"Sorry for your loss."
Those are the first words I heard when two police officers came to investigate a burglary at my home last month. A laptop was destroyed and incidental damage needed to be cleaned up, but that was about it. As far as I could tell, nothing else had occurred and nothing had been stolen. Nevertheless, the officers were sorry for my loss.
I appreciated the words, but even in that particular moment of shock, the phrase struck me as comical overstatement. I hadn't lost a loved one. The home's only other resident, nine-year-old kitty Sabina, had not been tragically victimized, forced to eat dog kibble or lap up skim instead of whole (as far as I could tell). When I heard the officer's words, I couldn't help but imagine a funeral viewing, and I felt embarrassed that the situation seemed to call for such grave language. Sorry for my loss?
In the days that followed, those feelings changed as I realized that processing any kind of loss requires some emotional hoop-jumping. In a burglary, a sense of violation takes hold, and that emotion can result in a subtly sinister game of questions. Was the gate latched like that when I left? Wasn't there a light on inside before I left? I was mentally checking off each item in my home, noting its exact position and placement before closing the door and engaging the deadbolt. It was my way of gaining back control and security.
Given my job and experience with the claim industry, I pondered the insurance process in the moments after my loss, but the physical items just seemed so incidental. I couldn't make a claim for peace of mind, so what was the point? Would a replaced laptop really solve the larger issues of trust and security that were swelling before me like a hurricane storm surge? Was anyone really going to quantify and pay for my new-found pessimism?
Walking into someone else's emotional minefield takes guts and an extraordinary clear sense of patience and understanding, which makes me admire two of the most important traits of a successful adjuster: empathy and proper judgment. Destruction and loss doesn't always occur on a grand scale, but stirred emotions and an ultimate sense of vulnerability will always be present in those making claims of any kind.
Having the ability to provide balance and security in that kind of situation explains a lot to me about why adjusters love their jobs despite the struggles and difficulties they face from behind a mountain of claims. The feeling of accomplishment in patching a hole, righting the ship, and setting it back on course is what drives us to do our jobs better each day, despite a shrinking workforce and increased responsibilities. It's what makes our job worthwhile.
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