“A soul mate is someone who has locks that fit our keys, and keys to fit our locks. When we feel safe enough to open the locks, our truest selves step out and we can be completely and honestly who we are; we can be loved for who we are and not for who we’re pretending to be. Each unveils the best part of the other. No matter what else goes wrong around us, with that one person we’re safe in our own paradise. Our soul mate is someone who shares our deepest longings, our sense of direction. When we’re two balloons, and together our direction is up, chances are we’ve found the right person. Our soul mate is the one who makes life come to life.”

The Bridge Across Forever

-Richard Bach-

I used this quote at Catie's funeral. These words spoke to me and continue to speak to me in ways that I do not have the language to describe. The tragic end to Catie's life and the love we shared is a wound that never healed and a pain, though diminished, that never went away. Little did I know that, when Catie and I returned after our "performance" in Minnesota on December 7, 1985 and our time together that night and the following day, those would be the last times we would be sexually and physically intertwined in and with each other. At the time, being physically apart for three weeks seemed acceptable given what had happened with her dad and what we had planned. Not just for the short-term, but what we were imagining for the long-term; for the rest of our lives.

We didn't know that those days would be our last together. Those enemas we shared while making love, the day-long lovemaking we shared, the time I took to lick Catie "clean" before those last embraces in bed and before taking me to the airport to fly home were all part of the intimacy that we shared together. We were constantly discovering each other anew, exploring each other in what seemed to be intimacy unbounded by what was "normal."

I can say this: In these last days, whether I was with her or talking with her on the phone, I did not "hold back" in either the physical display of love and affection, nor the verbal. And for that, I am immensely grateful. Whatever the limitations we have in the adequacy of language, I take comfort in knowing that our last physical and verbal sharing were acts and words that conveyed the love that had developed between us.

I cannot know whether, in those last moments of consciousness, Catie was aware of what happened or what was happening, and whether she was scared. It was likely, given the events of the morning that her thoughts, directly or indirectly, were about us; about the child or children growing inside her. That I said "yes" to her in having children or in any decisions she made at that time. And. most importantly, I affirmed my love for her in my last words to her.

In some of my waking moments when I have thought about this, I have wondered if Catie couldn't/didn't wait and told her mom that she was pregnant or announced to her mom that her mom was going to become a grandmother. Was her mom distracted by the news and were her last thoughts about becoming a grandmother? Again, I have no way of knowing. And there is the natural tendency to think that had I been there, I could have made a difference (e.g., by seeing the oncoming truck and avoiding the accident). Would a single second, on one side or the other of the collision that did occur, have made a difference? These are the desperate "what-ifs" that occur in processing what has actually happened. Over time, and over the years, there is the realization that the "what-ifs" didn't happen and what I am left with is what did happen and the way it altered all of our lives.

Few people around me know much about Catie and my experiences with her other than I met a woman on the train from Portland to Chicago and we had a really fun time together. I've pretty much left it at that, or that "things didn't work out" and I went on with my life after that experience. I didn't want to reopen the memories, the doubts, and the "what if's" and "if only's" of second guessing that were so much a part of that small time slice of my life after her death.

Part of not recounting these experiences was that everything that occurred was a deeply personal experience at a time in my life when I was really "out there" shining brightly like a beacon. It might have been very hard to sustain that way of being for a lifetime, but it was exciting while it was happening.

When I started recounting this slice of time in my life, I did not intend to give as full a recounting as I have. The reason is I knew how it ended and I've always known that sharing the ending, would be painful and just as sudden for those reading this as it was for me, in the moment. Knowing, living through, and sharing the ending is the main reason why I haven't shared this before.

As much as I learned about myself through the divorce, my recovery, and the time spent with Catie, it didn't prevent me from wrestling with all the choices and the "what if's" that occurred for me at the time. I could not and cannot change the past and the sense of being powerless can be overwhelming. But I can also celebrate what we shared. There are parts of that life that I kept and others I locked away.

In the end, it simply is "what is." And at the other end of a lifetime from when these experiences occurred, I can look back with fondness for the love that grew within us and we shared. I hope you have gained an appreciation for the extraordinary times and the life and love we shared. Although aspects of the life and the relationships that had developed around Catie and I continued for some period of time, none of them were local to me and our paths through life diverged. I am glad I finally have gotten to share them here.