FERS Disability Retirement from the OPM: The prosaic life

That is the lot of most of us; yet, the contrast seen in the “entertainment” world is its very opposite.  Does it breed discontent (or malcontent)?  Does the “make-believe” universe that we surround ourselves with actually enhance one’s quality of life?

We not only welcome it; we pay for it, and gladly, so.  What does the contrast do to one’s soul — of watching movies involving fearsome technologies that destroy; of bank robbers, murderers, high-stake gamblers and every character imaginable; of dangers that never result in injury or capture; of adventures beyond one’s wildest imagination — and then, there is the actual life that one lives: Of a prosaic life that is often humdrum, unimaginative, mundane, pedestrian and…boring.

Is it “prosaic” to simply go from high school to college, then to a career, a family, old age and death?  Do we regret the repetition of our daily lives, so unbearably “normal”, such that we embrace this spectator-sport of adulation for the wealthy, over exuberant prostration in paying homage to sports heroes, and the unfettered interest shown towards everything and anything “glamorous”?

Until, of course, our health begins to deteriorate.  Then, suddenly, we wish for the “boring” life of normalcy; of the mundane when we took for granted the things we used to do; for the prosaic life that we once had.

For Federal employees and U.S. Postal workers who suffer from a medical condition such that the medical condition no longer allows one to do that which was once taken for granted — being able to go to work consistently; performing all of the essential elements of one’s job, etc. — filing for Federal Disability Retirement benefits under FERS may yet return you to the prosaic life that you now yearn for.

Sincerely,

Robert R. McGill, Esquire

 

 

Lawyer Representation for OPM Disability Claims: The story

Everyone has one; some, more interesting than others; others, less interesting than most; most, told in disjointed streams of subconscious dilemmas often coopted by deceitful tellings that leave amiss the juicier elements that would otherwise offend.

Is there “the” story, or just many little details comprised of “a” story here, a story there, and in the aggregate, it makes up the total picture of a person?  Can one ever know a person in his or her fullness, or must there always be left out an element of surprise, mystery and a deficiency otherwise not noted?  Can people be married for 50 years and still be surprised by something in the other spouse’s past?

How are memories triggered to begin with — say, for example, a couple has been married for half a century or more, and one night they get a carry-out from a newly-opened restaurant in their neighborhood that serves a special Moroccan dish from the menu, because the restaurant owner’s wife’s late husband’s third cousin twice removed recently visited the country and brought over a recipe that could not be resisted.

The two older couple (yes, you may infer from the fact that they have been married for over a half-century to connote that the couple are rather elderly) sit down for this delectable dish, and as they begin serving the various food items and transferring them from the paper boxes onto dinner plates, the wife takes in the aroma of the vegetables, cooked in a certain sauce, and declares to her husband, “Oh, this reminds me, I was in Morocco when I was younger.”

Now — for fifty some odd years, this couple has been married; they have had children; they have shared the many stories to tell, both included and some where each experienced a slice of life separately; and one would think that such a detail as having been to a foreign country which not many Americans visit in the first place, would be something that was told during the course of their long and lasting relationship.

What would be the explanation for not having told?  How about: “Yes, I was kidnapped and held for ransom for months, and I repressed the memories these many years”; or, “Oh, I was just 2 or 3 and don’t really remember much about it, other than my parents dragging me to Morocco just to get away”.

Such explanations might be understandable; but how about the following: “Yes, I was there for 5 years, from about the age of 10 – 15, and it was the most impactful experience of my life.”  Now, this last explanation — one would wonder, of course, what kind of a marriage this elderly couple could have had if the spouse had never related the most “impactful” period of her life, would one not?

“The Story” of one’s life will always contain some omissions (that is a conundrum and an oxymoron, is it not — to “contain” and “omit” at the same time?) about various experiences encountered, but that is a natural course in the very “telling” of one’s narrative.  Most narratives have a beginning and an end; some are interesting, others not; but in the telling, the narrative itself must be coherent and comprehensible, as well as containing relevance and significance within the meat of the narrative itself.

For Federal employees and U.S. Postal workers who suffer from a medical condition such that the medical condition prevents the Federal or Postal employee from performing one or more of the essential elements of ones’ Federal or Postal job, it may become necessary to prepare, formulate and file an effective Federal Disability Retirement application, to be submitted to the U.S. Office of Personnel Management, whether the Federal or Postal employee is under FERS, CSRS or CSRS Offset.

During such an administrative process, it is necessary to “tell one’s story” by completing SF 3112A, Applicant’s Statement of Disability.  It is a “slice of life” story, and should be as compelling as the aroma that triggered the admission of one’s Moroccan past — for, every story is a unique one; it is in the telling that brings out the mystery of a person’s singular tale of painful experiences, and this is one more slice that needs a coherence within a narrative required in order to obtain a Federal Disability Retirement benefit.

Sincerely,

Robert R. McGill, Esquire