After all this time, after all these years, you'd think I'd realize that life's not fair. It's not fair that I had cancer even though I take good care of myself; it's not fair we live paycheck to paycheck while others live lives of privilege.
But what really has me stewing is burglary. My dad was broken into the other day; they threw a rock through his sliding glass door, shattering it. He was home, too, and I'm glad he wasn't assaulted, and the burglars ran away. What about the next house? What if it's an elderly person unable to defend him/herself?
We were burglarized seven years ago too; our home was ripped up, our things were broken or smashed, our truck was stolen; our brand-new TV, the one we had saved for, was gone. As I put my house back together, I cried for the lack of fairness of it all.
Burglary is a violation; homes invaded by strangers who touch whatever they want. Possessions gone, onto the black market or to Mexico, to make some thug some money. Average people like us work hard for what we have, and I'm struck repeatedly by the unfairness of a stranger thinking it's a good idea to go into other people's homes and help himself.
I'm struck by what drives burglars to steal. To destroy.
Burglars stole my security. They destroyed the sanctity of my first house. No longer do I believe I'm safe in my own home. I fear my child coming home by himself and finding someone here.
No fair.
