Violated

It began with a phone call to the Sheriff's office.

"Sheriff's Office, do you have an emergency?"
"Uh.. no, but I need to report a stolen wallet."

On the inside I was thinking that yes, this was an emergency. There we were, Easter morning, minutes away from departing for our Spring Break camping trip and I noticed my wallet was nowhere to be found. We tore the house apart looking for it, and that is not an exaggeration. People were actually looking in cupboards and under couch cushions.

Really? It's been a while since I accidentally put my wallet in the fridge or the tiny drawers of the living room table, but it was nice to see such enthusiastic helpers nonetheless.

But the wallet was not in the fridge, pantry, dog dish or upstairs shower. Try as we might, we could not find it under any rug, cushion, or coffee mug.

Because there is only one place I ever put that wallet and that place was left unlocked, unguarded and practically lit up like a neon sign advertising FREE STUFF RIGHT HERE! COME AND GET IT!

It absolutely kills me now to think that I volunteered to park my Durango in the driveway in order to keep the firewood in the back of Hubby's truck dry. Who wouldn't think that dry wood is a fair exchange for everything one needs to function in this world?

I somehow doubt this qualifies for sainthood.

I cringe every time I think of the repeated nagging at Hubby to please lock the Durango. Yes, I know we are just walking into the store for a minute, but please lock it anyway? He almost always rolled his eyes or made a snippy comment. In time, this exchange condensed into, "Did you whoop it?" because of the comforting chirp the alarm makes when you push the lock button on the key fob. Hubby would answer with an affirmative nod or I would instantly hear that happy little "whoop" that let me know all was well.

But last Saturday, in the rush to get things ready for the camping trip, Hubby was running last minute errands in the Durango without me. I was in the house trying to get important work finished up before taking time off, so I wasn't there to remind him to whoop it.

There was no whoop that night.

At some point in the night, some Jerk Face decided to help himself (herself?) to my Durango.  Luckily, my ipod was in the house getting updated for the road trip. Also fortunate was that I had taken my flash drive (full of documents, photos and other important stuff) out of the side pocket of my purse earlier that day. Jerk Face did, however, take the M&M chapstick out of the very same side pocket that usually holds my flash drive. It was more than just chapstick, it was a souvenir from the Las Vegas trip I took with my girls last fall.

Maybe Jerk Face had really dry lips.

The truth is that I would have rather lost the ipod than my wallet. Now I don't have any identification and I have had to cancel all of my cards. I also lost checks and the ticket stubs from the first movie date I had with Hubby. Sick and sad can't even begin to describe what I feel.

Today a neighbor came over to return some useless cards that they found discarded, in the street, on Easter Sunday. The sickness came back with a vengeance. I felt violated all over again. Until that moment, I held a secret wish that I would find my wallet in a pickle jar after all. All week long, I had held on to that hope like a light in the darkness.

It could be possible that I was holding my wallet with the same hand that reached into the pickle jar for a crunchy snack...

Looking at those plastic cards and quickly scrawled notes to myself on random pieces of paper that my neighbor held out to me in a gesture of extreme kindness and neighborly responsibility, I felt something give way inside. What he held out to me was the ruined remains of my life Before.  I was instantly thrust into the unkind and inescapable After.

I am hurt, angry and outraged that this happened. There was nothing in that wallet of any value to anyone but me. (other than my identity?) And now it is all gone. Forever. My identity might already be destroyed and put to whatever horrible use that will haunt me in future years.

I will forever wonder what became of those movie ticket stubs.

You could have had my ipod, Jerk Face. I would still gladly trade it for the complete contents of my wallet.