On Homecoming weekend 2026, six alumni stood on the beach below Young Hall, where we lived nearly 30 years ago, to remember a friend and classmate who passed away from ALS in October last year. Our group included myself, Kim (Perry) Charles (98), George Williamson (97, 11), Jeff Williams (98), Amy (Andersen) Beam (01), Amy Billings (01), and some of her family who knew Kati Enright.
We laid pink tulips on a smooth black rock as the sun dipped into the Pacific, just as Kati Enright would have wanted. She was a bright and wondrous force whose friendship, pranks, and laughter impacted our college years, if not our lives.
Kati was a legend – a high school prom queen from Chicago who showed up to school in a red sports car blasting Rancid and Mighty Mighty Bosstones like the lead actress in a John Hughes film. Known affectionately as “Cago,” she had a magnetic confidence and mischievous streak that made ordinary days feel cinematic.
In 1999, classmates Amy Billings, Nichole Graber (99), and Jordan (Bredholt) Schriver (00) lived with Kati in Flex Housing, forming bonds that extended beyond dorm life into shared houses in Point Loma and La Jolla. They spent nights laughing in hot tubs and sipping coffee on worn couches in places like the Cat Lounge. At the time, it felt like a typical college experience with those who hoped for lifetime friendships.
Kati was a child development major who planned to teach elementary school children. Amy was a nursing major and nothing seemed to gross her out. One night while hanging out together at home, they made each other a promise.
“If anything ever happens, I’ll take care of you,” Kati told Amy.
“And if you ever need me, I’ll be there for you no matter what,” Amy replied.
Years passed. We all went our different ways across the country. Kati moved back to Chicago around 2015, where she became an actual rock star, performing at the Hard Rock and living in a shining skyscraper overlooking Lake Michigan. [She worked in healthcare for Medtronic and then Sirtex.] Meanwhile, Amy had moved to Colorado and became an RN at a hospital, working in the ICU.
In February of 2023, after struggling to move her fingers on her left hand, Kati subjected herself to dozens of tests. Her father was with her a year later when the doctors spoke the words no one wants to hear: she was a “fast progressor” with Lou Gehrig’s disease.
True to form, Kati kept the news quiet but started planning. There were still things she wanted to experience, places she wanted to see, such as her ancestral home of Ireland. She confided in one person. She told Amy everything.
Yet Kati never stopped being Kati.
After visiting Glacier National Park and the mountains of Canada, Kati found herself roommates with Amy once more. As her condition advanced, Amy used her personal time off and sick days to care for her – lifting her out of bed, helping her dress, bathe, and even use the bathroom.
Yet Kati never stopped being Kati.
At drive-thrus, she would secretly place mirrored stickers below the windows that read, “You Are Beautiful.” Wearing a show-stopping pair of cowboy boots, she zipped through the grocery store on a red motorized shopping cart – laughing as she reversed into shelves and peeling around corners. Even as her body weakened, her spirit refused to shrink.
As she planned her end-of-life arrangements, Kati envisioned a cabin in “Wydaho,” along the border of Wyoming and Idaho. Against the wishes of others who advised her to stay in a sterile hospital, Kati chose a warm mountain home. In her cabin, she was surrounded by her dogs and friends who took turns staying with her, offering her hospice care. One night a friend played the violin as she fell asleep.
Her final few weeks passed more quickly than anyone expected. The disease ate at Kati’s slim frame as she lost the ability to swallow or talk. In October, she passed away with Amy by her side as the steady pour of rain outside her cabin window transitioned over to a light snowfall.
Everyone who knew Kati has a story about how she never lived a normal day.
When Kati didn’t wake up first the next morning, Amy knew she had died in her sleep. There would be no more washing of her bedsheets and taking her medical readings. No more playing around with her wheelchair. Kati’s light in this world was gone.
Everyone who knew Kati has a story about how she never lived a normal day. Kati had a way of interrupting our routines with “what if” ideas that became our best college memories. She had a “let’s see what we can get away with today” approach to life that attracted us to her because it was always in good fun.
She never made it to Ireland. But nearly three decades after we first met at Point Loma, we stood once again on the beach below Young Hall, remembering the legend of Kati Enright.
Story by Becca (Bredholt) Lombardo (98), a Point Loma alumna who wrote for The Point Weekly and the university magazine during her four years on campus. She later contributed to publications including Huffington Post, Yahoo Travel, and Orlando Magazine.
