The Real Diamonds in the Treasure Box of My Life
When my son was 3 months old, for my first Christmas as a mother, my husband gave me a pair of diamond earrings. I’m positive it’s the most he’s ever spent on any one single item. I wonder if it was more than my engagement ring, but I’m not sure and nor do I really care. I mention the cost to heighten the value of this precious gift.
I wore the earrings day in and out. As a new mama, I was also discovering that any jewelry - whether it be a necklace or dangling earrings - would be grabbed and pulled so the diamond studs were the perfect go to jewelry for every day. A little sparkle and no temptation to grab for my little one. I loved those earrings and wore them day in and day out.
Four and a half years later, we came home from the park one afternoon to find our back window open. At that time, we entered the house that way because the mudroom was all the way in the back. It was so much easier to enter through the expanse of the yard and drop all the gear either outside or in the mudroom. Oh no. Window open. I didn’t leave the window open. Oh wait, yes I did. I had left it cracked about six inches with a slim window fan in. Living in the heart of West Los Angeles between Olympic Blvd and Santa Monica, I was not new to the fears of a house being broken into. But after living in that house for a few years with no problems, I got a little too comfortable. Six inches too comfortable to be exact. I felt ok with those six inches because there was a little window stopper security thing a former tenant must’ve added that I was convinced would not allow the window to open farther than that. This made me feel safe leaving ONE slim window fan in one window to cool our hot-as-an-oven house in the heatwave that is a Los Angeles fall.
That Wednesday evening I found out I was wrong. Someone had found a way to force the window open wide enough for someone to climb through.
I had been just coming home from the park with my two kids, my son was then 5 and my daughter was just over 1. My husband was an hour away at work.
I knew this meant our house had been broken into. I did not know if there was anyone still inside. I called 911. I was on the phone with 911 when a family walked by. A mom, dad and their 4 boys. I did not know them but I had seen them in passing on walks once or twice. I reached out to the mother while 911 was still ringing. I explained what had happened to the mother in as few words as I could muster while also somehow watching my own kids.
I reached for her arm. This woman I’d only barely seen was my lifeline. Someone to be with me in this moment of fear and shock. Not just any human, a mother. She let me hold her arm and looking back that touch, that support held me up. Once I hung up, she immediately went into action. I must’ve spoken to 911 but barely remember the details. The 911 people told me to wait outside until police arrived to check the house. The mother offered to wait with me until the police arrived. Even better, she’d leave her husband and kids with us. And she ran home to get snacks and water for my kids as by now it was well after dinnertime. I called her my angel and I know she was.
The police came and went and this dear woman and her family finally left too, after handing with us for the long haul. We exchanged numbers. Her name was Dorothea.
The robbers took ALL of my jewelry. I had just organized my jewelry the Friday before this, less than a week before. All of my jewelry was hung in hanging jewelry bag and neatly placed in pouches. All the jewelry I’d collected for my whole life, from places around the world and friends and family. Including those diamond earrings.
There’s so much more I could say about this experience - how the shock really left a sense of violation and trauma in me. A feeling that I couldn’t leave my windows open even when I was home. It led to us getting a Ring security camera in the front and back and an alarm system. Never again would I just unlock my door or turn my phone or go out without my phone. I became hyper-vigilant about checking the Ring alerts on my phone and the SimplySafe alerts. Turning the alarm code on became my bait to get the kids out the door when we were in a rush (I am not proud of this, yet it happened because the alarm had a countdown.)
Now we live in Western Massachusetts. That feeling is a thing of the past. Less than 2 years after this incident we decided once and for all to leave Los Angeles. This was a piece of the puzzle of our decision, by no means all of it.
When we were packing up our house I found a little white box. Inside was the original box the diamond earrings had come in all those years ago. I opened the box - knowing all too well nothing would be in there. I knew the earrings had been in the hanging jewelry organizer that I’d unknowingly made it so easy for the robbers to run off with. But… there was something in there. A little piece of torn wrapping paper with a handwritten note.
“To the love of my life xoxo” in my husband’s handwriting. Wow.
While I’m still sad those sparkly studs are gone forever, no one can ever take away my memories. My husband, the new papa who bought me those earrings. The angel-woman who held me up that evening and fed my kids snacks… whose presence gave me such peace of mind and comfort. (And who I became good friends with. Our sons were in kindergarten classrooms next door to each other the following year and we spent many an afternoon in her backyard sipping delicious coffee and sharing stories.)
That piece of torn wrapping paper and these memories are the real diamonds in the treasure box of my life.