So a little time has passed, and with it some of the horribly angry feelings I wrote about here. Your supportive comments were like balm on those wounds, proving once again that writing is good therapy, but so is the counsel of wise friends.
I’m back online, with a brand new MacBook Pro, purchased in a wild spending spree yesterday that probably has more than a little bit to do with my improved outlook. Nothing like spending someone else’s money to make you feel better. My dear husband keeps reminding me that we’ve been paying our insurance company premiums for over 34 years in order to reap these benefits. That is certainly true, and I’m definitely appreciative.
In addition to the (somewhat surprising) angry reaction I experienced, there has come a depth of awareness about what matters most in situations of loss. I reckon you all won’t be a bit surprised to learn that the despair I’ve felt hasn’t been about the loss of possessions themselves, for those are easily replaced. The despair comes from the loss of those irreplaceable things that meant more to me than the items themselves. My pictures, my documents, everything I’ve ever written since I began using a computer decades ago, including poems, essays, stories, and the manuscripts of two novels. None of it was valuable to anyone but me, and the senselessness of stealing it makes the loss even more painful. It was all diligently copied onto a small external expansion drive, just in case my computer crashed or was lost or damaged during my travels.
Never did I imagine that someone would break into my home and steal not only the laptop, but the expansion drive as well, something that’s worth about a buck (if that) on the open market, but priceless to me.
When I first heard the news about the robbery I was at work, and my mind flashed onto an image of the necklace I had left lying on the dresser earlier that morning. It’s a diamond pendant, a setting of my mother’s engagement ring. I wear it nearly every day, but on that particular day had decided to wear something different, and, in my usual rush, had left it on lying on the dresser.
“My necklace – is my necklace on the dresser?” I implored my husband, who was wandering the house looking to see what was missing.
“Your diamond necklace is there – is that the one you mean?”
“Oh yes,” I gasped gratefully. “That’s the one.”
The things that matter most.
Priceless indeed. The advertising guru’s who created that familiar Master Card campaign were right on the money with that concept. There is so much in life that money can’t buy – much of it has to do with our experiences and the ways commemorate them.
A lot of those priceless objects were stolen from me Monday afternoon, but thankfully, not all of them.
And to paraphrase another recent advertising slogan – I’m not too worried, because I will make more.