Sleep, Interrupted

It’s been a week and a half since the attack. I call it an attack now because that’s what it was: not just a message sent by the dope peddler intent on intimidating us, but an attack on the minivan, on our property, on our economic well-being, and on our sense of security.

It’s been ten days of interrupted, broken sleep. Ten days of waking up each morning wondering if my car was busted up, and now that we have the minivan back, whether it was left alone last night, since it was parked on a side street in front of a neighbor’s house, directly under a street light. Ten days of weighing the options of whether to stay and risk further damage to our property or worse, risking the safety of the family, or leaving and caring less about the effect on our good credit scores. Ten days of dealing with the reasons and excuses of why the Tacoma Police Department didn’t and wouldn’t have responded. Ten days of feeling alone in this fight.

With two exceptions.

I had reached out to a client of mine the day that the attack took place. He’s heavily connected in the mortgage and real estate industry in the area, and I ased for his professional opinion on the situation. I got a call within a few hours that morning, even though he is a newer client, and even though he was in Alaska. He understood the safety concern, and one of the very first things he did was offer a “cabin” he had down in Lacey (more on that in a bit).

Tuesday morning I got a call from a friend who was not only sympathetic, but gave wise counsel and offered not only to help financially but to come stand guard–and recruit others–if needed. The call was a needed relief.

We haven’t needed to take up the offer of the latter yet…though the financial help would be more than welcome. But the former…we actually went and took a look at it last evening. This is the view from outside:

The kids were almost immediately willing to sacrifice, understanding that we’d be far enough from friends that we couldn’t see them every day, but close enough that we could still arrange occasional dates.

I was, for the first time in ten days, at peace. It was like all the weight was taken off of me. I was relaxed. I was happy.

Now, we still have to find out terms and whether or not we can do this, so it’s far from a done deal, especially since we’d still need to deal with the house and the bank and determine the course there, whether to try to short-sale it or do a deed in lieu of foreclosure.

But it’s a start.

It’s been a week and a half since the attack. I call it an attack now because that’s what it was: not just a message sent by the dope peddler intent on intimidating us, but an attack on the minivan, on our property, on our economic well-being, and on our sense of security. It’s been ten days…