Life... is a Circus.
There are Ringmasters keeping you focused. Acrobats and Tightrope Walkers distracting you. But the worst part of the Circus, to me, is the Clown. The deceiver.
And life, lately, has been full of clowns.
I sit here tonight under the soft green glow of my desk lamp, my cold fingers typing out the truths that have haunted me these recent days. It’s quiet now, but my mind is anything but. After an evening walk that chilled me to the bone, I can’t stop thinking about what’s happened—what’s still happening—right outside my door.
If you’ve followed my recent writing, you know I’ve shared about our neighbor Mary. Tonight is no different. There’s more I need to say. Because what has unfolded in the days since her death is something I never expected to witness in my lifetime, let alone in my quiet neighborhood.
The Beginning of the End
On Monday, October 23rd, we found our neighbor Mary dead in her home. The police came and did... whatever it is they do in such situations. Before they left, we asked them if they had secured her home. We were worried—about squatters, about fire.
They said they had done what they could. Which apparently meant they left it all unlocked.
I’m not a cop, but it seems basic to me: find her ID, her keys, and lock the house up until next of kin can be contacted. But they didn’t. And so, it began.
Mary had no obituary. No family came forward. By Friday, October 27th, the Coroner posted a public ad asking for next of kin. We knew what that meant. The beginning of the end.
A Disturbing Pattern
That Friday, I noticed something odd—the blinds, once open, were now shut. Her front gate, which I had closed, was open again. I called the local police department. Got a voicemail. Left a message. Was told the second shift would stop by.
They didn’t.
The next morning, I heard furniture moving. We live close walls are thin. It was unmistakable. More signs: attic lights on, blinds shifting. A car suddenly pulling away.
It was her car.
When the police finally came, they told us to “call if you see someone in there.” I told them I had. I told them second shift never came. They left again telling us the front door was still unlocked.
On Monday, October 30th, I called the Coroner’s Office myself. I was told her “Son” had contacted them. She didn’t have a son.
On Wednesday, November 1st, the blinds were now jumbled, stacked behind with boxes. Lights still on. Again, I asked the police for help. This time they took it seriously. Three officers entered the house.
They found no one—but what they shared with me broke my heart.
They locked the front door. Told us to watch the house.
The Break-In Escalates
Thursday, November 2nd: My husband sees people hauling things out the back door. I call 911. Before officers arrive, they jump in the car—her car—and speed off.
A neighbor, himself in law enforcement, watched it all. They waved to him.
The police came. Again. Told us to “call again if we see them.” Locked the back door. Ignored the fact that whoever this is—has her keys.
That afternoon, a new car—running, no plates—parks behind her garage. A woman and child sit inside. Another man runs out of her house with more of her belongings. He jumps into the car, and they escape in a high-speed chase. No arrests. No license plate. No trace.
These are not family members. No one claimed her. The state will sell her property. She lies in cold storage, unclaimed.
We—her neighbors—are left to witness the theft, desecration, and failure of a system that should protect the dead as much as the living.
And now?
Friday, November 3rd: The attic blind is down now. All lights still on. The thieves came back. Cleared more out. No one stopped them.
Our neighborhood has become a watchtower. Eyes peeking through blinds. Late-night patrols. Cameras on. Hearts heavy.
Why Do I Care?
Because we are our brother’s keeper.
Because when we stop caring about what happens to each other—especially when someone dies alone—we lose a little more of our humanity.
Because people like Mary deserve more than to be stolen from in death. They deserve more than for strangers to pick through their life like a yard sale.
And because I hate clowns.
The deceivers. The ones who grin while doing harm. The ones who sneak in the shadows, preying on silence. And the ones who let it all happen without lifting a finger.
Not in my neighborhood. Not in my lifetime.