One of my immediate coworkers was raped, one morning while out jogging. On base. She was found by another runner several hours later. She wasn’t visible from the running path. Why that Marine left the path, only he and God knows. I don’t recall the details...maybe he noticed one of her running shoes just at the edge of the brush. Maybe he noticed dark splotches of red on the pink tops. Thank God he did. She came back to work 10 days later. Bruises still visible. Stitches out. Her husband, also in my squadron, was on West Pac, when she was raped. I was there when he got back. He was like a raging beast, and a couple of us had to hold him back. I can’t recall if she knew her rapist or not. That may have been the cause of her husband’s rage. He was looking to kill someone. She told him the best thing he can do for her, is to be here with, and for, her, and their little baby boy.
I had told her how terribly sorry I was that she had been attacked and raped. She said thank you. And asked a favor, not to treat her like a leper. What I didn’t tell her, was....that I knew and understood the pain and suffering she was going through. It wouldn’t have been right, or appropriate anyway. She was a daily reminder of what I would never ever have. Support. Support from my unit. Support from my fellow Marines. Support from the JAG office. Support from friends and family. I’m glad she had it, too.