A Date Remembered 11/18/1989

On the 16th of November, I had my last phone conversation with her. She had asked if I had checked the messages on our answering machine. It was a funny question, especially since I was four thousand miles away, on Unalaska Island. Why would I even bother?

If only I had. Though I doubt it would have changed much. She died the following night, harrassed and restrained, under water in our bathtub. Not quite alone.

Lisa Michelle Barselou died in the very early hours of the morning on November 18, 1989 under the strangest of circumstances -- no forced entry, a few of her personal belongings missing, and my engagement ring still on her finger. No other items were taken. This wasn't a random act of violence during a robbery. This was a deliberate act.

I received a satellite phone call in the evening following very difficult day of mechanical problems on board the factory trawler where I was Chief Engineer. The call was from my father, in tears, telling me that Lisa had been killed. Back in those days, the satellite phone fidelity was clear enough, but at $10 per minute, you didn't waste time on the phone. He made it clear that she wasn't killed in a car accident or some other unfortunate happenstance. Someone had taken the life of my future wife. The captain of the trawler, a friend, turned the vessel around and headed back for port -- we were about 8 hours away. Thus started my nightmare of loss, of derailment, and a fundamental change in my motivation for life. I would never be the same.

I remember Lisa every November, but this particular year has a more strong connection. The days and dates are identical to those in 1989. She died on a Friday night/Saturday morning, alone in the house, except for her attacker. Tonight, the 17th is a Friday as well.

I've thought about her all day today, but this evening almost went by without an observance of her loss. I loved her and miss her. I have moved on, happily married to someone else, with two beautiful children on the other side of the country. But there are parts of me, that yearn for the life we had together, the friends we shared, the places we haunted.

I haven't spoken to her family in about ten years, and I suspect her father has joined her in peace and light. I miss them too.

But on this November night, I remember her, and love her. I always will.

Prayers and love to you, Lisa Barselou, wherever you may be.