ROCKVILLE, Md. — The baggage lingered in the periphery for a long time, slowly accumulating like belongings in an attic.
Meredith Dwyer didn’t share it after the initial match on the Hinge dating app. Nor in several months of on-and-off messaging. Nor even after the plan, at long last, to meet for drinks.
Meredith knew she would eventually have to address it and figured that it would probably have to happen on the first date. She knew in her gut that it was only fair to broach it quickly; she might not like baring her soul to a relative stranger, but it was better to do so before that stranger became a companion with feelings and stakes and commitments and dreams.
But there was something holding her back, something she wasn’t quite expecting: She really liked this guy.
He seemed so kind and so gentle, so sincere in his interest and earnest in his intentions. Some small part of Meredith wanted to be selfish, to enjoy the attention and the interest from a man unencumbered by her baggage. She wanted to live for a short while in a state of suspended reality untethered from vulnerability, the kind she saw so many of her twentysomething peers bask in before the universe had rendered the same joy impossible for her.
Meredith’s “better angels” about the opposite sex had been sharpened into a ruthless bullshit detector, a sixth sense that told her she had ample reason to be concerned. Sharing her baggage, she worried, would rob him of his kindness, turning him into the same kind of cruel individual who took photos of her on the New York City subway and made leering comments as she made her way through the world committing no crime other than existing. Worse yet, he might prove to be exactly as kind and sweet and gentle as she believed him to be . . . but her baggage might scare him off anyway.
Plus, it wasn’t like she was hiding it. Most of it was right there in her Hinge profile. She had uploaded a few photos, some from before and some from after — careful not to intentionally mislead anyone. In the prompts, she made a few self-deprecating jokes, hoping the suitors in her messages would put two-and-two together without requiring a painstaking explanation. Hoping that one suitor in particular, the boy from the first date, would get it.
That boy, Brett Gray, said nothing on the first date. The couple had a delightful conversation that touched on what seemed like all topics except for Meredith’s baggage. They immediately clicked. They made plans to meet again.
“Second date was Topgolf,” Brett recalls now.
Figured it’d make him look athletic and manly. He didn’t know that Meredith had played a little . . . and had plans to start playing a lot more.
“She shows up and just rips a 300-yard driver — and what I didn’t find out was that was her first time golfing since her surgery,” Brett says. “I can’t imagine how nerve-wracking that was for her.”
At one point during the night, Meredith cornered Brett on The Big Stuff.
“She just said, ‘Do you want kids? What do you want?’” Brett says. “I was like, cool, same page, let’s do this.“
Except for one thing: Still no baggage.
Finally, on the third date, Meredith had had enough. Brett tried to lead with small talk, and Meredith cut him off. She was tired of suspended reality. She was ready for the real thing.
“Are you gonna ask me about my leg?” she asked, equal parts relieved and exasperated.
She gestured in the direction of her left leg, or, rather, where her left leg might be. Just months earlier, Meredith had undergone an amputation to remove everything beneath her knee — the result of a lifetime with a clubfoot that had required eight procedures in eight years.
She wasn’t sure what to expect from Brett in that moment, but she knows she wasn’t expecting the response she got.
A smile. A real, genuine smile. And then the words that changed the rest of her life.
“I knew,” he said. “I wanted you to tell me when it was time.”
The years since that conversation have taught Meredith Dwyer a lot about baggage.
She has learned to lead with vulnerability — to talk about her leg and her experience and her struggles and her hopes and her dreams. She has learned to own her weaknesses, and to try to love them. Mostly, though, she has learned the best way to deal with baggage is to find someone who helps you carry it.
In this case, the metaphor is particularly apt. Meredith has become an accomplished golfer since that Topgolf date, breezing her way through qualifying for two straight U.S. Adaptive Opens (including this week’s edition at Woodmont Country Club), and quickly ascending to the top ranks of the rapidly growing adaptive game. Brett, meanwhile, has become Meredith’s literal baggage-carrier. He’s her caddie.
Kathryn Riley/USGA
“I’m not a golfer,” he says. “I’m more of the emotional support caddie. I’m mostly there to make sure she stays calm. It sounds silly, but I’m here to help her stop caring about each shot. To realize that we’ve got bigger goals than just one golf shot. And when you stop caring about each shot, you get better.”
That is sage wisdom for a looper with limited experience, particularly on a bag like Meredith’s. She relies upon a swing that utilizes the forces of physics and momentum more than brute strength, and a prosthetic that can shift stability and comfort without warning, particularly on hot, humid days like on Monday and Tuesday at this Adaptive Open. It is Brett’s job to keep Meredith on task and on time — two skills that require a deft hand around his boss, who tends to treat mountains and molehills with equally withering gusto.
“We’re both so competitive; we butt heads, ” Brett says. “But it really hasn’t carried past the third hole. Same at home — I think how you’re cleaning the dishes is wrong, but you’re gonna do it your way. It just works.”
In golf and in life, opposites attract. Life has taken part of Meredith’s leg, but it has given her spectacular willpower and courage. Life has given Brett the levity to temper those flames when they get too hot, and the warmth to keep the fire burning when Meredith runs cold. In place of the highs and lows, Meredith has found compassion for herself.
“He understood what he was ‘taking on,’ Meredith says with finger quotes. “He knows there are going to be days when I need more help, and I’m okay taking it.”
With Brett’s help, it is not uncommon to hear Meredith discuss her baggage in considerably different terms — terms that she herself would not have dared to think about around Brett or anyone just a few years ago.
“In the adaptive golf community, a lower leg amputation is like a paper cut,” she says. Realizing how unfathomable that framing might sound, she laughs. “I’m serious!”
This is the mindset of a champion. At least, that’s what Meredith hopes. From the hospital after her amputation, she began to dream of a life as a Paralympian — the ultimate proof, she says, that she could be successful not in spite of her amputation but because of it. Outside of golf, she has started training for discus and shot-put competitions, leaning on an elite training team based in her native Teaneck, N.J., and as far away as San Diego.
Brett is among those trainers, occasionally tapping into his experience as a high school shot putter and discus thrower, but more often providing emotional support.
“The thing I was most attracted to was her confidence,” Brett says. “She knew who she was, she knew what she wanted. I’m a realist, so I’m always saying, let’s slow down, be realistic — I don’t want you to get crushed.”
As with all good relationships, the emotional transformation has worked both ways.
“She always crushes those expectations and gets everything she says she will,” Brett continues. “I just stopped doubting her, because I know she’s gonna end up getting whatever she wants — because she’s so determined. Once track is done — whatever that means — something’s coming next. I don’t know what it is, but something’s coming next.”
Belief. It’s a magical thing in the heart of a caddie, and can mainline straight into the player’s psyche.
Meredith does not always excel, but with Brett on the bag, she never fails to believe. You don’t have to be a romantic to see the love in that.
“I was like, oh man, who’s gonna want to date me?” Meredith says. “I didn’t even like how I looked, missing half my leg. And he just accepted it. He loved every part of it.”
Meredith spends little time thinking about her baggage these days, and for good reason. She might have lost a limb, but she found the person of her dreams.
And that, it turns out, is the biggest surprise of this love story. Brett taught Meredith that love does not begin on a Hinge profile or on a first date. It does not even begin with a boyfriend.
Love begins the hard way. With the person we face in the mirror every morning.
“Everyone has baggage. It’s how you carry that baggage that matters,” Meredith says. “Are you dragging it behind you, or are you putting it on your back and climbing up that damn mountain?”
The author welcomes your thoughts at james.colgan@golf.com.
“>
