Against
many odds, a vow of togetherness
After money concerns become a roadblock to traditional
marriage, a couple decides to take an alternate route
By Ted
Gregory
Tribune
staff reporter
Published
February 14, 2007
They met at a bar in
January 2004.
She was a single mom, working as a part-time bank teller, tending to a daughter
with Down syndrome. He had just lost his job at a fast-food restaurant and was
trying to salvage a life he nearly lost after being shot about nine years
earlier.
Kimberly Kowalczyk and Bob Heed had their first official date on
Valentine's Day 2004, fell in love and decided to get married. But
complications arose.
They determined that their combined income, modest as it was, would endanger
public medical care for Kowalczyk's daughter.
"That's not fair," Kowalczyk said.
"Why can't I celebrate the way everyone else I know who has gotten
married, just because I have a handicapped child?"
They came up with a solution.
On Friday, Kowalczyk and Heed will have a ceremony
and reception followed by a 10-day honeymoon in
The ceremony is an example of a couple's resourcefulness and part of an
emerging trend in love. But it's also without significant legal standing.
"We're sort of stuck," Kowalczyk said.
"But, at least we can say we're stuck in love.'"
The National Marriage Project based at
In 1960, about 70 percent of men and 66 percent of women were married, but that
declined to 55 percent of men and 51.5 percent of women in 2005, according to
the report.
Reasons for the decline include delaying first marriages, the growth of
cohabitation and a small decrease in divorced people remarrying, the report
said.
Kowalczyk, 30, of
Heed had asked Kowalczyk to marry him several times.
After he took her to a jewelry store to pick out a ring, she knew he was
serious. In June 2004, he asked her again, and she told him, "You know I'm
not going to say `No."'
It was something of a tribute to what had been Heed's almost miraculous
recovery.
An acknowledged "really, really mean" person, Heed was working as a
bouncer in a
He was supposed to be in a vegetative state for the rest of his life, his
family told him. But he steadily recovered to lead a mostly conventional life.
And he, Kowalczyk said, is a person who now cares a
great deal about others.
Still, he struggles to speak complete sentences, is taking medication to
eliminate seizures and has a spur-shaped scar on his left temple.
He has been working part time at a grocery in Algonquin.
He welcomed Kowalczyk's daughter, Kailyn,
9, who cannot speak and requires a ventilator to breathe.
She requires round-the-clock care, said Kowalczyk,
who has converted the den of the house she rents from her parents into a Disney-themed
"mini-intensive care unit." A bedroom serves as a storage closet for Kailyn's medical supplies.
That equipment, Kailyn's in-house nurse, medications and medical equipment
are paid for by Medicaid and other public aid, Kowalczyk
said. When she sat down to examine her finances, she said she determined the
combined income of her and Heed might endanger Kailyn's
aid.
That's when she started looking for an alternative to a conventional wedding
and found Hassett, a former
telecom sales executive. Hassett is a wedding
celebrant, part of a growing occupation that helps couples who, for any number
of reasons, want a ceremony formalizing their love and commitment.
By becoming an ordained
minister, Hassett can certify an official marriage by
signing a marriage certificate.
She also can preside over a "commitment ceremony," like the one Kowalczyk and Heed are planning. In those cases, Hassett signs a "keepsake" certificate of
marriage, which holds virtually no legal status.
If and when they move in together, Kowalczyk and Heed
would be part of a growing trend of unmarried cohabitation, statistics from the
National Marriage Project show. In 2005, 4.8 million adult couples of the
opposite sex were living together compared with about 440,000 in 1960.
But the likelihood that those arrangements will last for a long time is
suspect, said David Popenoe, co-director of the
National Marriage Project.
He estimated that about 75 percent of couples who
cohabitate break up, compared with the 40 percent to 50 percent divorce rate.
Kowalczyk and Heed contend they have little choice
and said they hope their somewhat unconventional commitment to each other helps
them navigate the hard times together.
"It's just a piece of paper," Kowalczyk
said of a marriage license.
"I'm still making a commitment to be with this person for the rest of my
life."
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tgregory@tribune.com