Altered Lives

The second night after Fleming's death, an anguished Strong lay awake, replaying the harrowing scenes in her mind—the flood, the hospital, the funeral home. Though still in shock, her rage was mounting.  "I could handle someone calling me a homo," she told NEWSWEEK. "But saying you don't count, that's something that had to change."

Strong knew that a bill had been introduced in the Washington state legislature aimed at granting same-sex couples and older unmarried adults some of the same rights—such as those to make medical decisions and inherit property—as those enjoyed by married couples. Several days after the funeral service, she called to her friend Joe McDermott, then one of five openly gay representatives in the state legislature, asking if she could help push the bill. A little more than a month after Fleming's death, Strong appeared before a state Senate subcommittee and told in measured tones what happened that December night and in the days that followed.

Hearing how Strong was treated the night of Kate Fleming's tragic death was "critical" for lawmakers, says Lisa Stone, the director of the Northwest Women's Law Center, which advocated for the bill. "It's always better if you can put a face to an issue." Last April, thanks in part to Strong's powerful testimony, the bill passed. Strong was there when Gov. Christine Gregoire signed the bill into law, making Washington the eighth state to officially recognize same-sex couples. Two filmmakers were also on hand, recording the ceremony for Equal Rights Washington, an advocacy group for the state's gay and lesbian community. Before the day was over, one of the filmmakers, David Rothmiller, had persuaded Strong to participate in a documentary about her experiences in the wake of Fleming's death. "Our goal is to present Charlene and Kate's story as one that isn't threatening," says Rothmiller. "It's a threatening topic to some people because they don't understand why we should allow homosexuals to marry."

The film, "For My Wife," will be released at selected film festivals next month. Strong, who plans to help promote the film, will also travel to New York where she will get training as a public speaker and activist from the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (GLAAD). "Charlene has a powerful story that resonates with people," says GLAAD President Neil Giuliano. "That's why she's very compelling."

These days Strong lives in a studio apartment in Seattle, having moved there from her water-ravaged home last February. The couple's three cats have been farmed out to friends and neighbors, but Strong's dog, Pepper, is still with her. She's quit her job as a dental-office manager, for now, to devote herself full time to her cause. The other day, she drove to the postage stamp of a house where Fleming died, even as clouds hung low over the Seattle landscape. Flowers had been left by friends to mark the one-year anniversary of Fleming's death. A picture of Fleming was there as well, inscribed by Strong: "I miss you Kate. You will always be the love of my life."

Accompanied by a reporter from NEWSWEEK, Strong opened the door to the house and the stench of mildew wafted through the rooms. The wooden floors were dirty and warped. The shirt Fleming was wearing still lay where it was tossed aside that night by paramedics. The basement was littered with debris and the walls were boarded up where the water had coursed through and taken out one side of the house. NO TRESPASSING signs were posted on the wooden fence and the once-manicured garden was overgrown with weeds.