I felt sorry for myself yesterday so the Universe plotted and gave me a reason to feel sorry for someone else.
Last night (or this morning actually) some motherfucker tried to break in to my 72 year old, recently widowed MIL's house by kicking in the front door at 1am.
She said it sounded like someone drove a car into her house. She got up and turned all the lights on - which likely scared the motherfucker away. When she saw that her front door had been smashed off it's hinges and paint chips had been scattered right across her entryway, she called 911.
It took the police 9 minutes to get there.
She has a bad heart and so on top of being petrified of someone assaulting her, she was scared she might have a heart attack.
The police found a giant shoe print on the front door and some matching footprints in the back yard.
There was apparently a rash of break-ins last night in her area.
WHY her house? Why? That's so not fair.
I feel just awful for her. I can't imagine the level of fear she must have felt. And how insecure she will feel in her own home now.
Steve is going out there tonight to secure her windows and replace her door (which is shattered). She has a house alarm which she doesn't know how to use, but he is going to teach her and insist she start using it.
He may stay the night with her if she needs him.
I don't know what will come of this now. It's a pretty big setback on the road to healing if you ask me.