His parents acquired the Bendix washer when John Claypool
was a small boy. It happened during World War II. His family
owned no washing machine and, since gasoline was rationed,
they could ill afford trips to the laundry several miles
away. Keeping clothes clean became a problem for young
John's household.
A family friend was drafted into the service, and his wife
prepared to go with him. John's family offered to store their
furniture while they were away. To the family's surprise, the
friends suggested they use their Bendix while they were gone.
"It would be better for it to be running," they said, "than
sitting up rusting."
So this is how they acquired the washer. Young John helped
with the washing, and through the years he developed an
affection for the old, green Bendix.
Eventually the war ended. Their friends returned. In the
meantime he had forgotten how the machine came to be in their
basement in the first place. When the friends came to take it
away, John grew terribly upset -- and said so! His mother,
wise as she was, sat him down and said,
"Wait a minute, Son. You must remember, that machine never
belonged to us in the first place. That we ever got to use
it at all was a gift. So, instead of being mad at it being
taken away, let's use this occasion to be grateful that we
had it at all."
The lesson proved invaluable. Years later, John watched his
eight year old daughter die a slow and painful death of
leukemia. Though he struggled for months with her death,
John could not begin healing from the loss until he
remembered the old Bendix.
"I am here to testify," he said, "that this is the only
way down the mountain of loss -- when I remember that Laura
Lou was a gift, pure and simple, something I neither earned
nor deserved nor had a right to."
"And when I remember that the appropriate response to a gift,
even when it is taken away, is gratitude, then I am better
able to try and thank God that I was ever given her in the
first place."
His daughter was a gift. When he realized that simple fact,
everything changed. He could now begin healing from the
tragedy of her loss by focusing instead on the wonder of
her life.
He started to see Laura Lou as a marvelous gift that he
was fortunate enough to share for a time. He felt grateful.
He found strength and healing. He knew he could get through
the valley of loss.
We all experience loss -- loss of people, loss of jobs, loss
of relationships, loss of independence, loss of esteem, loss
of things.
When what you held dear can be viewed as a gift, a wonder
that you had it at all, the memory can eventually become
one more of gratitude than tragedy. And you will find the
healing you need.