Yesterday I came home, with my two young boys, to discover our home had been broken into. It wasn’t until I walked to the kitchen sink that I saw the evidence and realized something was off. First I noticed everything that had been on the windowsill was knocked over. Then I noticed the window was cracked…
It’s funny that I still didn’t quite get it. But then I looked to our kitchen table, where we often house our laptop and it was gone. Along with my brand new camera I just got for my birthday.
I walked to my room and the top dresser drawer was open, my undergarments spilling out of it. I get it now.
They broke in the kitchen window and courteously left out the back door. No broken glass. In truth it could have been a lot worse. So much worse. I know this and I’m eternally grateful.
Still, that doesn’t mean I’m not sad. And it doesn’t mean I don’t feel completely violated. And I’m so thoroughly disappointed I can’t even begin to describe the feeling. It’s gonna take me a while to process all of this, to heal from this event that really, in the grand scheme of things, is a “walk in the park.”
What I’ve come to understand is that we really don’t “own” anything. Every single thing we have is ours only momentarily. At any given moment, it can all be taken from us. Our material possessions are the least of it.
I realized how vulnerable we are and how dependent we are upon others to behave themselves. We’re all at each other’s mercy ALL OF THE TIME. We’re all at the mercy of the Universe, of Karma, of God.. of all the forces that keep us alive and the only thing that’s guaranteed is that it’s all temporary.
So this morning I curled up with my boys instead of taking a shower before work. Because I can. Because we’re all still here. Safe and in the flesh.
Finally, I realized that a lot of people care about us. And that’s really nice to know.