"Tell me something good that I don't know'; Cause this world's been kicking my behind"

He steps into our house. Like his skin tone, his uniform is dark, sharp, and perfectly creased on particular folds. A rectangular object with red lights flashing around a circle is positioned directly between his pectoral muscles. His cologne is subtle, fresh, and unassuming. He appears different from our last interaction. Calmer, per se.

I can understand why. This time, there aren’t three other officers – some in plain clothes, others in blues matching his own – prancing through the eerily vacant rooms in our tiny ranch. The window of the sliding glass door is no longer bare and exposed, but covered with cardboard and tarp and taped into place. The steel blue and gray Formica kitchen counters are clean and cleared of clutter. Delivery boxes holding our new security system sit on the island.

He places the official documentation on the center countertop, asking for a signature, and updates us on the progress of the case. There’s nothing worth mentioning. The lab has not yet returned the results of possible DNA. He’s spoken with several pawn shop owners, but has zilch to show for his efforts. He subtly reminds me only four percent of jewelry is recovered and not to beat ourselves up over the incident.

I sigh.

He tells us he hoped to have a lead and thought he had made progress when he found a class ring, but then discovered it was sized for a man. He tells us the pictures of me wearing my jewelry has been submitted as “evidence.”

We mention the recent string of burglaries, home invasions, and car thefts, wondering if this is the same group or person. The cop theorizes our thief is a juvenile and amateur looking for drug money. After all, it if it was a professional, said person would likely go to a more affluent town with larger houses hoping for a bigger score.

This doesn’t give me warm fuzzies.

He says a burglary, which happened in the next town over, is weirdly similar to ours and might offer a lead. He is careful with his words, ensuring he only uses authorized phrases and doesn’t give away too many indicators that may lead to speculation.

He suggests this is happening here because we live in a nice area. A “safe” neighborhood. People here feel secure and therefore are less aware or cognizant of their surroundings and tend to be less vigilant.

Looking around the house, he offers tips to keep our house less conspicuous going forward, but reminds us “if a burglar wants to break in, there’s no stopping him. He will succeed, regardless if you’re home, and he’ll take what he wants. Our job isn’t to stop him, but slow him down.”

Huh?!

How can I hold out hope when this is what I’m up against?

He says a security system is an inexpensive way to ensure peace of mind, but it’s not the solution. If anything, it reminds the thief to do better to hide their identity.

After he leaves, I face my new conundrum and ask my inner-self that nagging question – do I stay or leave? Do I move away from my beloved home state or face the devil I know? How do I hang on knowing the future is bleak and I’m on the losing end? Is this more than I can face?

The questions remain ever present on my mind. Sometimes I present the queries aloud to anyone within ear shot, other times, I mull over the possibilities in the privacy of my guarded space. Inevitably the conversation ventures to “will I heal from this?”

The following day, we prepare the house for company – cleaning and setting up. When he arrives, he puts down the snacks he has brought and hands me a tissue paper-wrapped rectangular gift. It’s nearly flat. When I ask why, he simply responds, “Why not?”

I take off the white wrapper with bronze-colored flower outlines. Inside, I see two small colorful cloth sacks tied with a turquoise blue ribbon. I untie the bags and shake the contents into my hand. I hold a pair of circular blue Brighton earrings and a matching necklace. They’re beautiful. Stunning. Bright. Magnificent. I announce I will wear them the next day, but amend my thinking as I put them on. My flawed philosophy is simple: if I wear them, the thieves can’t steal them.

They are perfect and heal a part of me that I didn’t think could be fixed. I’ve since added to my new collection, remembering I have the strength, love, and support to heal. This is just part of that process.

Today is day fourteen, fifteen, and twenty-eight.