I knew I was not alone in my house...I left off at the point where the heat had turned on and the sound covered any other sounds I was trying to hear. I didn't know what else was going on outside the bathroom.I stayed firmly in place.
I stayed in the bathroom a long time. Hours. I know that sounds silly, but I did not want to open that door for anything but a familiar voice. I felt it all the way to my bones that the locked door kept me safe. I didn't want to be the cliche idiot who opens the door and gets hurt because they thought the coast was clear. In those few hours I did learn some things about myself though.
At several points in these events I contemplated the concept of this being my last day. My last moments in mortality. I didn't want it to be my last day. In the hours that felt like years in which I was afraid and alone in the bathroom, I talked with God. I'm so grateful that I've learned in this life that God is not a cosmic Santa Claus. That one of mortality's greatest gifts is agency - the ability to make choices for oneself, as well as the ability to learn the difference between right and wrong and to make ethical and moral decisions. The gift to make one's own decisions to choose between right and wrong, good or evil. That God does not take agency away from one person to suit the wants, desires, or needs of another - no matter the outcome.
So often people rail against God for the bad or evil choices of others. I myself have fallen into that trap in the past. If God took away the choice of one, He would have to take away the choice of all. He is a just God. No matter what name you put to God, Heavenly Father, Jehovah, Bhagavan, Allah, Ek Onkar, or Yahweh there is the facet of justice in one form or another.
I personally do not want my agency removed from me. Blaming the poor choices of others on God is short sighted. It reminds me of the idiom, "Cut off my nose to spite my face." If all humans were just puppets, only allowed to choose good, what kind of life would we lead? Would we learn anything? Not much. Mortality, life, would hold no value. When you are sick, you learn the value of health. When you taste something bitter, you value the sweet. When you age, you learn the value of youth.
In this state of mind I prayed. I knew that the person on the other side of the door had made bad choices. Maybe a lot of them. Maybe even evil to the point of wanting to hurt me in ways that are the stuff nightmares are made of. But, this is not God's fault. I would not curse God and ask why this was happening to me. Been there, done that. Made those mistakes. I now had the opportunity to "repent" -for lack of a better word- in that I had grown up and could see more clearly my life and my choices. I prayed and let God know that no matter what happened today, even if it was my last day, that I was grateful. I was grateful for my life. I have not lived a life of wealth, prosperity, easy days, and endless joys, but that I was grateful nonetheless.
Grateful for so many things. For my family and mentioned them all by name and what they meant to me. For my friends and mentioned them by name. For my faith and all of its facets, especially my beliefs in Jesus Christ. For my many opportunities to learn and grow in many directions. For the safety and protection of my family and friends. For the strength to face whatever may be on the other side of the door. Not to remove me from the situation, but to give me what I needed to deal with it. This is a HUGE paradigm shift for me in my life. To accept that I don't escape hardship by virtue of faithfulness to God or my religious beliefs. That God and my religious beliefs give me resources to garner strength, but not a free pass from pain and suffering.
I promised myself and God that I would be more grateful. Show more gratitude. Hold a better perspective on positivity versus negativity. Tell the people around me how much they mean to me. That I thought of them during this time and what I wanted to say to them on my last day.
After several hours, I knew that no one was going to come and get me out or to let me know from the other side if it was safe. I had to garner a lot of courage and threw the door open, ran down the hallway to my bedroom to the phone. I dialed 911. Relief that I was safe and that Friday was not my last day so filled me I was almost hysterical with it. The 911 operator had to ask me several times to calm down because he could not understand what I was saying. When the cops came to the house I was just sitting at the top of the stairs with the phone in one hand and funny enough - my blowdryer in the other. What the blowdryer was good for, your guess is as good as mine. It made sense at the time.
They took pictures of my purse which was roughly emptied all over the floor, two credit cards and my cash were taken. They made phone calls to my parents and my work. Every time I tried to tell the story I just broke down in tears and sobs. My Dad came home from work early to be with me that day. As weird as this sounds, it was a good day, it was not my last.
