Braver, stronger, smarter, loved. These four attributes speak to me every day, from a plaque a
dear friend gave us when George was first diagnosed with the evil killer that took
him so quickly. Two “encounters” in the past few weeks have demonstrated to me
that one of these characteristics has not been in my wheelhouse. Bravery. My
protector is gone, and since That Day three months ago I’ve discovered a lot
about myself. Instead of feeling brave, my new life has made me feel
unimaginably vulnerable...
It began with a knock at the door in the early morning hours
of an otherwise uneventful Friday morning. I was awake, in bed with my morning
coffee and my goofy golden, Charlie, next to me. Hearing the doorbell before 8
o’clock in the morning was completely out of context, but not particularly
alarming. We have lived in our neighborhood for 30 years, and the handful of
untimely knocks at the door were always met by the burly presence of my Big Kahuna
- with innocuous outcomes. Yet on this day, I had to make the decision, and I
made the wrong one.
As I grabbed my robe and went downstairs, Charlie at my
heels, I pondered who might be on the other side of the front door.
Our neighbor perhaps? One of the kids who didn’t have their key? The placement
of the door’s peephole is higher than my 5’4” frame, and unsuspecting Paula
didn’t have the presence of mind to take a tip-toed peek at who I was about to
find on my front porch. Instead I opened the door. There in front of me stood
a stranger, dressed formally, as if he were on his way to church.
I was caught off guard, and in hindsight should have immediately closed
the door and locked it. Instead, I looked at him in confusion and uttered one
word, “Yes?“ Silence. He didn’t say a word, and simply stared at me,
expressionless. As my mind raced for what felt like forever, I eventually saw
through the 38 or so years of passed time. It was someone who had been one of
George‘s friends about 45 years earlier. Our then-close friendship had ended on
a sour note in the 80s, and this person disappeared without a trace. And he had
never, ever been to this house. Yet somehow he had found me (thanks/no thanks
Google) and as I soon realized, had fabricated a story to take advantage of my
vulnerable, new widow status.
The entire encounter, the details of which I will not share
here, left me shaken. It was also my wake-up call, and within days I had a new
Ring doorbell and flood light, installed by Son, with
admonishments NEVER to open the front door without checking the live camera
first.
The first test of my fancy new security system - and my second test
at bravery - came last weekend. Once again I was home alone with Charlie, when
my housekeeper called with some concern. Two strangers, a man and woman, had
just appeared at her apartment looking for ME! How they associated her address
with me is still a mystery. They indicated they were former clients of George,
looking for their legal file. Red flag alert! Of course she was wary, and without sharing any
information about me, offered to take their name and contact information to
pass along. When they refused, she was even more concerned. She said they
mentioned my current street (which she would not confirm), and she called as soon
as they left to warn me they might be on their way. Her son captured a photo and sent it to me.
I called daughter to share
the unsettling encounter. As we talked, the now familiar Ring chime alerted me
to someone in my long driveway. I peeked out the window as I awaited the
video feed. It was them! And I panicked.
There was no bravery. Only fear and a sense of utter vulnerability. Were they really former
clients? Why did they refuse to provide their contact info earlier? They didn’t
look threatening. In fact, if my housekeeper had not forewarned me, I probably would
have answered the door - to my entire family and friend’s consternation!
Instead I froze.
Phone in hand, with Daughter still on the line, I clumsily tried to activate my Ring app, but
was sadly unfamiliar – and too shaky – to access the camera or microphone feature. So I
stood silent as Daughter screamed to me through the phone not to answer the door
and to call police. I did neither. I felt like a child, alone and frightened,
wishing someone were there to protect me. I wanted George so much in that
moment. From his urn just feet from the door, I suspect he was screaming at me
too. Don’t open the door!
After they left, two officers arrived (Daughter had indeed
called!) to review the captured videos and determine if further action should
be taken. Neither the police nor I had enough information to determine the
intent of my “visitors”. The officer recommended I use the speaker feature on
my new high-tech doorbell to communicate with visitors from now on. He also suggested I invest in a couple
Beware of Dog signs for my gates - a recommendation made while Charlie lay at the officer's feet, on his back, inviting a belly rub - garnering chuckles from us all!
Friends rallied around me the night of this last encounter -
my Cavalry - and circled their protective wagons, complete with dinner and
drinks in hand. We practiced the use of all of my new, high tech equipment.
With a few dress rehearsals under my belt, and some trepidation that these
strangers may reappear, I’m going to channel my inner Kahuna next time I hear
the familiar Ring chime.
As frightened as I was in both encounters, I was equally mad
at myself for my lack of courage and common sense in the face of perceived
danger. These two events have proven to me that Paula 2.0 has to “woman up”. Choose
bravery over fear. Confidence over vulnerability. I have to protect myself now. The front porch
welcome mat has been replaced with a “Beware of Dog – and LPM ”
sign!
