Relative Something

Then there is this: Just as I toss out some thoughts in the direction of leaving town to join Cyndie in Boston, I receive that late-night phone call. It’s the one where the stunned voice of a daughter is heard on the other end. The one where a father’s heart skips a beat, and then speeds up to alarm-rate, bringing sweat to the brow.

Monday night, Elysa returned from a 2-day excursion to find her home had been burglarized. Shards from the glass that formerly sealed her front door were now tracked throughout the house, a result of the criminal’s traipsing, room to room, to ransack for valuables.

There is nothing quite like the awful feeling of violation brought on by nefarious individuals invading our sacred spaces.

Criminals suck.

This incident instantly ripped at a scab that barely covers the wound of my own episode of being victimized by a thief a few years back. An array of threatening scenarios automatically run through a victim’s mind; some, legitimate possibilities, many others, just fear-based imaginings. There are understandable questions about the “how’s” and “why’s” of what actually happened, but the reality is that most of these questions don’t get answered to the degree we expect from watching television crime dramas.

There was a very clear boot print on Elysa’s front door. Seems like it could be used to ID the thug. It doesn’t work that way. This type of crime doesn’t warrant that level of investigation. We find ourselves in the netherworld of being personally traumatized, yet, suffering no physical injury, unqualified for more than a brief visit from a pair of patrol officers and some paperwork to fill out.

I am so grateful to have been available to drive over and meet Julian at Elysa’s house to assist in cleaning up broken glass, to patch the hole in her front door, and to simply be present with her in her moment of distress. Happily, while we were there, Elysa finally discovered a missing cat, holed up deep inside the cushions of a recliner upstairs.

The whole experience sure would have been a lot different for me, if I had already moved to Boston.