And Then This Happened

Sunday morning. New haircut.
Cute, huh? :)

Two weeks ago on a Saturday, I got a haircut. That seriously was supposed to be the big news of the weekend. And then this happened: On Sunday, March 23, I came home to an armed burglar in my apartment.

Yep. A burglar. Armed. In my house! My mom and I had stopped by my place after a missionary homecoming, and my front door wouldn't open. Figuring there was something wrong with the lock, I tried the patio door. Something was blocking the door, and I soon realized that that something was my out-of-place couch. And then I noticed the door latch was broken. Someone had been in my apartment!

So I called the police, and 20 minutes later they arrived to check it out. They pushed the patio door open and went in, guns drawn, to “clear the place.” It was just like Law and Order! I could hear them moving through the apartment, though I was certain no one was inside. My mom and I had been hanging out on the patio for 20 minutes, after all.

But suddenly I heard one of the officers yelling things like: Show me your hands! Come out where I can see you! Drop the weapon! His partner told us to GET OUT (yes, she yelled) and move away from the apartment building. And suddenly more police arrived. I have no idea where they came from! They soon evacuated all the apartments in my stairwell. (So, you know, I met some of the neighbors I hadn't known before…)

Long story short—all is well. The kid (well, he’s 25) was arrested and didn't actually get away with anything of mine. Short story a little bit longer—this is what I could piece together from what the police told me and each other: Odds are he’d been in my apartment for several hours by the time I got home. He came in to rob me (by taking a crowbar to my door), and ended up high and paranoid and certain the cops had been surrounding him for hours. So he blocked the doors against the imaginary police and barricaded himself in the far back corner of my apartment—a walk-in closet/storage/laundry area. At some point the washer hose broke, so in addition to clothes and cardboard storage boxes on the floor, there was a bunch of water. And at some point he decided to try to burrow his way out the side wall, so everything in the closet was also covered in insulation. It all made quite the formidable mess.

Aside from the mess, it really all worked out in the best way possible. It could have been bad—very, very bad. Luckily, I wasn't home when he broke in; I couldn't open the door so I didn't just walk right in on him; the imaginary police kept him in the back corner of my apartment until the real police arrived; competent officers handled a dangerous situation expertly; and he didn't get away and actually take anything, so I'm not dealing with cancelling credit cards and replacing electronics. All things considered, I feel really blessed and protected.

Once the closet was
cleaned out, you could see
the extent of the wall damage.

On Sunday afternoon, I remember telling people who asked how I was that I was a little freaked out. It seemed like the right answer, but I really wasn't upset. I think I may have been in shock and just not feeling much of anything at all. Well no, that’s not right. I do remember feeling just sorry and sad for this kid through the whole thing. I imagined him scared and paranoid and really just out of it, cowering behind my washer/dryer and hiding from imaginary police—for hours. That’s not an experience I’d wish on anyone. I also realized his life choices just caught up with him big time, and I felt for him, and honestly wished him well, hoping he’d find help—as much as is possible—in the prison system. They’re charging him with several federal felonies, so it’s likely he’ll be there a while.

I did get mad at him that Tuesday morning, finally. And I don’t feel like the two emotions conflict. I do feel sad for him, and at the same time I’m angry at the situation he chose to create. Stupid punk kid.

It took a couple of hours before they could let me back in my apartment on Sunday, and by then I was exhausted, and really just numb. I just wanted to go. To leave. To deal with it all later—or not at all. I’m so grateful for a kind friend and neighbor who came and spent about half an hour helping to pick up wet clothing from the closet floor. I couldn't have faced it myself that evening—but it had to be done.

I’m also grateful for Relief Society sisters and friends who jumped in to clean up piles of wet insulation. For a sister-in-law who could see how to organize my ransacked bedroom when I couldn't even decide where to start. For a mom who laundered about 70 percent of my clothing in two days (my wardrobe has never been so well cared for!). For a boss who understood when I said, “Um, I’m not coming in on Monday,” and who was concerned and asked if I was sure I didn't need more time.

I’m grateful for friends who checked on me every day and for friends who let me be. For friends who wanted to make my home homey again and for friends who stayed with me when I wasn't willing to stay alone just yet. For the power of a father’s blessing, for the power to forgive and forget, and for a kind, comforting and watchful Heavenly Father. It really was a week of blessings.

That Wednesday night I had a dream that sums up some of my feelings pretty well. I was in a play, a community production—a musical I think. And I really didn't feel prepared. I had only a vague idea of what to do, and we didn't have much practice time left. I had a script, but it was only the slimmest of guides. The people around me were my friends (though I didn't recognize specific faces), and while they did seem a bit more on top of it than I felt in the dream, they really weren't completely sure of how the play would go, either. But it didn't seem to matter. We were just there to be together and work together and make the play happen in whatever way we could. Their easy attitude about it put me at ease, and in the end I wasn't anxious at all about not knowing what to do—because I was with people whom I loved and we were in it together, and that made it all ok.