Thirty years ago, in Washington state, one week before harvesting our sweet cherries, it rained. And rained. The cherries drank in the water, causing their delicate skins to burst and crack. Open to mold. For the next three weeks, I watched our source of income rot and drop to the ground. I cried and had nightmares. Yet I didn’t want to wake up to my feelings of despair, anger, and hurt.
Positive thinking? Useless. And ineffective up against my feelings.
I wrestled with the need to adjust. Do I adjust to a new normal based on loss? Do I adjust to loss as the new normal?
Answers to those questions were blurring. So, I backed up. To find a more effective way to adjust. But maybe, it’s the very act of adjusting, that packs the punch?
Looking to history for insight, I sat down and read a bit of religious writings for input and happened upon a story about a forlorn, destitute mother who was asked by a wise guy, what do you have in your house?
The question jerked my mind. From thinking about what I lost, to thinking about what I have.
I’ll be honest here; my mind wasn’t too pliable at first. I was scared. I begrudged our downsized house and reduced buying habits. I resented having cherry trees that brought grief yet still required our care and borrowed money.
That’s all the further I got in the thought process before our young children demanded my attention. Up I got to go give it, but with my newly jerked mind, I glimpsed an adjustment had been made in mind.
Instead of answering the demands of loss, I answered the demand of family love.
We had in our house, family love, and I could hold it tight by sharing it.
After discussing it with my husband, I picked up the phone and called Social Services. We became licensed foster parents. Not for everyone but fostering for our family worked.
Three years later, the cherry crop brought in a gain. Large enough to pay off the debt and obtain a house with windows that didn’t let dirt inside (sandstorms are popular in southeastern Washington).
And guess what? The gain had as much power as the loss. Brief power.
Life makes sense when I adjust to the knowledge that gains and losses don’t define me.
But the good I have in my house does. Even if that good looks puny. And growing family love proves to be an effective adjustment.