An hour ago, a group of young men kicked through our front door. No, not kidding. Matt, Ian, Richell, and Olivia were all in the front den at the time. I was in the front bathroom. When it happened Richell grabbed the baby and ran to the back den, my brother grabbed a hockey stick and he and Ian chased after them, and I ran into a front room to find it empty. Not knowing if my family was safe. Not knowing what had happened or if it was safe for me to be standing there. Not knowing if someone snatched my baby, my husband, my sister-in-law, or my brother. I looked into my empty front room with pieces of trim and plaster scattered on the floor and my front door swinging open into the night.
I am afraid to call out in case someone has come into the house, but I do it anyway because I need to know where my child is more than I need to be safe. It is a terrible feeling. And I hear her crying and I hear Richell crying and they are in the back and I don’t know where my husband is and when I find him I can’t see my brother and someone has kicked in my door. Someone has kicked in my door and I could have been home alone with Olivia. Someone has kicked in my door and instead of running away they could have come in. Someone has kicked in my door and even though they are gone, I’m still scared.
How do I live here now?