Dearest Catherine,

It's been a week now, since Margaret passed away. Father has begun to heal. I think what makes this possible are those seven days they spent together, in love.

It seems that Margaret awakened something in Father I have never seen before, as if a missing piece has been restored, a piece of his innocence, a piece of his youth. Margaret was a longing he carried with him, a painful memory of what he left behind. The years could not diminish that longing. Before there was always a sadness in Father's eyes I could not understand. It was a secret he kept hidden from all of us, a secret he could never share, until now.

I suppose we all carry our secrets, like winter garments we are unable to shed because we cannot believe spring has finally come. All my life I have kept a secret Catherine, but I can keep it no longer from you.

From the time I was young, I dreamt of being held close, close enough to someone to feel the warmth of their body against mine. I longed for it. Sometimes, I ached for it. to be held, tenderly against the breast of a woman, to have my head stroked gently, to hear a voice whisper that all is safe and well.

And I dreamt of holding someone in my arms; holding them and feeling their heart beat within mine, but always there was the hunger. At first I did not know what it was, when I did, that hunger terrified me. Where would it take me? Would I lose myself? Would my hunger destroy what I held most dear?

But those dreams were only intimations, shadows of what could be, until the night I found you. Catherine, you gave a name to those feelings, a face to those dreams, and now I know what frightened me so.

Everytime I hold you I feel such peace until the hunger begins to stir inside me. Do not be frightened. i would take my life before I would endanger yours. And so I struggle with myself.

What shall we do? Perhaps the only way is to hold each other close and take a leap of faith into the dark night.

Sleep well, my dearest Catherine, sleep well.