Last Friday afternoon I came home to find a burglar running from the bedroom of our house, with a sack of goods he had stolen from our family home of 36 years. As I confronted the robber in the hallway, he ran through the house, pushed me over in my kitchen, cutting and bruising my arm and eventually fled up our street.
I had only been out for 20 minutes to get a cup of coffee but the initial shock of seeing him walk out of my room still flashes through my mind hourly.
!['I had no idea that you would be arriving but I guess it was not a problem for you to let yourself in.'](/web/20170119035452im_/http://www.theage.com.au/content/dam/images/g/r/9/o/1/q/image.related.articleLeadwide.620x349.gtsx01.png/1484662774629.jpg)
In the 20 minutes he was in our house, he stole some of our prized possessions and family mementoes that linked us to our family long passed. Most importantly, however, he damaged our sense of personal safety and the confidence in the safe refuge and security we should all be able to feel in our own homes.
I write the following letter to the burglar who has stolen so much more than the objects he came for.
Dear Thief,
I have been thinking about you so often about since our chance meeting when you dropped by my house last Friday. But since we only spent a few minutes together in the hallway of my house, I just wanted to explain to you just what your untimely visit has meant to me, my family and my neighbours.
I had no idea that you would be arriving but I guess it was not a problem for you to let yourself in. You came prepared with your tools of the trade and screwdrivers to break the lock, damage the frame and prise open my back door and go about your business, how very efficient of you.
I must say that I quite admire how quickly you moved along with your work. It is hard to imagine in 20 short minutes that you were able to steal so many memories and mementoes from my family. Actually what you stole was so much more than anything money could buy.
When I got up this morning I looked down at my hands, but instead of seeing the rings that have been on my fingers for the whole of my married life, I only saw my weathered hands. No wedding ring, no engagement ring, no anniversary ring, no ring at all to show the love and commitment of 35 years of marriage to my adored husband. And I especially miss the nondescript, thin little silvery band that was with them, do you remember that one? That ring was my mother's engagement ring and every day when I looked at that ring I was reminded of the 65 years of love that she and my father spent together and was given hope that one day I might also be so lucky.
Like most Australians, we have come to Australia from other places and our family history and most of our relations remain on foreign shores. So all the little bits and pieces you stole from us, which looked like dollar signs to you, were for us links to our family history and small mementoes to pass down and share with our children. Did you have a chance to read any of the notes that I had attached to some of the items you took from us? They were little stories that I had written to explain to our children and grandchildren when we are long gone that this little trinket was a symbol and a link to their family far away and long gone.
What about the little cross with the inlaid beads, you might remember that one? Just for your information, that was a gift from my teacher/missionary in-laws who spent their lives helping others in Africa. How about the rhinestone apple broach? It must have cost $2Â but to me it meant the world when it was given to me to by my grandma when I had scarlet fever.
I think we were lucky though. That even though you have violated every personal freedom one can have, you have not touched our sense of hope and community and the outrage to say that we will not stand for these types of violent and invasive actions. I will refuse to sit quietly and let this crime pass without giving you fair warning that I will support every effort to make sure that you do not this again and that no one in this community has to go through this ordeal.
I look forward to meeting you again soon. Perhaps I can drop in on you as unexpectedly as you did me and through prison bars tell you the other stories you carried away with you last Friday.
Mary Marx lives in Melbourne's eastern suburbs.
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