We all have scars, some buried beneath clothing – others have it buried in their soul.
Some of us proudly display the marks that define our lives – others keep them hidden as secrets until they need to show them to protect not themselves but us.
Today as Caryn O’Connor is buried only a few people will know what made her scars. Last week she took her own life, it was reported she had suffered depression most of her adult life. What I didn’t know was “Why”.
I was to find out that at 13 she was raped while at a concert in downtown Detroit – too young and too shaken she buried that scar and only told a friend later in life. Years later while working for Ford Motor Company and living alone she let a neighbor in – the visit ended when he raped her. She never reported it until years later and carried a huge amount of guilt as another neighbor was later raped by the same man.
Years later a car accident left her brain damaged and as part of her rehabilitation in 2006 she was sent to a clinic at the University of Michigan, where a therapist by the name of Thomas Higgins took her case.
The last I can find on Thomas Higgins is he is in jail for sexual misconduct against his clients. It was a plea deal that saved him from possible life terms in jail – but to at least one of the many victims it has been a life sentence. My friend Caryn was one of the victims to come forward and report his actions, but not before he attacked her. But her reporting him, stopped him and saved many other potential victims.
A lawyer in the case asked Caryn the impact that Higgins had on her “He shattered my life,” she said. “Sometimes I can’t leave my house. I don’t like it when people look at me. I feel like I’m a burden because I’m always so sad, who would want to be around me? I don’t smile much anymore. I don’t do anything anymore. I just — I don’t dream. I don’t — I’m not — I’m the living dead.”
I don’t know when or how, but Caryn somehow started to rebuild. I have read on her timeline how while traveling to Palm Springs to a Tony Robbins event she got stranded in Phoenix – but met other travelers on their way and jumped in a car and drove the rest of the way laughing as good friends do.
I read a blog on how others met her while traveling in RV’s around the USA. Their colorful descriptions help me see a shy, perhaps troubled, but loving woman. It’s strange but these small stories start to build great big pictures of her for me.
I see her pictures and see her smile, holding Jake her dog and I see empathy. I find out she was involved in a group trying to bring more joy to all of us. And still I am left sad.
I wish I had some great metaphor that made this okay, but I don’t.
All I do know is that in my life I am finding that the greatest heroes – the greatest people I have ever met are all broken somehow. But when they were needed they were there to help others.
Good Night my sweet friend – sleep well – I hope we speak again.
