3 minute read
Two horrible diseases lurk in the recesses of my gene pool; both kill babies before their third birthday. Historically, however, it was infectious diseases, not inherited conditions, that overwhelmingly represented childhood deaths before the age of 3.
Starting early in the 20th century, this changed as deaths from infectious disease began to drop off, and within a few decades, death itself went from being the province primarily of the young to being almost exclusively the province of the aged.
Said more simply, lots more people started surviving into old age. Recently, I poked around on Sweden’s demographical database, which records the tiniest of demographic details going back to the 1400s. Among the many fascinating data points, one thing was no surprise: People who lived past 50 were statistical outliers. Today, we’re traumatized when a friend dies at 50.
The increase in lifespan has only accelerated over recent decades. Unless some apocalyptic event blasts mankind back into a second dark age, we can assume longevity will be a permanent feature of the human race.
As is often noted both in this magazine and in the general press, the question has changed from, “How do we help children survive childhood?” to “How do we help seniors survive longevity with some measure of grace and dignity intact?” Of course, because I’m a reverse mortgage originator, I am going to mention the role the HECM is going to play in enhancing many seniors’ odds of financial survival.
But were that my only point, this article would not be worth reading—or writing—as the topic has been addressed extensively.
Here’s my real point: We reverse mortgage originators are a funny lot. In dealing with the aged we encounter things forward originators cannot fathom. No forward originator reaches over the rails of a hospital bed to steady documents for a stroke victim, or gingerly steps over an oxygen hose. No forward lender has a client “disappear” for 12 weeks because she broke a hip, or sorts through 50 years’ worth of yellowing documents to find a tattered Social Security card. Or squeezes around a bedside commode, chases escaped cats, coaches a borrower on how to send an email, or kisses a wrinkled cheek. And yet, as odd, funny, poignant, tough or heart-wrenching as some situations are, those of us who have stuck with the industry for years roll with the awkward because the reward outweighs all else. We love our work (most of the time), because we love the gratification of truly helping find solutions to one of the most vexing issues of old age.
There’s a sub-point here as well. As a loan officer, I often become aware of things in seniors’ lives others have no occasion to know—things as diverse as the need for a special-needs trust for a handicapped adult child, or the appropriateness of an in-home health aid recommendation. More times than I could possibly count, I have referred borrowers to elder law attorneys, members of the clergy, health care providers, handymen, the area agency on aging, the local commissioner of the revenue, the fall-prevention coalition and even, upon rare occasions, the local food bank. I have organized home rebuilds and collected hundreds of thousands of dollars of donated construction items for massive home makeovers. I possess a box overflowing with letters, some written in big, spidery script, thanking me for help. And most of my reverse colleagues have similar stories to tell.
Right now, our industry is beset by change. We continue to battle bad press. New challenges seem to surface on a regular basis, and there is the promise of more change to come.
But you know what? For most of us, we roll with it because this job is not just a job; it’s that most enviable of intersections between career and calling—seasoned, not infrequently, with profound comedy. With confidence we can hold our heads high and march on because need, demographics, longevity and personal gratification are on our side.
