A few months ago, I was on a business trip and checked my cell phone for messages in between my morning and afternoon meetings. There was one message, the one you never want to hear: “Honey, it’s me,” said my husband Eric, trying to sound nonchalant and doing a horrible job. “Call me as soon as you can. It’s important.”

It’s important. Those words rang in my head as I dashed off to my next meeting, no time to call Eric back until hours later. By that time, I was panicked with the possibilities.

“What’s wrong? Is someone hurt? Are the boys OK?” I fired into the phone when Eric picked up. When he told me we’d been robbed, a wave of relief flooded through me. As I walked back to my hotel that evening, I gave thanks that everything with real value to me was still waiting for me at home.

The thief had worked fast, filling a laundry basket with what he could carry: cameras and loose cash from my oldest son’s room; a small television, a video camera, an iPod from the kitchen; some old coins and the jewellery box from my dresser. There was only one item I really felt sad about losing: a cocktail ring of my great-grandmother’s, a modest sapphire surrounded by diamond chips, set in delicate silver. I hadn’t taken this heirloom out of its box for years, and I’d never worn it because it was a size too small. I had no idea what it was worth and that night when I returned to my hotel, I called my mom to ask about it. — Beliefnet.com