Anita Wadhwani

The Tennessean

NASHVILLE, Tenn. -- The first moment John Blake laid eyes on Cheryl Coleman, it was at a job interview. She was finishing up some work in front of the reception desk, blond hair falling across one cheek. He was having a few pre-interview jitters. And then:

"She looked up and our eyes met and I did a double-take," Blake said. "Her smile was radiant. She was beautiful. She said, 'You have fun in there.'"

Blake got the job at The Arc Tennessee, an agency that helps people with disabilities. He eventually worked up the courage to ask his co-worker out on a date, dinner and a movie — The Lorax. There was the first kiss, a breakup and then a make-up. Today, two years later, the couple will exchange vows at a small country church in Crossville, Coleman's hometown.

As love stories go, theirs may sound ordinary — but their courtship and marriage have taken the commitment of a small village to come this far.

Both have cerebral palsy, a physical disability that affects movement, speech and, in some cases, cognitive functioning. Both struggle to walk sometimes; neither can drive. Blake, who is 41, and Coleman, who is 38, had little experience dating before. Coleman was convinced marriage would never be in her future. She has never even been to a wedding. Saturday's will be her first.

But from the beginning, friends and coworkers said their connection was unmistakable. They stepped in to help nurture and, in some cases, gently nudge the couple along.

"We could tell right off John was smitten with her, but Cheryl wouldn't give him the time of day," said Glenda Bond, Coleman's special education teacher from grade school and a board member at The Arc. "But slowly, I could tell how much he meant to her. And every chance I could, I would plant a seed. And I think it took awhile for those seeds to land on fertile ground and for her to say, 'Yes, this could happen.'"

Co-workers drove them out on dates. They offered advice when asked. For Blake, there was little hesitation. The couple sometimes clashed about politics. They had different faiths. Blake knew Coleman was worried about his job prospects. She works two part-time jobs; he works only one.

"But I was smitten," Blake said, "from the beginning. She is absolutely beautiful, loving, radiant, and I've never met anyone like her."

Coleman had deeper reservations. She has had two boyfriends in her life, she said, one in the third grade and one as a teenager. She was taken advantage of by someone hired to care for her. And she was a Jehovah's Witness, expected to marry only within her faith. Blake is Catholic.

But there was something about Blake. He was her best friend. Their shared disability wasn't the thing that brought them together, Coleman said, but it was something that made them innately in tune with the other's needs.

"Even our parents get frustrated with us because we forget sometimes," she said. "With John, I think, 'So what if he forgets? I can pick up the slack.'"

So it was Coleman who initiated the first kiss — stunning Blake, who said, "Wow, can you do that again?" It was Coleman who invited Blake to move in with her. And it was Coleman who one day turned to Blake and said, "So you want to get married?"

Getting from "yes" to the wedding has required a small army of supporters. Facilitators using a giant whiteboard mapped out the couple's hopes and dreams for the wedding and helped them plot out what needed to be done. Coleman has to focus much of her mental energy on physically moving her body. Blake is a procrastinator. Like many couples, neither knew exactly how much work one wedding can take. And money was tight.

Saturday's wedding won't cost the couple a thing — except for the marriage license.

One co-worker at The Arc designed and mailed the invitations. Others organized a joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a bowling alley. Someone stepped forward to buy Blake a three-piece suit. Another co-worker is making Blake's groom's cake — baklava, at his request. Someone found soft-fitting, white shoes that Coleman can wear with the dress her mother bought her. The wedding party is a mix of people with and without disabilities.

Bond, the former special education teacher, enlisted her sister, a retired florist, to do the corsages, bouquets and the cascade of flowers that will decorate Coleman's walker as she walks down the aisle. Bond also asked her pastor to open up their small Methodist church to the couple for a nondenominational wedding. Coleman no longer has a home church, after deciding to marry Blake.

Bond and her husband have bought the couple a weeklong honeymoon in Gatlinburg. She expects the couple may be in for some extra wedding treats — such as admission to the aquarium or Dollywood. There's only one big-ticket item on the couple's wish list for their wedding: gift certificates to help them purchase a double bed they have on their registry at Walmart.

Amid an uphill battle for advocates to seek more services for people with disabilities in Tennessee, Blake and Coleman's wedding has been "one of the happiest moments we've had here at The Arc," said Peggy Cooper, the agency's communications manager, who pitched in to throw Coleman's wedding shower.

"There's a lot of doom and gloom sometimes," she said. "People with significant disabilities have the same dreams as all of us do. They dream of love, marriage, happiness. But most people never do. John and Cheryl are the lucky ones. It's been real happy times for all of us."