My sister’s storage unit was broken into last night. Obviously, for anyone who has ever had their car broken into or something stolen, the sense of violation is always the worst part. However, in my sister’s case, she didn’t lose anything of monetary value. In fact, her husband’s surfboard and my husband’s bicycle were left untouched. Something much worse was stolen from my sister. Two years of her life were swiped.

Erika has been journaling for a very long time–I think she is nearing twenty years. I have always been in awe of her massive number of journals; she has been writing pages nearly every night since the early to mid 1990s. She has a written record of almost every thought and concern of hers since she was 11 or 12! How amazing! What commitment.

Yet, last night, some turd disregarded the surfboard and grabbed Erika’s journals! She found the box with her journals had been moved and opened and now she’s missing 8th and 9th grade. Who would do such a thing?!

I am hopeful that she’ll find those journals in some alley by her house. How do you replace something like that? You can’t. From here on, I hope she goes back to storing her journals in the house. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. Such a shame. My heart hurts for her because I remember the time she put into those, burrowing away in her bedroom, listening to Green Day or Bush, writing away.

Such a shame.

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