Hope
I have three little crape myrtles, black diamonds. They once lived in the southeast corner of the yard. They failed to thrive. I moved them to more fertile soil on the back lots by the pool. They failed to thrive. They’re not much taller nor fuller than the day they arrived from the nursery. It’s a puzzle. I am this close to pulling them up and tossing them out. Except, I hate to give up.
I was reminded of this last night as I watched my football team win a game in three overtimes. I stayed until the end, even though at times it looked hopeless, and they were behind most of the game. I just always figure things will work out. And in this case, it did. We won. It used to drive my wife crazy, but she knew we’d only leave after the final whistle or the third out of the last inning. Although, I modified the rule as her dementia worsened.
Still, hope is a powerful emotion, and I like having hope and staying ‘till the end. So, the little crape myrtles will get another chance and I’ll fiddle with the ground around them or even move them just to see what happens. Of course, it may be for naught. Because I can only control my actions, and the little trees might ideas of their own. We might not be suited for one another. Just like in human relationships. You do the best you can to make things work, in the hope that it will, but you only have control over yourself. And sometimes that just not enough.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale