But what happened to Chuck and Maureen Palermo last week is a tragedy. Because the person or people who shattered the rear left window of their 2005 black Volvo, which was parked in the front lot at British Beer Company in Walpole early Monday evening, stole far more than a nylon messenger bag full of papers, bills, a personal journal, an iPad, an iPod Touch, and a cellphone.
These thieves stole memories. They stole from the Palermos’ irreplaceable past.
Things are always more than meet the eye. The stolen bag, for example.
It was fuchsia and black and had “Lisa’’ embroidered on it. It was not new. It had no resale value. A thief would have tossed it, thinking it worthless.
But that bag is priceless to Maureen. It was her daughter’s. Lisa had touched its straps, its zippers, the pockets inside. She had draped it over her shoulder every day. She had carried it to school, to dance class, to the hospital. She stuffed books in it and lip gloss. It was part of her. It was something Maureen could touch that her daughter had touched. It was something that comforted her until last Monday night, when it was stolen.
Lisa died 3 1/2 years ago, when she was 15. Cystic fibrosis killed her. It killed her two brothers, too - Daniel when he was 19, and Mark when he was 24. All that remain are the things that were theirs, things that were important to them.
And all these things are precious.
The iPod belonged to Daniel. It held his music. He was in musical theater. Music was his life.
The iPad and cellphone belonged to Mark. Mark was a student, a cook, and a writer. He had recipes on his phone and stories on his iPad. He had messages and texts - “Get better soon’’ “We miss you, Mark’’ - photos he took and photos people took of him. He had e-mails and friends’ addresses. He had songs he listened to, movies he watched, games he played. His life was on his phone. His history.
Mark was the last to die. He’d had a lung transplant and had been doing well. He died four months ago. His things held his recent, precious past.
I wonder if the thieves opened the journal they took, if they read anything, if they realized that they had stolen from parents who had their children stolen, one by one, who have lost what they both loved most.
Thieves cruise up and down highways trolling for cars to rob. They cruise in search of an easy score. It was quick and easy for the someones who robbed the Palermos. They scored and drove off.
No one saw. No one heard.
It is not quick and easy for the Palermos. Not a single moment. Not a single breath. Photos, messages, music, a daughter’s favorite bag. It’s what they had left.
And now they don’t.
