Lynn Denise Krupey

The Beginning: April 1992

I came to Wilmington, North Carolina in April 1992, still grieving the loss of Celta eighteen months earlier. I was broken, carrying the weight of that tragedy, uncertain if I would ever feel whole again. I found solace in the local poetry scene, attending readings where words and emotions flowed freely.

That's where I met Lynn Denise Krupey. She was a regular at the poetry readings, a vibrant presence with golden hair and a spirit that seemed to light up the room. Despite my shyness, despite my grief, I found myself drawn to her. And somehow, miraculously, she was drawn to me too.

Our First Date: July 4, 1992

Our official first date was July 4th, 1992. We went to the jetty at Carolina Beach, where the ocean met the sky in an endless expanse of blue. We walked, we talked, we began to discover each other. It was the beginning of something neither of us fully understood yet—a love that would define both our lives.

Throughout that summer and into fall, we spent more and more time together. Poetry readings, walks by the Cape Fear River, quiet moments where words weren't necessary. I was falling in love, though my shyness and past trauma made it difficult to express.

Our First Kiss: October 1992

October 1992 brought one of the most memorable moments of my life. We were at Wrightsville Beach, walking along the shore. The moment felt suspended in time—the sound of waves, the feel of sand beneath our feet, the electricity in the air between us.

And then it happened. Our first kiss. In that moment, everything else faded away. There was only Lynn, only us, only the profound connection we were building together.

Becoming "Us": July 2, 1993

We dated throughout the fall and winter, our bond growing deeper with each passing week. But it wasn't until July 2, 1993, that we officially became a couple. That was the day we exchanged those three powerful words: "I love you."

For me, those words carried the weight of everything Celta had taught me about being worthy of love. For Lynn, who had her own struggles with cystic fibrosis and the challenges it brought, those words were a promise of partnership, of facing life's difficulties together.

The Engagement: Late May 1994

Late May 1994 brought what I still consider the brightest moment of my entire life. I took Lynn to a jewelry store to pick out an engagement ring. When she realized what was happening, when she understood that I was asking her to be my wife, tears of pure joy streamed down her face.

Those tears—that moment—remains crystallized in my memory as the pinnacle of happiness. To see someone you love that deeply, that completely, respond with such overwhelming emotion to your proposal... there are no words adequate to describe it.

We couldn't legally marry due to Lynn's health insurance requirements related to her cystic fibrosis. But we didn't need a legal document to be married. We were married in every way that truly mattered—in our hearts, in our commitment to each other, in the life we built together.

Our Life Together

Lynn and I lived together as partners, building a life filled with creativity, love, and shared dreams. We co-founded Word Salad Poetry Magazine, bringing together our passion for words and our desire to create something meaningful in the world.

We had countless moments of joy—walks on the beach, poetry readings, quiet evenings at home. We also faced challenges together, particularly as Lynn's health fluctuated. Cystic fibrosis was a constant presence in our lives, but we refused to let it define our relationship or diminish our love.

The Separation: Around 2000

Around 2000, as Lynn's health declined more seriously, we made the difficult decision to separate physically, though never emotionally. The demands of her illness, the practical challenges of caregiving, and the complexity of our situation led us to live apart, though our love never diminished.

Those years apart were painful, filled with longing and the constant awareness of time slipping away. We maintained our connection, our love story continuing even as circumstances kept us physically separated.

The Loss: 2015

In 2015, Lynn died from cancer. After years of battling cystic fibrosis, after surviving so much, cancer took her from this world. The grief was overwhelming, the loss immeasurable. The woman whose tears of joy had been the brightest moment of my life was gone.

But our love story doesn't end with her death. Love like ours transcends physical presence. The memories we created, the life we built together, the profound impact we had on each other—these things endure. They always will.

A Heartfelt Thank You

Before I continue, I must express my deepest gratitude to Diane Carey, Lynn's mother. Diane provided us with a home—a place where Lynn and I could build our life together. More importantly, she took care of Lynn when I couldn't be there, when circumstances and my own struggles made it impossible for me to provide the care Lynn needed. Diane's generosity, love, and unwavering support for her daughter through the challenges of cystic fibrosis were extraordinary. Thank you, Diane, for everything you did for Lynn and for us. Your love and sacrifice will never be forgotten.

A Desperate Appeal: Help Me Remember

I am writing this with a heavy heart and a profound sense of loss that extends beyond Lynn's passing. When Lynn's illness struck with full force, the trauma was overwhelming. I thought I would be with her forever—or at least until death would part us. But the sudden severity of her cystic fibrosis, combined with my own struggles, created circumstances I could not have imagined.

In the aftermath of tragedy, I lost nearly all of our photographs. The countless photos we took together—walking on the beach, at poetry readings, the everyday moments that documented our love—are gone. My memories feel incomplete without these visual anchors to our shared past. I have so few images remaining of the woman who was my greatest love, my soulmate, my everything.

If anyone has photographs of Lynn—or of Lynn and me together—it would be an immeasurable gift.

Perhaps you attended poetry readings with us in Wilmington in the 1990s. Perhaps you knew Lynn through her pottery work, or through mutual friends. Perhaps you have a photo tucked away in an old album or stored on an old computer. Any image, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, would be precious beyond measure.

I am desperate to recover these visual memories of Lynn—her smile, her golden hair, the way she looked when she was creating pottery or reading poetry. These images would help restore what trauma has taken from me.

A Lasting Legacy

Lynn taught me that love could heal, that partnership could transform, that even in the face of chronic illness and overwhelming challenges, joy and beauty could flourish. Our love story, though marked by separation and ultimately by loss, remains one of the greatest gifts of my life.

When I remember Lynn, I remember her tears of joy at the jewelry store. I remember walking hand in hand on infinite beaches. I remember her golden hair flowing in the wind, her laughter, her strength, her incredible spirit. I remember being loved completely, unconditionally, forever.

That love sustains me still. In every poem I write, in every memory I cherish, Lynn lives on. And in living on, she continues to teach me what really matters: love, connection, and the moments that define our lives.

Contact Information

If you have photographs of Lynn, or if you knew her during our time together in Wilmington and would like to share memories, please reach out to me:

Any photographs, memories, or stories you can share would be received with profound gratitude. You would be helping restore a part of my past that trauma has stolen from me.