She hooked me the first time I saw her.

It was spring and I had just begun my first semester at Ball State after taking some time to grow up in the press room in one of my hometown's several factories. I had been in the dorm less than a week when she passed by my open door, wrapped in a flannel and her long, curly, dirty blonde locks.

Maddie's Mom was the girl every guy wanted to be with. She was lean and athletic, a natural beauty, smart, funny, and quick with a smile. She could throw back a few while playing cards with the boys, though they would never get too out of hand; she was also a lady, and she commanded that respect.

And, boy, was she sexy.

There was an instant and obvious attraction, at least on my end, though I couldn't make a play for her — she had a boyfriend. They were, in my eyes, a mismatch, though I suppose I might have exuded bias. I thought too much of her, though, to disrespect their relationship and maintained my distance … for awhile.

It wasn't until the following fall that things changed, that I cast aside my reservations and wantonly pursued her. It began with friendly conversation through email, welcoming each other back from summer break and catching up. After some time, though, I just felt I could no longer contain myself. I rationalized that if I had harbored feelings for her for that long, that if I just couldn't shake it, I had to tell her.

Her response, for the most part, was what I expected. She was surprised, flattered, speechless. She thanked me for telling her, but acknowledged her relationship. She also cracked the door a bit. There was no reason we couldn't be friends, she said, no reason we couldn't spend time with each other, get to know each other better.

Looking back, I know it was fait accompli with that first letter, that admission of how strongly to her I was drawn. While we both maintained the visage for sake of the others, and ourselves for awhile, the furtive glances, the gentle, almost imperceptible, always "accidental" touching, the sheer amount of time we spent in each other's company were only to one end: We were falling in love.

She and I were, in many ways, cut for one another. We shared far more qualities and interests than I tend to remember or acknowledge, and despite how things turned out, I know my life would not have been complete had she not been a part of it.

These days, I often regard our relationship as the vehicle for the blessing of my life, Maddie. But I know in my heart that she was — and still is — much more to me than my daughter's mother.

Ours was a fiery, passionate love affair, a meteor flaming through the night sky. It shown brilliantly for a time, was terrifically exciting, and drew the breath right out of us. But it was out of control, tempestuous, and because we could never find our balance, it eventually faded.

For all the ways in which we continually and ultimately failed each other, Maddie is our gift, the embodiment of a love too hot for us to hold on to ... our one perfection.