I enjoy spending time in nature but there’s a part I’d prefer not to see.  Have you watched scavengers devour fresh kill on the side of the road? Systematically, they pick every morsel from the bones – sometimes even pecking out the eyes.

Scavenging reminds me of what can happen to someone who is weak, dying or dead.

The vulnerable.

We’ve all heard the stories.

About people who take advantage. 

The caregivers who help themselves to more than a cup of tea – perhaps the family heirlooms, jewelry, or cash they find laying around – all under the guise of caring for their client.

Perhaps it’s someone with sticky fingers in charge of finances.

It could be a smooth talking “professional” hired to complete repairs or provide assistance in some way. They promise the sun, moon and stars but what they deliver? They come and go like a thief in the night leaving a trail of shoddy work often with no trace.

Easy money.

Family, trusted friend or a stranger – it’s a crime of opportunity and it happens more than we’d like to let on.

Do these crimes happen more often in rural areas? With family members living farther away these days, and no one in the vicinity to intervene or provide that sober second thought, I would venture it does.

I got a taste for vulnerability when I hired strangers for various tasks around the family home. Handing someone I just met keys to a house full of contents required a great deal of trust. Paying for services rendered sight unseen was even more difficult.

I was given a one-time opportunity to go through my mother’s personal effects while she was in palliative care.

It made me uncomfortable and I declined.

It felt like I was picking through her bones before her last breath.

Little did I know, I would not be given another opportunity.

The bones of a house – the foundation, walls and roof also tell a story – some good times, some not so great. As we scratch the surface, a story appears.  Decorating trends emerge – shag carpet, choice of paint colors or wallpaper give a hint to the decade it was added.

Scarcity, or money problems, may display as scavenged supplies.

How someone treats a property they do not own certainly tells a story.

Holes in doors and broken glass may indicate anger or frustration.

It’s not always a pretty picture.

I had an uneasy feeling as I began to sort through the contents of my mother’s accumulations. Reading letters and cards addressed to her felt like a violation of privacy.  

As I continued to sift through her life, it felt like I was poking holes through her hopes and dreams.

Some of my discoveries offered an insight into my mother I never had while she was alive.

That made me both happy and sad.

Our relationship was fractured for reasons I’ll never completely understand. A situation worsened by the trauma of my father’s suicide. We were unable to speak of any of it, at least not in a language both of us could understand.

Some people have no problem picking through bones.

Only too eager to dig through the spoils.

The spoils of someone’s life.

While it has to be done, I find it repulsive.

With age comes declining health, and emergency calls can become the norm.  Without access, doors may be damaged, screens cut, in an effort to assist.  

In the case of my childhood home, keys to the home were distributed following those emergency calls. How many remain unclear. None were returned.

No matter, news of the locks being changed spread quickly.

But before I could get those locks changed?  Were people helping themselves to the contents? My Spidey sense tells me that’s likely.  I’m told that large items such as a ride on lawnmower and a ladder disappeared.  I’m confident there was more.

You can’t tell me someone didn’t know.  Of course they knew.

It’s not like you can hide a ride on lawn tractor or ladder under your coat.

Why did no one speak out? Why didn’t they reach out to someone? Or contact the police when they suspected something was amiss?

It’s likely no one wanted to get involved. That saddens me because someday I might be in that vulnerable position. Will no one look out for my best interests?

When did picking the bones of the vulnerable become acceptable?

Thanks for spending some of your day with us!

We’re heading into the final stretch as I say goodbye to my childhood home. Join me here https://www.youtube.com/@lorisinclair9696