Michelle was coming off an extremely rough day on Friday, and so I, grasping at ways to help her (and being exhausted myself), suggested we just put the kids to bed as soon as possible and then get to sleep ourselves. This is how I wound up going to bed early, saying, just before I rolled over and went to sleep, "Tomorrow is a new day, hon. His mercies are new every morning."
And then I was out.
I was dimly aware, around midnight, that Constance was being fussy and Michelle was up with her. Mother was singing to baby, a special bonding moment happening in the living room, the voice of my favorite singer in the world ringing clear in the quiet night. She sang softly, intimately, one-on-one, and even though I was half-asleep, I treasured eavesdropping on such a sweet time.
Then: BANG!
Then: Michelle screaming: terror, unfiltered fear, absolute fright, uncapped and rushing out, rising high like a geyser.
These two sounds took a half-second to wake me, then another half-second to register. My sluggish, sleep-addled brain struggled to put together something coherent. I remembered that Michelle had been in the living room with the baby, so I jumped to the logical conclusion that something had gone wrong and now there was a medical emergency. Something heavy had fallen on Constance, a bookcase maybe.
That was the bang. That was the reason for the scream.
Michelle's scream continued as I leapt out of bed, answering her with a primal, instinctive scream of my own, the way animals in the wild communicate warnings to each other. At some subconscious level I wanted her to know I heard her and was on the way.
I landed on the floor, stumbling, lurching out the bedroom and around the corner as quickly as my still-asleep legs would allow. I was ready to see blood.
I was not ready to see the barrel of a shotgun.
Or the man holding it. Demanding my computer. Michelle handing it over, saying, "Take it." A half-second to think Good job, Michelle.
Another half-second to register what was going on. Time enough for me to swear.
It's all flashes of instinct now. My brain is rushing to process and catch up as the rest of me goes on autopilot.
I go to the kids' room, just right there. The three oldest are sleeping together these days, along with the dog and the bearded dragon. Surely the noise has awakened them and they need to be secured. "Be quiet and stay put," I say, my tone reassuring but urgent. No time to say "please."
I go back out to the hallway, hear the man now demanding money.
I see Michelle look at me, her eyes emanating waves of fear. I hate to see her looking like this. I see her mouth moving, forcing the words out, asking me: "Money?"
I see Charlotte, now awake from the noise, toddling out of our bedroom and into the terrible scene unfolding on the other side of the wall.
Mother & Wife and Father & Husband have a wordless exchange and know exactly what to do. Mother crosses room to secure Child. Father & Husband emerges fully into the living room, calmly, rationally.
I see a group, a gang of men standing in my living room, lined up in the entryway, each of them with a shotgun. One of the guns is crowned by a bean-shaped canister and I think, That's a paintball gun but do nothing with the information. I'll give it to the police later.
I know my family is out of the room now, safe for the moment, and peace overtakes me. I walk purposefully but cautiously across the living room toward the kitchen. I extend my arms and look at the men. "It's cool, fellas," I say. "We're cool here." I don't want any lethal accidents caused by a jumpy trigger finger.
I reach the kitchen counter, where I know my money clip is laying. I know it has about $30 on it, and I know this will be a disappointment to the men. I do not worry.
I hand the money clip to the lead assailant, noticing he is not wearing a shirt, while the rest of them have shirts pulled up over their faces. His boldness strikes me. Only a baseball cap and black shorts. And the shotgun. I notice his physique is athletic but not over-muscled, like a wide receiver or a swimmer. He looks like he's in his early 20s. The rest of them around 18 or just beyond.
"That's all I got," I say. I look at his face but not at his eyes. I do not want to connect with this man. I just want him gone.
He takes it and turns around. The rest of them turn and begin filing out. I follow them to the door like a hospitable host escorting his party guests out.
The last one out shuts the door, but it caroms back open and I see them turn left as they run away.
My instinct steps aside and puts my brain back in charge.
I ran into our bedroom. "They're gone!" I said to Michelle, who was holding Constance by now. "Where's the phone?" If she answered, I don't remember. I ran to the side of the bed to get Michelle's phone, then, still addled, left the room to go to the kitchen counter to get my phone instead, which makes no sense except in the logical way that I never use Michelle's phone; I always use my own.
I couldn't find my phone and figured they'd gotten it from Michelle while I was out of the room securing the kids. I ran back into our bedroom, grabbed Michelle's phone, and dialed 911.
After a few rings, the operator answered and I told her what happened. She put the call through and asked me some more questions. Not two minutes later, she said, "I'm showing that police are in your neighborhood; do you see any cars?"
I was worried the men would be coming back, that the money wasn't enough, so I was peeking out through the front window, trying to see as much as I could without exposing myself. There was nothing.
"No ma'am," I said. "Nothing yet."
"They're probably doing a perimeter sweep; they'll be there shortly. Would you like to stay on the line with me until they arrive?"
"Yes, please." Now I have time for "please."
Michelle had taken Charlotte and Constance into the big kids' room, so I stepped in to tell her the police were in the neighborhood and would be here soon. She wandered back into our bedroom, still holding Constance and muttering, "They were pointing guns at me. They were just pointing guns at me." She lost her legs and nearly fainted, but I grabbed her arm and helped her instead collapse in a heap against the bed. Pale as a ghost.
In less than ten minutes, an officer was knocking on my door, his gun drawn, his eyes taking it all in. He asked for a description and I gave him all I could tell him, which wasn't much. I couldn't remember anything about anyone's faces, just their general heights and the build of the shirtless leader.
It's a blur from there. Six police cars, including a K-9 unit. There was a lot of confused conversation about possible suspects, MOs, how and why they chose our house... it all runs together now. The dog tracked them to a nearby drainage ditch and there are fresh tire tracks. The officers nodded at each other and discussed a report of a carjacking they'd received ten minutes before I called them.
I had to fill out a police report, stating what happened for the record. I didn't want the kids to be alone, so I went in their room to fill it out, and they asked me what was going on. All except Noah, who was still asleep.
Emma said to me, "Dad, the thing I just can't get out of my head is how much God loves them."
Even in the midst of my adrenalized state, I chuckled and teared up. "Thank you, Emma," I said. "I needed to be reminded of that."
There wasn't much to do after that. Michelle said to me, "I'm never sleeping here again," and I said, "I agree." That was that.
She packed a bag while I jumped on our desktop computer to change the passwords to all my email accounts and my online banking account. Though I assumed the thieves would have difficulty getting past my password-protected computer, I didn't want to take any chances with such critical information.
We loaded the van while two of the officers waited in our driveway, ensuring protection as we made our escape. Just after I backed out of the garage, I parked in the driveway and approached the lead police officer.
"Would it be okay if I pray for you?" I asked. I don't know why; it just seemed like the right thing to do.
She smiled and said, "Of course." I have no idea what I prayed, but it was simple and not very profound. It was just an intentional connection with God, and I desperately needed that at that moment.
Then I got back in and we were off on the thirty-minute drive to Michelle's parents' house, out in the country.
The thieves took my computer and some money, and they took a lot of emotional security from us, but they didn't take any lives, and for that I was grateful.
It was now 2:30 on Saturday morning, only an hour after five men with shotguns broke down my door and shattered the peace of my home. But we were safe, physically unharmed, and alive.
Today was a new day. It was morning. And God's mercies were new.
