It's Memorial Day, and this is what I will remember:
1. At around 6am today, three men forced entry
into my Brandon Street house with a crow bar,
splintering the front door and popping the dead bolt.
2. My oldest son was bound, gagged and blindfolded;
they said that the object they held at the back of his head
was a gun.
3. House was ransacked: every drawer emptied out,
4. Pillows slashed open, mattresses turned, carpet
pulled up in corners, sofa's upended, crawl space! opened
with a screw driver -- they scooted around in there
on a sheet, so as not to let the insulation touch them.
5. R., in attempt to get help, stumbled with
his legs and arms bound, fell, got pretty banged up
in the head.
6. Gone: computers, cameras, cell phones, wallets,
passports, watches (including one which belonged
to my late husband which I had refurbished to give
to R. for college graduation next month); and then
some very odd things: my dad's glasses from many
decades ago, signed baseballs, a spoon collection
that my mom gave N. -- no value except sentimental.
R.'s leather jacket that I got for him in Paris,
an autographed Kurt Vonnegut limited edited
edition boxed set.
7. My friend Tom-the-Prince replaced 4 locks, got me
some breakfast, and, with his wife Carol, opened their
home to us. They are the best friends anyone could
ever have. I love them.
8. My sister K. and friend C. helped me sort and clean:
pile upon pile of stuff. Heaping piles of stuff.
Upended, rummaged, violated stuff.
9. Citizen K., also a prince, brought R. to his job interview
at noon. R. with his black eye and contused forehead
10. Locksmith, 1-800-banks, pharmacies.
Police-cars in multiples. Detectives.
11. And the cats: what have they to lose?
A soft blanket? Kibble? A warm body
against which to snuggle?
13. At some point, we'll all succumb to the ravages
of human limitations, and everything, everything
we leave behind will just be stuff.
14. Sometimes life is just fucked up.