The first appointments, 10 years ago, were contentious and aggravating. He was armed with notebooks and pencils. He questioned everything and wrote down my answers, word for word, in tiny print. He needed health insurance for the next few years until he reached 65 and Medicare. He didn’t trust the insurance companies, the internet, or much of modern society. He was willing to give me a try since he had been referred to me.
My secretary quickly lost her patience with Neil (name changed), though ever the professional, she only complained to me. Neil refused to leave a message with her. If I wasn’t available, he would tell her that he’d call back later and hang up. His official address and all of his mail was directed to his attorney’s office. And any correspondence from him came by registered mail. He did not have a computer. He did not have an email address. And he didn’t want one.
My third appointment was particularly challenging. I was talking with my secretary after Neil had left. I told her that I might fire Neil as a client. She was neither surprised nor displeased. I was walking back to my office when I suddenly realized that I was making a huge mistake. “You know”, I told my secretary, “It is harder to be Neil than it is to be his agent.” We were so caught up in the inconvenience and weirdness of working with Neil that we were completely oblivious to his daily struggles. “Do you agree that he isn’t faking this behavior? You don’t think that he is just being a jerk, right?” She understood my point.
Neil just needed a different type of service. I prepared a detailed agenda prior to our next appointment. I also prepared a list of the questions he would most likely ask along with my detailed answers. I had a copy for both of us. He was shocked by the thoroughness of my preparation. Our meetings became more relaxed. I would send all forms to Neil in advance, even printing online forms so that there were never any surprises.
And then I got to meet Neil, the artist.
I’ll never know why Neil became the way he was. I did get the opportunity to learn that he was a world traveler, more comfortable in Europe than here in the states. He was an artist and had performed on many well-known stages. He was a genuinely nice person. And he was grateful that someone cared enough to try to make his life easier.
I learned of Neil’s passing about a month after he died. His family didn’t call and I don’t even know that they knew that he had an agent or a friend. I heard the news from the insurance company. I found the obituary. It appears that he died alone.
Accepting the reality of death is an important part of being an insurance agent. If people don’t die, why would they need to purchase life insurance? If we never get sick or injured, we don’t need health insurance. And if you have a lot of Medicare clients, you must accept our mortality. Neil was only a few months older than me. Our last few appointments had been comfortable. He even called me in February to wish me a Happy Birthday. I was hoping to see him, one more time, before I closed the office.
It was harder for Neil to be Neil, than it was to be Neil’s agent, because with a little bit of empathy and effort, it wasn’t really that hard.
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I wanted to write this post a month ago. I couldn’t because I have been dealing with an unexpected health challenge. I had multiple tears in the retina of my right eye. Two procedures and a gas bubble in my right eye later, I am finally at a point that I can read and write without too much effort. Honestly, this has been very strange. Driving? Fine. Reading? Sometimes. Looking down to read or write was difficult. And they didn’t tell me about the brain fog. Heck, the day after the surgery I briefly thought that it made sense for the Browns to move to Brook Park. I am happy to report that I’m better now.
Dave
Picture – Inner Strength – David L Cunix