Another Reason to Hate Fridays

Wow, what a weekend. Let’s start with Friday afternoon.

Every Friday, I pick up my son from school. Last week I picked him up as usual and headed home. Around 3:20 my phone rang. The picture on the touch screen told me my wife was the source of the call. I assumed she wanted to make sure I picked up The Boy, and that he had, as instructed, cleaned out his locker before leaving school. I hit a button to activate the phone and chirped out a playful, melodic “Hello?”

“Where are you?”

It was indeed my wife, but she seemed anxious. Her voice contained a hint of panic. I immediately supposed she’d been in an accident.

I told her we were only a couple of blocks from the house.

“Come home fast. And call the police.”

Whoa! What? My mind began to race through the possibilities. The instant between that statement and the explanation that followed was less than a second but an eternity of criminal activities occurring around my home zipped through my mind.

“I just got home and someone broke into our house.”

My jaw dropped open. The motion picture of crime showing in my mind burned in two and the screen went blank. I listened as my wife’s far away voice explained that she returned home to find our back door kicked in. She changed her mind and said she would call the police. She told me, again, to hurry home before she ended the call.

I arrived home minutes later. My daughter sat in my wife’s car, parked on the street. My wife stood in our driveway looking at the door under our carport. I told my son to get in the car with The Girl and went to the carport.

I stared in disbelief at the wide open door. My wife stood next to me. Misty explained that she left the house to pick up our daughter at school and returned less than 30 minutes later. She saw the open door and assumed she’d not properly closed it as she left. Then she noticed the lock assembly lying in the floor across the room. She then backed out of the house, pulled her car to the road, and called me.

As she spoke my brain finally began to function after the shock of the last few minutes. Suddenly, I wanted to go inside. I felt an almost uncontrollable urge to go inside and see what they took. Misty grabbed my arm.

“You’re not going in there!”

She was right. We had no idea if the door-kickers were still in the house or not. All we could do was wait for the police.

I have experienced a few times of complete helplessness in my life. I now count this among them. It was not the most profound of my helpless moments, but it was profound. We could do nothing more than stand in the driveway. Staring at our house. Wondering, hoping, waiting. Wondering if someone was still in the house. Wondering what was stolen. Hoping they were scared away before they got inside. Waiting for help.

I decided I couldn’t stand still and wait. I went to a window to look inside. I raised my hand to my face to block the sun’s glare and looked into our living room. There sat an empty table that once held our television.

Immediately more questions raced through my head. What else is gone? Jewelry? DVD player? Misty’s laptop? Other TVs? The TiVo?!?

I should explain a couple of those to emphasize their importance. By ‘jewelry” I specifically mean a ring that belonged to Misty’s mother. It was her engagement ring. She gave it to Misty before her death. When I proposed to Misty, it became her engagement ring. That ring has huge sentimental value.

The laptop contains the last year of Misty’s life. She bought it for school and uses it for all of her assignments and online courses. All of her notes, papers, etc. are on that computer.

The TiVo contains several TV shows that I have not watched or plan to put on DVD. Last week’s episode of The Office (Jim & Pam had their baby) – losing that would be a tragedy. The biggest loss, though, would be the 2009 Tony Awards. I recorded it last June and plan to make a DVD of the performances from the show. Losing my TiVo (and specifically Sutton Foster as Princess Fiona & Gavin Creel in Hair) would be tragic and horrifying.

After a couple of minutes an officer arrived at our house. He waited with us. Another car was on its way. He could not go in until his back up arrived.

As we stood there the officer told us there was an epidemic of TV thefts going around. We expressed concerns about a few items. The laptop. The ring. My TiVo! He said all of that was likely still here. “They take TVs.”

Soon, back up arrived. They entered the house. There was no one inside. He assured us the laptop was in fact still there. They allowed us in the house. Misty found her mother’s ring.

The total loss consisted of 2 TVs and an X-Box with games and accessories. It seemed to be a quick, in-and-out operation. Get in, get TVs (and an X-Box as a bonus) and get out. We were now a part of the epidemic.

The police stayed for a while and completed their paperwork. I called our insurance carrier and began to clean up some of the mess. The physical mess. It wasn’t much. Nothing trashed. Just a few things over turned as the pulled the TVs from their stands.

As Misty continued to talk with the police, I sat down and tried to clean up the emotional mess. One thought continued to pulse in my brain: someone came into our house. Someone watched us, knew our schedule, knew that Misty left, and came into our house. That is a powerful thought.

Something as seemingly simple as a door holds immense meaning. It gives us privacy. It gives us security. In our shattered door I saw more than splintered wood and a broken lock. I saw our ruined security, our smashed privacy, our wrecked tranquility.

The things taken were just that. Things. Nothing of sentimental value. Nothing irreplaceable. Our sense of security, though, will take some time to repair.

I sat on the coffee table staring, unfocused, at the floor. I thought about the person or people who broke into our house. I thought about their desperation. I thought about the events and circumstances that drive someone to kick in a door in broad daylight and run away with two TVs. Hungry kids? Overdue rent? A fruitless job search? As I sat there, I prayed for them.

Over the last few days I’ve vacillated between hoping they are caught and hoping those TVs get them out of the hole life has dropped them in. I hope ours was the last home they have to enter illegally. The last home they have to cast into turmoil.

In the mean time, our insurance is working on replacing our stolen things. Within a week or so everything will be replaced. Our door will be repaired by the time most of you read this.

That just leaves our sense of security. That too, in time, will be replaced. Sooner will be better than later. In the meantime, I will suspiciously watch each unfamiliar car that passes. I will jump at every strange noise in our house. I will visit pawnshops to look for our TVs and the X-Box. And I will continue to hate Fridays, now more than ever before.

*Edit (9:12 pm) - I meant to mention: Thanks to the Bagwells for coming over and offering their support while we waited in the driveway. Much love and appreciation.*