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I knew we were soul mates two weeks after we met.

I was 23, just 1 year into a marriage that should never have happened. He was 15 years older, with 3 children and a marriage that had already involved several separations. We both worked for a publishing company.

"So, where'd they find you?" he asked as I strained to reach a top shelf in the library of scientific periodicals I'd volunteered to set up for the company.

"In the usual barrel of assistant editors," I fired back.

We worked in offices a few yards apart and became genuine friends within a month. In a small company, everybody notices.

When it became apparent we were indeed soul mates, finishing each other's sentences effortlessly, we decided to back off and take a hard look at the situation. The physical attraction was enormous, too. Since the staff traveled a great deal, we were often at the same functions on the road, in adjoining seats on planes, and having meals together in restaurants.

I had no desire to render three kids somewhat fatherless. He didn't want to wreck a new marriage, no matter how ill advised the union had been. We went our separate ways as far as personal interaction and worked on our respective marriages for the better part of two years.

Eventually, I moved to Illinois, an adjoining state, to accept a wonderful job offer. We kept in touch by phone every month. Now in my late twenties and divorced, I dated quite a string of men. None of the relationships held a candle to the one I had experienced with my soul mate.

His children grew up and graduated from high school, one by one. Shortly after I married my second husband, he and and wife finally divorced. I had a baby. We still kept in touch.

One day when I least expected it, I got a phone call.

"You've been on my mind all day," he mused. "I sense something's terribly wrong. What's going on?"

I told him about my recent diagnosis of a chronic illness and my fears about my current marriage, as well as a major blowup from earlier in the day. He asked me to leave my husband and bring my daughter. It was high time we got married, he insisted.

Being a mother, I didn't have to think twice. I could not risk my daughter's future by running off in the night with her. I envisioned a horrific divorce trial and being left penniless.

A few years later, I got another call.

"I've met someone, and I think it's time I settled down again," he began. "But I wanted to ask one more time if you're free . . ."

Although life wasn't particularly rosy, my daughter was still small. I gave him the same answer any mom would offer.

The Christmas cards arrived for maybe five years. Then they stopped. I asked a male friend to call him once just to make sure he was all right. He and his wife were doing well.

Last year, about to turn 60, I decided I had to find out what had happened to him. The Internet dredged up no clues that he was still at any of the addresses I had. Calls to his two sons, who had apparently stayed in the area, yielded only voicemail and unreturned messages.

On impulse, I checked the Social Security death registry.

He had died almost five years previously. After asking around, I found out his wife still had his ashes in her closet.

I miss saying the final goodbye.

Learn more about this author, Vonda Sines.
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