Police officers Stole Money From us During a Welfare Check

CONTENT WARNING: Briefly touches on aspects related to suicide.

I can recall most of the details from that day. The weather, the scent in the air and the sickening sensation that filled my stomach as we left the house that late afternoon. Something told me to stay but I ignored it, the anxious person that I’ve always been writing it up to nothing more than nerves that always act up for no good reason. She stayed alone and the rest of us left the house but the further away we got, the more uneasy I grew. I remember opening the car window, struggling to catch my breath. I felt this sense of impending doom come over me, something dark was brewing inside and I couldn’t explain it but looking back – I think that’s what they mean when they say,

“trust your gut.”

That innate instinct that most of us have but many of us tend to ignore. What is it with us humans? We’re quite a complex yet simplistic entity indeed.

I ignored my intuition and I regret it everyday.

As we traveled back down the stretch of our neighbourhood, I could see an ambulance and police cars parked meters from our house. I know I said something but I couldn't tell you what. My heart was beating so fast and a metallic taste filled my mouth but the truth is that we all knew.

Turning into the private lane, police officers stood at our front door. I don’t even think the car had come to a stop and I was out, hurrying towards them – asking them what was going on and answering every question thrown back at me. They wouldn't let me in and I despised them in that moment. It would be a lie if I told you I understood. Eventually, we learned that she had attempted to take her life – she sat on a gurney as they stretchered her out of the home and the devastation of the pain she carried weighed on us all. The months that followed were the most difficult but somehow, you find that you survive.

Less than 24 hours late, she was discharged from the hospital. We dedicated time to cleaning up her bedroom and it was then she noticed that money was missing from her collection of tips. Money, she had worked hard for, earned and saved was gone and it wasn’t long before we concluded that those sent here to help were responsible for something so awful. I suggested we report it, but what were we to say? What proof did we have and who would believe it? There was nothing more that could be done and it hurt.

I hurt for her.

It wasn’t about losing all that money, but it was just painful to witness such callousness. Imagine, someone has tried to kill themselves and you see them at their lowest point, crying out for help and suffering beyond what is comprehensible to many. To think that in that moment one would be comfortable and capable of stealing from someone in despair – it appalled me. The act itself is what hurt. It felt like a slap in the face and a dark realization that these people don’t really care about you. It's a role they’re fulfilling. Nothing new they haven’t already seen and nothing they will remember at the end of the day. You’re a mere fragment that fills up a moment in time and that is all.

She never said that but as I watched her, I imagined if that was what she felt.

No one from the hospital called to learn how she was doing after she was discharged, even though they said they would. Why on earth am I sharing this? Well, maybe because I care. I care a lot about the smallest parts of people even if they are strangers. I feel everything so deeply to the point that I end up sick. I used to loathe this part of myself – but if I didn’t have it then maybe I would partake in the callousness that exist in this world. I hope I never do. In the end, I guess I can’t really argue... they did what they were trained to do – it doesn’t mean they have to care about you.

But...

I care. So, perhaps that’s why I have chosen to share this after all. I care terribly and maybe just maybe, that’s enough.