This week I am required to take a long trip that no one ever wants to take.
I'm going to a funeral. And have been asked to deliver the eulogy.
Three weeks ago, I lost a very dear friend, Cassie. Cassie and I had what could probably best be described as an "unconventional relationship", along with 11 other women, for 14 years. That's a story for another time.
This story is about something else. It's about what happens when you do everything you reasonably can to protect yourself—and sometimes, tragically, things still happen that are beyond your control. Cassie was 36. Four months ago, she was here with me in Omaha. We talked, laughed, had some wild fun, argued about things we probably didn't need to argue about, and she told me she was concerned about a relationship she was in.
A little background may help. Cassie had previously been engaged to another man named Marshall we all loved. He was tragically killed in a car accident about two and a half years ago. A friend of both Marshall and Cassie, someone who had been there for her, eventually became someone she dated.
The relationship lasted less than a year before things became, let's say, a little intense. He began texting her throughout her extremely busy workdays. Cassie ran a business with 16 employees and estimated he was contacting her 20 to 30 times a day—wanting to know where she was, how she was doing, and telling her he was thinking about her. For some people, that sounds romantic. Cassie wasn't feeling romantic. She had asked him to back off because all that attention made her uncomfortable. She also wondered how someone had that much free time.
While she was here in Omaha, she asked my advice about what she should do. I'd spoken with him several times, and honestly, he seemed like a nice enough guy who was simply intense. So I gave her the advice I thought made sense at the time:Talk to him. Set some boundaries. See if you can work it out. Then she went home and made her own decision. She ended the relationship. She did it politely. She thanked him for everything, wished him well, and told him she wasn't interested in anyone else.
Cassie had recently entered a new partnership with another company and needed to focus on work. She simply didn't have time for a social life.
Maybe 85 percent bullshit.😂
But apparently, he believed it. For a while, things seemed okay. Until he broke into her house while she was working. Cassie was frightened and called me. I strongly recommended that she get a restraining order. Working with the proper authorities, she did. She took action. She did what she was supposed to do.
And three weeks ago, Cassie died. I am deliberately not going into the details of her death. That story belongs to her family. What I can tell you is that it was this estranged ex-boyfriend who was responsible, is in custody, confessed, and will face significant consequences for what happened. None of that brings Cassie back. And that is the part I've been struggling with. A few days ago, I was talking with a young woman who will be at Cassie's funeral. She said something that stopped me. She said, essentially, Aunt Cassie was so much smarter than I am. If she couldn't protect herself, how am I supposed to?
I understood exactly what she meant. But I didn't want her to walk away believing the wrong lesson. Cassie did protect herself. She recognized that something wasn't right. She spoke up. She established boundaries. She ended the relationship. She asked for help. She obtained a restraining order. She involved the authorities. She did not ignore what was happening. And still, something terrible happened. That's not an argument against taking precautions. It's an argument for them.
Cassie's story isn't a lesson about how women should somehow become responsible for preventing every terrible thing another person might do. It isn't. And it isn't a lesson that says, "If something happens, you must not have been careful enough." Absolutely not. Sometimes people do everything right and bad things still happen. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't learn the little things that might make a difference in a different situation. Especially because dangerous situations don't always announce themselves with a flashing red sign that says: WARNING: THIS GUY IS AN ASSHOLE.
Sometimes they begin with something much smaller. A conversation that makes you uncomfortable. Someone who won't take no for an answer. Someone watching you. Someone following you. Someone who seems overly interested in where you're going next. Your instincts telling you something isn't right. And sometimes the safest thing you can do is simply make sure you're not alone.
I recently saw an Instagram video from a woman who talks about practical safety measures for women. Her advice was simple.If you're in a bar or another public place and someone is making you uncomfortable, find another person or group nearby and suddenly say something like: "John! I got these chairs over here!"
It doesn't matter whether the guy's name is John, Floyd, Carl, or even Betha. You're creating the appearance that you aren't alone. And most decent people will understand what's happening once you explain it. If the person who was bothering you leaves, you can tell your unexpected rescuer what happened.
And if he's actually cute?
Well, ladies, maybe buy the poor bastard a drink. I mean, you've already accidentally introduced yourself.
The point isn't the pickup line. The point is connection. Make yourself less isolated.
There's another thing I think people should know about. If you're in a bar, club, restaurant, or another establishment with professional bartenders or staff, you may have heard of something called an "Angel Shot." An Angel Shot isn't an actual drink.
It's a discreet phrase that MANY if not MOST establishments use (should/need to) to signal that a customer needs help. But here's an important caveat: There isn't one universal Angel Shot code used by every bar or restaurant. So don't assume that every bartender in America has the exact same translation for every version of the order. The most important thing is knowing that the phrase may be recognized—and knowing that you can simply tell the bartender or staff member that you don't feel safe. If an establishment does use the Angel Shot system, you may hear variations such as:
In some establishments, this means: I need someone to escort me safely to my car.You might use it if someone is following you, watching you, or making you uncomfortable as you're preparing to leave.
At some establishments, this means: I need help getting a ride away from here. That could mean arranging a taxi, rideshare, or another safe way to leave without confronting the person you're trying to get away from.
In, again, lots of places, this signals: I need the police. That's for a situation where you believe you're in immediate danger and need authorities contacted.
Testing how well known the Angel Shot is? I asked several bartenders all over the country about it. One bartender I spoke with in Omaha, Johnny, has been doing this for years. He told me that if a woman came to him and ordered an Angel Shot, he would immediately recognize that something was wrong, excuse himself, and involve his manager so they could figure out what kind of help was needed. That's the part I want people to remember. Not the perfect terminology. Not whether you remembered "straight up" versus "on the rocks."
Ask for help. No harm, embarrassment, or weakness in doing so. If you're scared, tell somebody. If you think someone is following you, tell somebody. If somebody won't leave you alone, tell somebody. And if you are the person somebody approaches for help? Don't be a hero. Just be a human being. Sometimes all somebody needs is for another person to notice that they're uncomfortable and make sure they aren't standing alone. That's a pretty damn good reason to know your surroundings. And maybe to know what an Angel Shot is. Hopefully, you'll never have to order one.
Cassie knew how to protect herself. She did. She was smart, funny, passionate, independent, incredibly kind, and loved by people scattered from Germany to England to Greece and everywhere in between. They are all traveling internationally to be at the funneral. She was 36 years old. She should still be here.
I love my girl.
My Cassie.
That's why I'm going.
And that's why, before I leave, I wanted to tell this small part of her story.
If it makes one person recognize a bad situation ten minutes earlier, ask for help five minutes sooner, or simply trust that little voice saying something isn't right—then maybe Cassie's story can still do a little good. That's what I hope. That's what I'm taking with me when I make the trip nobody ever wants to make. RIP. I love you, Cassie.