Stolen

Last summer, I posted about things that went bump in the night that turned out to be nothing. Yesterday, in broad daylight something real went bump. Or to be more specific, someone went bump.

My house was broken into.

After the police left hours later, and for most of the following sleepless night, I’ve been trying to figure out two things: what were they looking for and what am I going to do now?

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There was much speculation by cops and neighbors alike about why some things were taken and other things left behind.

If they were looking for jewelry, for example, why were my bedroom drawers tossed but the jewelry box and relatively expensive watch on top of my dresser left untouched?

Were they interrupted, scared off before they could finish the job?

It’s doubtful I’ll ever know.

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We never really know anyone’s intentions, do we? But we sure can make up stories that try to make sense of another person’s behavior. How many hours of our lives do we waste speculating on why he didn’t call, why the coach went for it on fourth down, what the other driver was thinking?

Then there’s the violation: the hastily boarded window (thanks to a handy neighbor), the 100 year old doors that won’t shut and are likely damaged beyond repair, knowing that people both ill-willed and kind were in my home, judging and measuring everything they saw.

I couldn’t stand to sleep in my bedroom. The thought of thieves digging through my stuff was unsettling enough. Then to have two detectives picking through and photographing the underwear, papers and other personal detritus that had been flung around the room was embarrassing and uncomfortable. The whole lot, including the bedding, got tossed in the laundry. Honestly, I wanted to burn it. I haven’t been back in the room since, spending the night on the couch.

What was stolen was more than an iPad and other electronics. My own story about my home of 13 years was taken away from me. My quiet, cozy bedroom is gone. The security of a sturdy door between me and the outside world is shattered.

I know it could have been much, much worse. But those scenarios, too, are just stories.

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So what is real? A new day has dawned. A day where I will fit contractors, claims adjusters and a whole lot of laundry into an already-overpacked schedule. I will spend the day doing things that will allow me to try to rewrite the safe, restful story about my home.

Only time will tell if I’ll believe it.