When I think back to that last Sunday in July, it isn't my 11 year old son's baptism that comes to mind. Although it was a glorious day, one filled with God's love, faithfulness and pride as a parent--certainly worthy of its own blog--it is over-shadowed by an internal conversation I had with myself later that night.
As on most Sundays, I wore my silver cremation necklace. It is a necklace that I wear on a regular basis, especially on the days where I am missing my mom--whose ashes it contains. The 4th year anniversary of her death was quickly approaching and wearing my cross during that particular season of my life has always brought comfort, where words might otherwise fail. And for whatever reason, I miss my mom on Sundays more than any other day of the week.
But on this Sunday, as I removed the necklace from around my neck and hung it back into my jewelry case, I made a mental note that it would be at least another week before I would wear it again. The kids and I were taking a week long trip to visit friends, while my husband stayed behind to work and take care of our pets. He was preparing for one of his regular trips overseas and the additional, uninterrupted work time would help him; while a little get-away was just what the kids and I needed. That internal dialogue included the fact that I knew the necklace would stay behind. Too precious to accidentally lose or misplace while traveling. I was leaving it safely behind. Or so I thought.
About 4 days after returning from our trip, I reached for my necklace, which was a day shy of the 4th year anniversary. It was missing. Piece by piece, I emptied my jewelry box of each hanging necklace. Determined that it should be exactly where I remember hanging it, I was instantly reduced to tears. There were few pieces of jewelry that held sentimental value, but this was one of them. I was unusually careful with it.
Calling my husband that morning at work, he confirmed that I had not left it laying out during our vacation; he had not seen it or done anything with it. It was then that I knew it had been stolen. And here is where it gets complicated.
Because I knew Tony would be working long hours, we had friends and neighbors lined up throughout the week during the day to take care of Snickers and give him potty breaks and some play time. They had access to our house. However, during that same week, another person who we trusted was allowed in the house and had the same access to my jewelry. In my heart, I knew it was stolen by that trusted person. In the interest of privacy and not vilifying that person, I will not name them by name. Herein known as 'him' or 'he' only, my story continues.
The news was devastating. Occurring on the wake of a painful anniversary was dealing with the hurt, frustration and anger I felt that someone close to us could be so bold as to steal from me. Grieving for my mom was replaced by grieving for the loss of an irreplaceable piece of jewelry. Tony and I briefly talked about pressing charges, but we knew that in the interest of doing a thorough investigation, police would have to also speak to our friends and neighbors whom we had charged with caring for Snickers. It was not fair to them to be 'suspects'. We needed to handle this privately.
Tony lovingly confronted 'the suspect' with the disappearance of this jewelry and was met with a reaction of disgust and anger that we would 'accuse' him. He expected an apology from me when the necklace was found. In the interest of making sure that I had not made some monumental error, a day later I spent 5 hours in our bedroom looking for the necklace. I literally tore the room apart. From taking the mattress and box springs off the bed, to removing every piece of clothing in every drawer; unfolding all the extra sets of bedding in storage under our bed. We moved every piece of furniture from against the wall. No stone was left unturned. It was definitely gone.
One last time I emptied my jewelry box. It was then I noticed a second piece was missing. Like some cruel joke, I could not believe that another cross had been taken. One that my mom had given me the Christmas 10 years before her death. She had been given the cross at her own catholic confirmation in Schalding, Germany, while living in a refuge camp in 1949. They would immigrate to the United States the following year. This 62 year old cross did not have a chain. It sat solitary in a ring holder, next to another cross I had purchased for myself years earlier. That one was untouched.
Just two days after discovering the cremation necklace gone, one day after the anniversary of her death, I am hit with the confirmation that the disappearance was not neglect or carelessness on my part; they were indeed stolen. And both pieces irreplaceable--a part of my mom's memory and life. I remember sitting there dazed; trying to comprehend that not only had they both been stolen, but they were the two most precious pieces of my limited jewelry collection. Ironically, my pearl necklace and earrings were still there. My diamond earrings untouched. Certainly he did not know the sentimental value of what he took. It was just a cruel twist of fate that he was drawn to the unique pieces that were associated with my mom and the timing of it all.
My loving husband contacted all the area pawn shops within nearby proximity of where the person of interest lived. Sending an e-mail with a picture of the necklace (off the website from which it was purchased) and a picture of whom we presumed would hock them, we hoped that the necklace and/or person would be identified. It took probably 10 days but then we received an e-mail. The cremation necklace was located, the seller of said necklace postively ID'd. The bad news was that the necklace had already been sold. The good news? The owner was able to get the cross portion holding the ashes back from whom he had sold it. The silver rope chain was gone, however. As for the 62 year old cross, he said I could look through what he had acquired in the previous month and I was encouraged to retrieve my items free of charge. With no picture, he did not know if the gold cross was still in his shop.
With my husband now already on his business trip, I ventured to the upscale jewelry pawn shop on my own that Monday morning. With emotions too strong for words, I reclaimed the cremation cross, holding it tightly--thankful for the kind pawn shop owner who took the time to do the right thing. He could have said that it had already been sold and he was unable to get it back. But he didn't. He presumably lost money by retrieving it for me. But his generous heart did not stop there. Before me lay about half dozen gold crosses. Immediately, I was able to rule out the ones that were not my mom's. But I hesitated. There was one that I was 99 percent sure was hers. But honestly, I could not say with 100 percent certainty it was the one. Crosses were dime a dozen, often hocked; easily purchased. Still, I continued to hold the cross and question if it belonged to me. "Take it", Albert said (his name changed for privacy) "If you walk away without it, you'll regret it. If your heart is telling you it's yours, then it is. Don't second guess it." With tears in my eyes, I thanked him for helping me out.
Still, having those back in my possession did not 'fix' everything. The one who stole it lied to us--not once but twice. After reclaiming them, Tony called him back. Told him we found the items and he had been ID'd. He still denied it. Just like Peter denying Christ three times by the time the rooster crowed, this person was caught red-handed and yet still had the hutzpah to claim innocence. My heart broke.
Perhaps a day later, this person called Tony again, while he was still away on business. In a tearful apology, he finally confessed his guilt. Apologizing to Tony, but not to me was a slap in the face. He had assumed that since we were rich and he has nothing, we would never notice those pieces missing. As if his lack of work ethic and productivity in life justified stealing from us. It did not matter that we trusted him in our home despite a strained relationship in the past. Tony extended grace and accepted his apology but said the right thing to do was to apologize to me.
It has been a month and that apology has not come, nor will it ever, I'm sure.
Which is why I feel burdened enough on this dreary Sunday afternoon to write about this experience. At first I felt violated. How much had he cased our house, looking for 'hockable' items? Or did he go straight for the gold and silver? And how to do I forgive when he hasn't asked for my forgiveness? Several other more pressing situations have happened since the disppearance of the two crosses, which deflected from the importance of his betrayal. In the grand scheme of things, I got my valued jewelry back. No harm was done. Still, I'm finding myself angry again. Where is the apology that he would have expected from me?
For me, the relationship is severed. And this person will have no further contact with my two children. The relationship he has with Tony is more personal. How much damage was done for him is not for me to say. Or for me to judge. All I know is that Tony and I agreed he will not be allowed in our home again--or near our kids again. Ever. Not without a God-breathed, time tested and trued change of heart and mind and soul. And the kind of life-changing authentic apology that you know comes from a changed person.
The Bible calls me to forgive. After looking at his past, I can see why he ventured down this ugly, law-breaking path. I can see why his life lead to this point. But for my healing alone, I need to reach a point of forgiveness. But I will not forget. And I will not be so naive to think that at this point he realizes the depth of what he did wrong. He is not sorry for the fact he stole. He is sorry that he got caught, and harmed his relationship with Tony. His apology was never about the act of stealing--or the violation against me. No reparation has truly been made in my eyes. He is Godless and heartless.
The cremation cross sits without a chain in my jewelry box. Whereas I used to wear it several days per week, I cannot look at it without pain and hurt. I visualize him stuffing it carelessly in his pocket, offering it for a price to Albert. Another woman wearing the cross that holds a piece of my mom. It's tainted now. Somehow I need to work through this by finding another unique chain and wearing it again. But right now, the thought brings me pain, which outweighs the comfort and the closeness I felt by wearing it.
I grieve today for what he took from me. Maybe this sounds ultra-dramatic and I'm making a big fuss over nothing. Perhaps no one can relate. But it's truly the way I feel. But the Bible tells us in Matthew 10 that we are to take up our cross and follow Jesus. So when I look at the crosses that were taken from me, I need to remember the cross that was given to me by his sacrifice on the his cross that was for my salvation and to forgive me of my sins. And maybe one day that person will understand what pain he caused and accept the free gift of forgiveness. From Jesus. And from me.
As on most Sundays, I wore my silver cremation necklace. It is a necklace that I wear on a regular basis, especially on the days where I am missing my mom--whose ashes it contains. The 4th year anniversary of her death was quickly approaching and wearing my cross during that particular season of my life has always brought comfort, where words might otherwise fail. And for whatever reason, I miss my mom on Sundays more than any other day of the week.
But on this Sunday, as I removed the necklace from around my neck and hung it back into my jewelry case, I made a mental note that it would be at least another week before I would wear it again. The kids and I were taking a week long trip to visit friends, while my husband stayed behind to work and take care of our pets. He was preparing for one of his regular trips overseas and the additional, uninterrupted work time would help him; while a little get-away was just what the kids and I needed. That internal dialogue included the fact that I knew the necklace would stay behind. Too precious to accidentally lose or misplace while traveling. I was leaving it safely behind. Or so I thought.
About 4 days after returning from our trip, I reached for my necklace, which was a day shy of the 4th year anniversary. It was missing. Piece by piece, I emptied my jewelry box of each hanging necklace. Determined that it should be exactly where I remember hanging it, I was instantly reduced to tears. There were few pieces of jewelry that held sentimental value, but this was one of them. I was unusually careful with it.
Calling my husband that morning at work, he confirmed that I had not left it laying out during our vacation; he had not seen it or done anything with it. It was then that I knew it had been stolen. And here is where it gets complicated.
Because I knew Tony would be working long hours, we had friends and neighbors lined up throughout the week during the day to take care of Snickers and give him potty breaks and some play time. They had access to our house. However, during that same week, another person who we trusted was allowed in the house and had the same access to my jewelry. In my heart, I knew it was stolen by that trusted person. In the interest of privacy and not vilifying that person, I will not name them by name. Herein known as 'him' or 'he' only, my story continues.
The news was devastating. Occurring on the wake of a painful anniversary was dealing with the hurt, frustration and anger I felt that someone close to us could be so bold as to steal from me. Grieving for my mom was replaced by grieving for the loss of an irreplaceable piece of jewelry. Tony and I briefly talked about pressing charges, but we knew that in the interest of doing a thorough investigation, police would have to also speak to our friends and neighbors whom we had charged with caring for Snickers. It was not fair to them to be 'suspects'. We needed to handle this privately.
Tony lovingly confronted 'the suspect' with the disappearance of this jewelry and was met with a reaction of disgust and anger that we would 'accuse' him. He expected an apology from me when the necklace was found. In the interest of making sure that I had not made some monumental error, a day later I spent 5 hours in our bedroom looking for the necklace. I literally tore the room apart. From taking the mattress and box springs off the bed, to removing every piece of clothing in every drawer; unfolding all the extra sets of bedding in storage under our bed. We moved every piece of furniture from against the wall. No stone was left unturned. It was definitely gone.
One last time I emptied my jewelry box. It was then I noticed a second piece was missing. Like some cruel joke, I could not believe that another cross had been taken. One that my mom had given me the Christmas 10 years before her death. She had been given the cross at her own catholic confirmation in Schalding, Germany, while living in a refuge camp in 1949. They would immigrate to the United States the following year. This 62 year old cross did not have a chain. It sat solitary in a ring holder, next to another cross I had purchased for myself years earlier. That one was untouched.
Just two days after discovering the cremation necklace gone, one day after the anniversary of her death, I am hit with the confirmation that the disappearance was not neglect or carelessness on my part; they were indeed stolen. And both pieces irreplaceable--a part of my mom's memory and life. I remember sitting there dazed; trying to comprehend that not only had they both been stolen, but they were the two most precious pieces of my limited jewelry collection. Ironically, my pearl necklace and earrings were still there. My diamond earrings untouched. Certainly he did not know the sentimental value of what he took. It was just a cruel twist of fate that he was drawn to the unique pieces that were associated with my mom and the timing of it all.
My loving husband contacted all the area pawn shops within nearby proximity of where the person of interest lived. Sending an e-mail with a picture of the necklace (off the website from which it was purchased) and a picture of whom we presumed would hock them, we hoped that the necklace and/or person would be identified. It took probably 10 days but then we received an e-mail. The cremation necklace was located, the seller of said necklace postively ID'd. The bad news was that the necklace had already been sold. The good news? The owner was able to get the cross portion holding the ashes back from whom he had sold it. The silver rope chain was gone, however. As for the 62 year old cross, he said I could look through what he had acquired in the previous month and I was encouraged to retrieve my items free of charge. With no picture, he did not know if the gold cross was still in his shop.
With my husband now already on his business trip, I ventured to the upscale jewelry pawn shop on my own that Monday morning. With emotions too strong for words, I reclaimed the cremation cross, holding it tightly--thankful for the kind pawn shop owner who took the time to do the right thing. He could have said that it had already been sold and he was unable to get it back. But he didn't. He presumably lost money by retrieving it for me. But his generous heart did not stop there. Before me lay about half dozen gold crosses. Immediately, I was able to rule out the ones that were not my mom's. But I hesitated. There was one that I was 99 percent sure was hers. But honestly, I could not say with 100 percent certainty it was the one. Crosses were dime a dozen, often hocked; easily purchased. Still, I continued to hold the cross and question if it belonged to me. "Take it", Albert said (his name changed for privacy) "If you walk away without it, you'll regret it. If your heart is telling you it's yours, then it is. Don't second guess it." With tears in my eyes, I thanked him for helping me out.
Still, having those back in my possession did not 'fix' everything. The one who stole it lied to us--not once but twice. After reclaiming them, Tony called him back. Told him we found the items and he had been ID'd. He still denied it. Just like Peter denying Christ three times by the time the rooster crowed, this person was caught red-handed and yet still had the hutzpah to claim innocence. My heart broke.
Perhaps a day later, this person called Tony again, while he was still away on business. In a tearful apology, he finally confessed his guilt. Apologizing to Tony, but not to me was a slap in the face. He had assumed that since we were rich and he has nothing, we would never notice those pieces missing. As if his lack of work ethic and productivity in life justified stealing from us. It did not matter that we trusted him in our home despite a strained relationship in the past. Tony extended grace and accepted his apology but said the right thing to do was to apologize to me.
It has been a month and that apology has not come, nor will it ever, I'm sure.
Which is why I feel burdened enough on this dreary Sunday afternoon to write about this experience. At first I felt violated. How much had he cased our house, looking for 'hockable' items? Or did he go straight for the gold and silver? And how to do I forgive when he hasn't asked for my forgiveness? Several other more pressing situations have happened since the disppearance of the two crosses, which deflected from the importance of his betrayal. In the grand scheme of things, I got my valued jewelry back. No harm was done. Still, I'm finding myself angry again. Where is the apology that he would have expected from me?
For me, the relationship is severed. And this person will have no further contact with my two children. The relationship he has with Tony is more personal. How much damage was done for him is not for me to say. Or for me to judge. All I know is that Tony and I agreed he will not be allowed in our home again--or near our kids again. Ever. Not without a God-breathed, time tested and trued change of heart and mind and soul. And the kind of life-changing authentic apology that you know comes from a changed person.
The Bible calls me to forgive. After looking at his past, I can see why he ventured down this ugly, law-breaking path. I can see why his life lead to this point. But for my healing alone, I need to reach a point of forgiveness. But I will not forget. And I will not be so naive to think that at this point he realizes the depth of what he did wrong. He is not sorry for the fact he stole. He is sorry that he got caught, and harmed his relationship with Tony. His apology was never about the act of stealing--or the violation against me. No reparation has truly been made in my eyes. He is Godless and heartless.
The cremation cross sits without a chain in my jewelry box. Whereas I used to wear it several days per week, I cannot look at it without pain and hurt. I visualize him stuffing it carelessly in his pocket, offering it for a price to Albert. Another woman wearing the cross that holds a piece of my mom. It's tainted now. Somehow I need to work through this by finding another unique chain and wearing it again. But right now, the thought brings me pain, which outweighs the comfort and the closeness I felt by wearing it.
I grieve today for what he took from me. Maybe this sounds ultra-dramatic and I'm making a big fuss over nothing. Perhaps no one can relate. But it's truly the way I feel. But the Bible tells us in Matthew 10 that we are to take up our cross and follow Jesus. So when I look at the crosses that were taken from me, I need to remember the cross that was given to me by his sacrifice on the his cross that was for my salvation and to forgive me of my sins. And maybe one day that person will understand what pain he caused and accept the free gift of forgiveness. From Jesus. And from me.
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