Friday, April 07, 2006

Casey Headstone

Saturday, April 01, 2006

The Jill Carroll Connection

By Will Martin

I don't know Jill Carroll. Though we're both journalists, I cannot remember our having ever met. So why was it as the story of her captivity and release at the hand of Iraqi insurgents unfolded, she seemed so vaguely familiar? As a news editor and a combat medic in the National Guard, I've formed a necessary capacity for emotional detachment, so I knew this wasn't mere sentiment or chivalrous concern. I didn't know Jill Carroll, but somehow, I felt as if I should.

Yesterday, as images of her release saturated television news hours, the murky grew clear: the face, the name; here position as a foreign correspondent in the Near East. Might this be Casey's Jill, or, if memory serves, her "Jillybean?"

Until cancer claimed her body in 2004, Casey had been my girlfriend and closest companion. For about two years, we shared in the highs and lows of life, an ebb and flow exacerbated by her repeated bouts with Hodgkin's Disease, a cancer most common to young adults and the elderly.
Casey, aside from an accomplished sportswriter, was an excellent friend.

She possessed an innate skill for relationship, a gift she eagerly shared with any whom would receive it. Strangers couldn't remain as such for long in Casey's presence; her hospitable spirit wouldn't allow it. And neither could friendships already existing die of neglect; her loyalty forbade it.

It is not surprising, then, that I should recall the details of Jill's life though we had never met. Raised a Michigander like myself (yes, that's what we're really called and your jealousy won't change the fact), Jill grew close to Casey during their work at The Collegian, the student newspaper of the University of Massachusetts. Casey detailed her time at UMass with such animation that when I shared a meal with her college friends around the time of her funeral, most of the stories familiar. I felt at times as if I was rewatching a beloved movie from my youth, one from which I could quote the cherished lines, another evidence of the devotion and pride which Casey held toward her family and friends.

The details surrounding Jill's life were no exception, and as I Googled her yesterday, my suspicions were confirmed: Employment at the Wall Street Journal; a stint in Jordan; Ann Arbor roots. Yes! This was indeed Casey's Jill. Strangely excited, I began to spread the news of my discovery among the soldiers with whom I'm now deployed to Washington, D.C.

"Hey, I know that girl!" I exclaimed, pointing to our workplace television bearing Jill's face as if I was claiming a connection to a Hollywood celeb. "Well, sort of know her. I used to date her close friend. I just realized who she was."

The responses ranged from apparent apathy to screaming ignorance: "Well, no offense to your friend, but I hope these Bible bangers have learned their lesson."

"Bible bangers?"

"Yeah, the Christian Science Monitor," came the retort, spoken with a painful slowness, so as to make such lofty knowledge accessible to even me.

Derailed into explaining that freelancing for the Christian Science Monitor does not a missionary make, I resigned to exploring my excitement with myself. On this day, I truly was an Army of One. Suddenly, I realized the only one with whom I really wanted to celebrate Jill's release was the one with whom I cannot. This is not the first time: "Casey, how 'bout them Red Sox?!!";
"Your Dad, he rode his bike coast to coast. Eat your heart out, Lance!"; "Did you read that Mitch Albom column the other day?"; "Ian and Emily - they're getting married".

Rather than reach out to mutual friends and Casey's family, I've dealt with such emotive blockage by turning further inward and moving onward. While I think of Casey often, and Matt's blog has served as a healing balm on many a night, I don't dwell on all things Casey, and I rarely pick up a phone or e-mail to connect with those who knew her best. As to whether this modus operandi is dysfunctional, I'll leave for therapists to decide. But witnessing Jill's release through the television reminded me of what defined Casey: relationship, and how knowing her forced my own life's direction to broaden. I have always valued love; indeed, my worldview is simple: God is love, and those who walk in love, walk in God; but knowing Casey allowed me to realize that relationships provide a context through which the ideal of love becomes reality. I am not simply better for having known Casey, I am different , and the world is the better for it.

Reading through the deluge of stories surrounding Jill's ordeal, I am confident that she and Casey are made from the same material. It is little wonder that they were close friends. Political pundits, possessing a knowledge of Iraq confined to Fox News updates, have wasted no time in questioning Jill's character, statements and motives. Rather than celebrate her release, they speculate about that which they cannot possibly know. I am privileged to bring to Jill's story what every journalist cherishes: a reliable, inside source. That source spoke highly of Jill on several occasions with an admiration that bordered on awe. Casey was both proud and fond of Jill, personally and professionally. My reporter's instincts tell me that my inside source was dead on. I only wish she was here so I could share her joy during this happy time.