Recently, I discovered I had lost a sport coat. It was a greenish-brown corduroy jacket that was warm and went well with jeans. Apparently, I left this jacket on the back of a restaurant chair, or at a party. I looked everywhere, called the cleaners, contacted the store (to see if I had forgotten that I had taken it in for alterations) and even dropped a few hints to friends and family. Nothing. I hated losing that coat. In part, I regretted the loss of the garment; we are still going through the “cool snap” others in points north refer to as “winter.” More significantly, I hate losing anything – a silver pen my wife gave me for our anniversary; my glasses; even a piece of paper. One of the reasons I am so obsessive-compulsive (it’s just a character trait, not a disorder, or so I am told) is because losing anything just aggravates me to no end.
Perhaps it is appropriate that I am a trial lawyer representing people in personal injury and wrongful death cases. You could say I am in the loss business. Every day, I pick up files and deal with other people’s losses. My clients have lost the ability to work, or the use of an arm or leg, or in the worst cases, the ability to kiss their child good-night. When I stop to think of the sadness my clients experience on a daily basis, the constant reminders they have of what they once had and will never have again, it is breathtaking. The responsibility I feel is so palpable, it is difficult to explain. I am frequently reminded that the bumps in the road of my daily life, like losing a sport coat, are tiny and insignificant.
Part of my job is helping people cope with their loss. I am not a therapist, but the degree says “Doctor of Jurisprudence,” and the license calls me and “Attorney and Counselor at Law.” My clients call me to ask where they should go for medical care and what treatments they should have. They talk to me of the troubles they are having with their finances, their families and their self-image. They vent. They emote. They let me know how much they are counting on me to do something to make things better.
My clients are smart people. They know I cannot fix their real problem. I seek an economic recovery for them which, in our socio-legal system, is all that can be done. If I could undo the harm, go back in time and make the accident never happen, or even guarantee the defendant would never hurt anyone again, I would. Those options are not available. All we can do in the tort law is to compensate people for their loss. People in politics like to say you cannot cure a problem by “throwing money at it.” The truth is that, for most people who have been wronged, there is nothing else we can throw at them. Every single one of my clients – over 28 years – would trade every penny of their settlement for the ability to undo the harm they have suffered.
So, why does my work day involve more than just preparing the cases for trial, negotiating settlements and the other tasks of prosecuting a claim? Why do I take these calls, and more importantly, why do these people call me for advice, or as a sounding-board?
My clients call me to share their suffering because I have agreed to take on their cause. I am in it with them, fighting for the justice that is available under the law. I try to convey to them how much I care, and apparently that message is getting through, because they keep calling. As little as my legal education prepared me to be a doctor or a counselor, I do the best I can to share the limited knowledge and insight I have gained from my personal and professional experience. It is often not enough, and I am constantly reminding my clients of what I am not (a doctor or a psychologist). I am regularly made aware of my shortcomings, and the cracks in our medical treatment system through which people’s emotional needs and mental health issues fall almost without notice.
So, when I lose a coat, my work life suggests I rejoice in all of the truly important things I have not lost. Perspective is so valuable. All of us should be thankful of the blessings in our lives. If we are not dealing with an overwhelming loss, we should reach out to friends and family members who are. We should be there for each other. And we should realize that losing something as small and insignificant as a sport coat – even a really nice, comfortable sport coat that I really would like to find – is just not that big a deal.
Steve Waldman – swaldman@gwlawyers.com
