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robbed from the inside, too

Sweet Jazz

I have had a grueling week, but I am counting my blessings one by one and counting doubly the fact that the creeps who robbed my home, will not, did not, and can not dampen my spirit for very long!

I am blessed that the creeps did not do harm to my dog, Jazz.  Although I am certain that Jazz would have gone right up to the creeps with a toy in his mouth his body wagging his tail, as if to say “Play with me, ” he appears fine.

Jazz is so cute and playful that often people, jokingly, say: “Oh, please let me steal him!”  Everyone loves Jazz.

The robbers ignored him, perhaps.  I can’t bear to think that they attempted to harm him or kick him away… They didn’t let him out the door as they exited with my large flat-screen TV set.

If only Jazz could talk.

Were they kids who came through a window I’d inadvertently left open?  Were they experienced burglars who cased my home to know what to take?

I may never know, but the police seem to think they were young criminals, not yet reaching the age of maturity to know the worth of things, as they missed things of value laying about in my home.

The police have fingerprints. But, if they are criminals in the infancy of their mean career, then we may never find them.

Because they spirited away my entire jewelry box, I feel robbed from the inside.

In the jewelry box there was nothing of great value – no diamonds to speak of.  But, I had trinkets with sentimental value.  Things I cherished because so many of the things were colored with memories of people I love.

The jewelry has no value to speak of.  Those heartless robbers will find no worth in the things in my jewelry box.  The value is mine, not theirs.  They will find no value from the single opal earring I’d kept all these years because it was a gift from childhood.  The value is not in the trinket, the value is wholly from the memories that swirl and hang invisibly from the air surrounding the thing.

The cross owned originally by my great-grandmother is a very plain-Jane one.  It came from years and years past – passed down the ages from my great grandmother to my father to me, his daughter.  I wanted to give it to my niece.

And, worst of all, my mothers lovely string of pearls.  My mother wore those pearls over fifty years ago with her wedding dress. I cherished those pearls.  Cherished them.

These are the things that rob me from the inside and make me so angry, so sad.

The rest are just “things” that can be replaced.  I can buy another TV, and Wii, and Ipod, and camera.

The rest is silence.

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