The Curse of St Valentine’s Redux

So, we were robbed yesterday. Not metaphorically. Not symbolically. Not even jokingly.

Some criminal broke into our house and stole a bunch of our stuff. Namely, our ENTIRE desktop computer system including the modem, router, keyboard, speakers, monitor and hard drive. They ripped the cable out of the wall and took that too. As if that wasn’t enough. All of my latest short stories and poems were on the computer; thankfully, I have copies of most of the stuff, but the last two books I was editing for the Classic Starts series—all the work I’ve done over the last two weeks— are just virtually gone. I have to start from scratch.

Then they went next door into my bedroom and took all of my rings that were in a small jewelry box my parents had given me for Christmas a year ago. In that box was a diamond and ruby ring of my grandmother’s. Truly the only thing of my Nanny’s that I had of hers; it meant the world to me and now it’s just gone. It was in my family for sixty years. It was the first ring my grandfather had given her, even before her engagement ring. It was beautiful.

Also in the box was my mother’s engagement ring and two wedding bands. Again, one of the few things I have to remember my mother and now it’s gone too. Into the hands of some scumbag who doesn’t care that these are two things that are of extreme sentimental value to me, that they are all of have left of two of the most important people in my life.

They also took my other grandmother’s wedding rings. While costume jewelry to some extent, they’re still gold and were given to me by my aunt for my wedding, in case I wanted to wear them.

Finally, they stole my claddagh ring. The very one I bought this summer in Ireland from the very place claddagh rings started. It was an original, official claddagh ring; one I can’t get back because I’m not about to head to Galway any time soon.

They also stole my RRHB’s brand new cell phone that he had been given after that really cool video shoot he did. And now, when I tried to call Bell and tell them, they won’t even let me put a note on the account because it’s in his name. They were awesome to deal with too—very friendly and so helpful. Um, NOT.

The police were at our house last night for close to three hours dusting for prints and taking down our report. I asked the one officer what the chances are of me getting my rings back and he said they weren’t good. Their advice is to check the pawn shops around the city over the next few days because these skanks like to get rid of stuff quickly.

I feel violated and angry. I’m upset with myself because I should have been more careful with the precious things in my life. And I have no idea if the insurance company will even replace them because I have no record of them. My heart is broken and last night I was in hysterics.

We both slept fitfully. My RRHB has now secured the door and we’ve padlocked our garage to avoid further trouble. But there doesn’t even seem to be any point. They’ve taken pretty much all we had that was worth anything. And left us with no chance of ever getting it back.

And the hardest part is thinking that my treasured things are in the hands of some jackass who is trying to get rid of them for some personal gain. What? His next fix? His bail? I don’t know. And even though I know it’s not charitable of me, I don’t care. Usually, I’d think that if someone was that desperate, I should feel pity for them. But now I think where’s karma when you need it? I’ve had a brutal year with the disease, getting fired, and all the other crap of trying to exist when I just don’t feel well, and now I’ve lost two irreplaceable things that were given to me to remember two irreplaceable people in my life.

Like I said before, my heart is broken. I can’t take much more.