civil Union Act, passed by the Colorado House of Representatives on March 12, 2013, ending a three-year struggle to establish relationship recognition for committed same-sex couples in Colorado.

“I cried and cried. It was incredible,” says Christopher Adkins, who watched the legislative proceedings from home, unable to witness the historic moment in person due to his chemotherapy treatment. “I called my partner immediately at his work screaming that we had won. It had passed.”

Gov. Hickenlooper signed the legislation into law at the Colorado History Museum on March 21 of last year, and the law went into effect on May 1, 2013. Since then, there have been almost 800 civil union licenses issued in Denver County alone.

“I will never forget it,” says Dana Wilks, who works as a manager at the Colorado state court administrator’s office. “I work a half-block from the Colorado History Museum, and I remember walking in and looking up, and the balconies were just covered with people looking down watching Hickenlooper sign the bill. It was an incredibly moving experience.”

Legislation to establish civil unions in Colorado had been defeated twice before. In 2011, after the bill was introduced by State Sen. Pat Steadman and then State Rep. Mark Ferrandino, the legislation was killed by a Republican-controlled House Judiciary Committee.

In 2012, the bill made it all the way to the Colorado House where it was ready to pass with bipartisan support, but in a dramatic procedural maneuver, Republican Speaker of the House Frank McNulty blocked the civil union bill from coming to the floor for debate. The night before the final day of the 2012 legislative session, McNulty declared an impasse, effectively killing civil unions along with 30 other bills. A short-lived emergency session was implemented by Gov. Hickenlooper, but civil unions was quickly shot down by the State Affairs Committee.

In 2013, Democrats took control of the Colorado House, and Ferrandino — the first openly gay lawmaker to preside over the Colorado House of Representatives — became speaker. In addition, the Colorado General Assembly consisted of an unprecedented eight openly gay and lesbian legislators who worked with local LGBT advocacy groups such as One Colorado to finally pave the way for civil unions in the Centennial State.

For Adkins and his partner Chris Karash, witnessing the three-year struggle for civil unions was agonizing. The couple has been together for 14 years, and for nine of those years, Adkins has battled blood clots in his chest, a tumor in his leg, and lung cancer.

“Considering my health issues,” Adkins says, “Chris and I made the decision that if civil unions passed in the legislature in 2013, we would go forward with a civil union in Colorado. Had it not passed — not knowing what my health was going to do — we had decided to go to another state to get married.”

Adkins moved to Denver from Atlanta in 2000 when he met Karash who, at the time, was living in Cheyenne, Wyoming. They met online, and Karash asked to drive down to Denver and take Adkins out to dinner.

“I was starting a job that would be very fast paced. Lots of pressure,” says Adkins. “I didn’t want to get into a relationship. Then I open the door, and literally the first thought that went through my head when I laid eyes on him was, Oh my God, I’m going to spend the rest of my life with this man.”

Karash added he felt the same way on that memorable first date 14 years ago. “I was nervous meeting him, but when he opened the door and I knew … this was it.”

The date ended with the couple standing in front of Adkins’ front door talking for two hours. “He’s very much a gentleman,” Adkins reminisces. “He asked me if he could kiss me goodnight, and I told him yes.”

They spent almost every weekend together, Karash even driving down on weekdays and waking up early in the morning to drive back to Cheyenne for work. “He took me to my first concert down here [in Denver], the Dixie Chicks,” Karash recalls. “I had never been to any concert.”

“We are definitely a prime example of opposites attract,” says Adkins. “We’re so different from each other, and I think that’s part of the reason it works.”

They moved into their first home in 2004, but the strength of their relationship would be tested a year later when Adkins was diagnosed with a sarcoma tumor in his right leg. The football-sized mass, which was sending blood clots into Adkins’ lungs, had to be surgically removed.

“I tried to return to work five different times,” says Adkins. “It was a complete failure. I lost energy and stamina through the surgery, and I couldn’t keep up with the pace.”

Adkins went on disability while Karash worked to pay the mortgage and the bills. Because they could not marry, Karash was unable to add Adkins to his medical insurance. For three years, the couple paid out of pocket for doctor’s visits, treatments, and the required medications following Adkins’ surgery.

But with the mass removed, Adkins thought he was in the clear. Then in 2012, he went to the hospital for pain in his leg. The doctor happened to run a chest X-ray, and the image came back with several spots on his lungs. “I knew when I saw the spots the first time what it was,” says Adkins.

In September of 2012, Adkins was diagnosed with terminal, stage IV lung cancer and told he had 24 months to live. “I felt like I had been punched in the stomach,” says Adkins.

Since then, he has been on targeted chemotherapy which, although doesn’t kill the cancer cells, stops them from metastasizing. “The cancer is dormant right now,” says Adkins, “but we don’t know what will bring it back.”

At one point, Adkins told Karash that if he decided to leave, he would support that decision. “I told Chris, ‘You did not sign up for this. If you want to go, I would not blame you.’ And he told me, ‘I don’t want to ever hear that come out of your mouth again, because I’m not going anywhere.’”

“There have been hard times,” says Karash, “but you do what you have to do. We just manage one step at a time.”

Even on the day of their civil union ceremony, Adkins struggled with his health. “I got sick and somewhat dehydrated, and they were debating calling an ambulance. I said don’t do it because I will sign refusal for care. I have waited 42 years for this, and this is happening right now!”

On September 6, 2013, Adkins and Karash had their civil union ceremony in the Denver City and County Building near the state capitol. “To our knowledge, we are the only gay couple that has been allowed to hold their ceremony in that building,” says Adkins. The enormity of the passage of civil unions in Colorado hit Adkins only moments before.

“I was going to have the right to stand in front of my parents, and my siblings, and other family and friends, and join this relationship together with Chris, and it will be legal in the state of Colorado. To be able to do that was monumental.
Absolutely incredible.”

Karash, who was living in Wyoming when Matthew Shepard was murdered in 1998, commented on how surreal that day felt. “From my background, I never dreamed that anything like this would ever happen in my lifetime.”

But even with a civil union license, the couple must take additional legal steps to establish a durable medical power of attorney for Karash in case Adkins is unable to make medical decisions for himself — something they would not have to do if they were married.

“I would strongly urge any couple, as they decide to join under a civil union,” says Adkins, “that they need to have those durable medical power of attorneys, DNR [do not resuscitate] paperwork, and a will for each of them. They shouldn’t wait until someone is sick, because you don’t know what could happen tomorrow.”

The lung cancer could return at any moment, as the doctors are unsure what triggers it out of dormancy. The couple values each day they have together, and it’s the small things that carry the most meaning. “We watch movies together,” says Adkins, “and we spend a lot of time with the dogs — our children — Jitterbug and Sprocket, and our cat, Gizmo.”

For Dana Wilks and Kim Kreimeyer, it’s the small protections established by the Colorado Civil Union Act that have had the largest impact on their lives.

“We just purchased a vehicle a couple of weeks ago,” says Wilks, “and I know this sounds trite for the average person, but it was the first time that we made a purchase and I knew it was okay for Kim alone to be on the title.”

For the past 17 years, Wilks and Kreimeyer have had to fill out additional documentation, spending time and money to build a strong, legal infrastructure should something happen to one of them.

Now that they have a civil union license, not having to take those extra precautions seems abnormal.

“It just really struck me,” says Wilks, “that this must be the way that it feels for people who are married, that they’re not constantly concerned about their own well-being in a partnership.”

Wilks and Kreimeyer met in Fort Collins while both attending Colorado State University. “I was looking for a roommate, and Kim’s lease was up where she was living,” says Wilks, who was already friends with Kreimeyer for several years.

“I thought that we would have dated before moving in together,” jokes Kreimeyer. As they began to spend almost every day together, Wilks and Kreimeyer began to fall in love.

“You don’t know someone until you’ve lived with them,” says Wilks. “And what might have been a quirky kind of personality thing that Kim had became very endearing as I lived with her. She is such a gracious, kind person, and I really got to see that every day.”

“Dana was going through a really difficult period in her life at that time,” adds Kreimeyer, “and what I saw in her was this integrity. She has this light, and that was a real draw for me.”

In 2004, they decided to get married in California and were scheduled with the San Francisco county courthouse on March 12, but just one day prior — on March 11 — the California Supreme Court ordered the city of San Francisco to stop issuing marriage licenses. A month later the couple successfully married in the state of Oregon, but their legal recognition was short lived.

“They sent us a letter about six months later that said sorry, but the courts decided that you’re not married,” says Wilks. Because government entities refused to acknowledge their marriage, the couple decided to have a Lakota wedding ceremony in Colorado. “In the Native American tradition, it was recognized by a Native American medicine man,” says Wilks.

It wasn’t until June 8 of last year — nine years after their first attempt to marry — that the relationship between Wilks and Kreimeyer was finally recognized as legal in the state of Colorado. Their ceremony took place in front of a small group of friends and family at the Carr Judicial Building in downtown Denver.

“It wasn’t really like a marriage or a civil union, because we’ve been together for so long,” says Kreimeyer, adding that they took the opportunity to renew their vows during the ceremony. “Being able to stand in front of family and some friends and do that was very moving.”

With the exception of applying for a domestic partnership in 2006 in Denver, the civil union ceremony was their fourth attempt to have their relationship legally recognized.

“I lose track of all the anniversaries we have,” jokes Kreimeyer. “We get to celebrate four more times a year than the average person.”

Kreimeyer is a Colorado native, and Wilks moved to the state when she was five years old. They have both witnessed the struggle for LGBT rights, dating back to 1992 when Amendment 2 was passed, barring local governments from establishing discrimination protections for the Colorado LGBT community. The amendment was eventually overturned by the US Supreme Court in 1996.

“In 1992, if somebody would have asked me if it would have been possible that I’d get married in my lifetime, I would have said no,” says Wilks. “On the other hand, it feels like it’s been pretty fast to see in my lifetime just from Amendment 2 to today.”

But despite the protections civil unions offer, the couple still faces numerous legal challenges. “If I were to pass away, Dana would not be eligible for my social security because we’re not married,” says Kreimeyer.

“If Kim and I leave the state of Colorado, our civil union is meaningless,” adds Wilks. “We don’t have any rights unless we get married in another state.”

The couple keeps a close eye on lawsuits challenging same-sex marriage bans around the nation, hoping the Supreme Court will eventually step in.

“For me, a civil union is a big deal, but it’s not the biggest deal,” says Wilks. “As much as I’m thrilled that we got to have a formal, legal ceremony that was meaningful in the eyes of the state of Colorado, it still feels like there’s a little bit missing.” Kreimeyer added they want to marry in the same state in which they have built a life together. “I’m looking forward to being able to stand up there in a wedding dress with my wife to get married.”

Adkins and Karash yearn to do the same. “My hope is that I live long enough to see marriage equality in all 50 states,” says Adkins. “As long as I can move, as long as I can continue to breathe, that’s what I will fight for.”

There are currently 65 cases in 31 states across the country fighting to establish marriage equality, with eight of those lawsuits now at the federal appellate level. Two of those lawsuits — in Utah and Oklahoma — were recently heard at the Denver-based 10th Circuit Court of Appeals.

“The civil unions law extended several key protections to gay and lesbian couples and our families, and it was an important first step,” says Dave Montez, executive director of One Colorado. “But the reality is that it wouldn’t have even been necessary if everyone in Colorado had the freedom to marry.”

One Colorado recently launched Why Marriage Matters Colorado, an initiative to establish full marriage equality in the state. There are currently two lawsuits fighting to overturn Colorado’s Amendment 43 which prohibits same-sex marriage.

“There is no substitute for marriage, which guarantees that all loving couples can be there for each other during times of greatest need,” says Montez. “These couples simply want to be able to make a lifetime commitment to the person they love and be responsible for one another, and that is why marriage matters to all of us.”