This morning we went dumpster diving again to see if we could recover anything. We didn't find anything except for the cop who helped us yesterday when it all happened. That was a weird coincidence and quite comforting, too, as she was really great about everything. I had lost the slip of paper with the case number and detective's phone number so she gave it to me again and we came home.
I worked on our taxes and my financial aid form for much of the afternoon and then decided to grieve actively. Sewing is meditative for me, and I need a new purse anyway, so I sewed up this blue friend. He's blue because I'm blue.
I especially like the inside-- blue bubbles with a ticking striped pocket.
Perhaps my favorite part of making a new purse is the ceremonial transferring of stuff (wallet, chapstick, etc.) from old purse to new purse. It was when I realized I didn't have those things to transfer that the tears began flowing.
This whole thing just hurts. I have bad words to say about those people, and I have said some of them. But more than just being annoyed that I don't know my drivers license number to write on the financial aid form, I am angry that my husband, who so desperately needs to rest, is instead outside at 11 pm still vacuuming out shards of glass and taking apart the car door. Instead of relaxing tonight he has come in to check on me with blood on his fingers. Instead of having a day of rest we are picking up pieces literally and figuratively. And instead of being ready for the week I feel beaten down and violated. And so I cry out to God-- why did this happen? What can I learn from it? Please won't you protect us more? Please heal our hearts and bodies and restore us quickly.
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