Cassie

I thought of Cassie today. I do occasionally, only once a month or so now. But for awhile what was done to her haunted me. Its not that I had ever been so close to her. Katie was. I remember her as being golden and rosy. Very kind. Overly bubbly for me, who has been called overly bubbly; she was that warm. I remember how her gruesome murder shocked us, it was incomprehensible. And I was also obscenely curious. I'm not proud of that. I was on a plane when I finally read the article about exactly how he had killed her, a total nightmare of dismemberment and death at the hands of the boy she had maybe loved. I thought I wanted to know. But I still haven't forgotten the sickly strawberry smell of my vomit as I heaved, my body out of control as it reacted with utter horror.

Its years later now, and when Cassie crosses my mind she individualizes statistics for me. Having just compulsively re-read articles and looked through her memorial site, I'm struck as well by my sorrow for him. What happened to this boy? What do we do to our boys so that they do this to our girls? Sad too by some of her family's assertions that Cassie would never have been a victim of domestic violence. That means nothing. Do any of us know what we would really do in these profoundly sick situations? Haven't we all realized with fear how deeply in love we were, and wondered what extremes that love would put up with? More to the point, the power dynamics that color nearly all of our desicions.

I remember her memorial at EMS, sitting in a circle singing hippie songs that were at once beautiful/fitting/tawdry/obscene. How the teachers seemed so much older with grief. Thinking we were too young to know how to do her justice. That she was too young to die. I think now that this will never get easier, but only harder. How nearly all of my close friends have been raped or assaulted. When asked to step in the circle if I've known anyone who has been a survivor of assault I don't even know who to picture anymore- its a blur of faces. Does that get easier? No. Each time I am more angry, more convinced that I have to find someway to make this better.

Re-reading Cassie's words for her own eulogy moved me, and I hope they touch you. I can only imagine what a sweet life she would probably be living now. If I were her, if I were dead, if I could be, I'd be pissed off, 'oh good, my death helps remind you to live more fully. Nice.' But I can't imagine Cassie being so bitter.


"There are those who lived longer, and those who lived better for the world, but she made a difference that mattered, even on a small scale. She was protector to her family, and to women who thought themselves weak. She taught them, as best she could, to find confidence and inner power Ÿ She decided she was going to adopt as many female children as she could support; she brought up those girls to be strong women Ÿ She wrote books that didn't reach mainstream bookstores, but the content mattered Ÿ She loved dogs. The world's not drastically different because of her, but there are signs that she lived. The women she raised grew up to be powerful, and took those values into the world with them. Dogs led happier lives, and her books touched the lives of few, but loyal, readers." (Cassie Brown)