Medical Retirement from Federal Employment: The din of distant darkness

There are often foreboding signs which we conveniently ignore.  In retrospect, how often do we hear of the lament of disregard?  “I never thought…”; “I heard the sound, but –“; “There were some indications, but I just assumed…”  Yet, later, we recognize those telltale footprints, and wonder why the creaking floorboards or the muffled murmur did not raise the cautionary instincts repressed by urge of avoidance.  If we were paid a dollar for every instance where…

Like Jim Croce’s remorseful song, if time could be saved in a bottle from every occurrence of wasteful distraction spent trying to figure out things which could otherwise be discerned through careful analysis, the extent of cumulative superciliousness in trying to act offended or incensed by charges of ineptitude might be reasonably contained.  There is so much noise, these days, that a fresh uptick in the volume of an additional din is barely noticeable.  And when then sound of emitted discordance strums a beat in the distance, who but the expectant and anxious parent recognizes the unique cry of a child’s shrill scream of alarm?

And if the sound is merely likened to darkness, where light no longer creeps between the door left ajar, or the seam between the floor and the locked metal gate, then how are we to recognize the silence of strangled light left abandoned in the loneliness of a world uncaring?

The din of distant darkness is precisely that foreboding sense of what may happen, but based upon “something”, as opposed to a baseless muttering of convictions unfounded when we suddenly “lose it” and cannot extricate ourselves from the frenzy of our own lies.  Much of life is about lying – not necessarily to others (although, we do that often enough, as well), but more to ourselves in order to shield our own fragile psyche from the fears we want to avoid.  But even darkness seen in the distant horizon comes creeping towards us, whether we want it to, or not.

How we nestle in the fears of our own making, or struggle against the timeless reverberations of anxieties unstated and never confessed, is the foundation of what makes for successful living, or failed attempts to conceal the cacophony of numbing onslaughts of life.  Yes, the din of distant darkness is yet merely a warning some months, years or decades away; but for Federal and Postal employees who already have a sense of what is coming, and the inevitability of life’s misgivings, the indicators are probably already there:  a medical condition that will not go away; the intersecting impact between the medical condition and the ability to perform the essential elements of the Federal or Postal position; and the question:  How long can I last?

For Federal employees and U.S. Postal workers who need to start considering the process of preparing an effective Federal Disability Retirement application, to be filed with the U.S. Office of Personnel Management, whether the Federal or Postal employee is under FERS, CSRS or CSRS Offset, the din of distant darkness should never be avoided; for, in the end, it will come upon you like a thief in the night, stealthily, and without regard, just as your agency and closest coworkers and supervisors will turn the other eye even when the oncoming rush is about to hit you in a sudden fit of uncaring actions.

Sincerely,

Robert R. McGill, Esquire

 

Federal Employee Disability Retirement: Things That Just Happen

Rarely do things “just happen“; that is why most of us believe in a purposive, teleological universe, and seek reasons and rational foundations in origins, contexts and logical consistency.  Whether that is how the human mind is structured, and for evolutionary advantage gained for survivability, conferring dominance and favorability weighted towards those who seek explanation and intelligibility, thereby preventing the making of mistakes multiple times; or, perhaps, it is merely a sense of humor bestowed by the gods.  Look at Aristotle’s Metaphysics; the very definition of knowledge is inextricably intertwined with seeking and grasping first principles, causality, and the origin of effects.

Thus do writers become a member of a profession by writing; airplanes fall out of the sky because of mechanical failure or an intervening cause; and economies crumble because market forces respond to human foibles.  But medical conditions which intervene and disrupt a person’s career, future and health, are often viewed as unfair anomalies precisely because there is often no adequate explanation as to their manifestation upon a particular person, at a given time, for a known reason.  They merely disrupt.  There may be “medical” reasons — of why an injury occurred, what the probable origins of genetic proclivity, etc.  But the reasons sought out by the one who suffers — why me? — can never be answered.  It is one of those rare occurrences that “just happens”.

For Federal employees and U.S. Postal workers who suffer from a medical condition, such that the medical condition interrupts and disrupts the linear career path because the medical condition itself prevents the Federal or Postal employee from performing one or more of the essential elements of one’s job — the option of filing for Federal Disability Retirement benefits through the U.S. Office of Personnel Management, whether the Federal or Postal employee is under FERS, CSRS or CSRS Offset, is something which must be seriously considered.

Life is often unfair, and the difficulties which are encountered in the tenuous path of those who seek to live by reason and rationality, are fraught with bumps and cavities if disruptive interludes. Medical conditions and the reasons for their onset — not the medical reason of origin and sterile voices of genetic predilection — but the “why me?” question, is often unanswerable.  It is usually just a circumstance which must be dealt with, and filing for OPM Disability Retirement benefits is a way of “buying time” in order to maintain a causeway of teleological illusions in order to further avoid those things that just seem to happen.

Sincerely,

Robert R. McGill, Esquire