We often hear the words "elder law" and use the term to describe our practice. But what is it really? Who are the people behind this terminology? Who are they? They are the elderly, of course. Well then who are the "elderly" — old folks, seniors, matriarchs, the aged, the experienced, the mature, the venerable? My experience as an elder law attorney reveals something more. The more apt terms, in my view, are survivors, lions, martyrs, courageous, defiant, indomitable, stalwart, and undaunted.
How else can you describe an 85-year-old who still fiercely loves his wife and holds her hand at every meeting, but can barely walk because of bone cancer he has fought for a year — a year. He doesn't like pain medication; it upsets his stomach. So he perseveres with the pain. He never forgets to ask how I am doing and how I am feeling. He always brings a smile and a new story about his family — a man who improves your day just by being there.
How can you describe the 79-year-old impeccably beautiful wife who is trying to hold her life together as her husband struggles to break free of a ventilator in order to "graduate" to a nursing home? We see numerous spouses whose vacation homes are now just a problem asset that must be disposed of rather than dreamed about. Who are they? They are an endless stream of dashed hopes and broken dreams. They are partners with nurses, nursing homes, and social workers. They have new lives tragically and suddenly thrust upon them by the relentless onslaught of age and ill health. They are in a new landscape, trying to learn new rules — forced to adapt and conform and fight their fears while losing the love of their life.
"Getting old is not for the faint of heart." Not one of my elders has asked "why me?" It is just a part of life — as surely as their school years, careers, families, children, dreams, hopes, and fears.
They just want to be okay — to make it through, to help their soulmate who now no longer recognizes them. I see nothing but incredible bravery in the face of overwhelming pressure and pain. The funny thing is that no one asks why. There is no self-pity, no sense that life is unfair. Not one of my clients has asked "why me?" It is just a part of life, as surely as their school years, their careers, their families, their children, their dreams, hopes, and fears.
I see myself and what lies in my future. That may be the scariest part of becoming so intertwined with these lives. Every day brings new circumstances, new pain, and new families coping with the inconceivable. Dad fell off a ladder — he was 85. He will never leave a nursing home. Why was he on that ladder cleaning out the gutters, after dark? I guess he never realized anything could go wrong.
Sometimes that is how I feel in my office — on a ladder in the dark. I get our clients from the hospital to the nursing home to the funeral home, all while helping with the paperwork. I get them from their home to assisted living. It is never easy — for them or for their family. We wait for them to hurt themselves just enough to let their families intervene. We wait for a bed to open at the "good home." And in the face of all of this, we have people who trudge in and "bring the paperwork" — even for husbands who never had a kind word for them, or for mothers who did nothing but cause pain.
There are caretakers who stay when they shouldn't. And because of the stress, those caretakers are twice as likely to end up in a nursing home themselves. None of this is for the faint of heart.
And who are they? They are you, and they are me. They are all of us. The 92-year-old who asks every day why she was placed in a home with so many "old" people. A wife who wishes she had hidden the ladder. A daughter who waits for one good word from her mother. This is elder law. It is not for the faint of heart.