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“YOU’LL STILL HAVE a retirement. It just won’t be the one you planned on.”
I’ve had to share this sobering assessment with many patients who were hoping to be rewarded for a lifetime of hard work and responsible saving, only to have those hopes dashed by an unforeseen health crisis. The culprit may be an external event like a disabling car accident or crippling fall, or an internal one like stage-four cancer or early onset dementia.
Such family health catastrophes can interrupt retirement savings, or disrupt a retiree’s plans to travel or pursue long-neglected hobbies. I know all about this—because I’ve seen it happen in my own family.
Stroke of misfortune. My father was an impoverished immigrant who started with nothing and wound up with something, but not what could have been. When only age 66, he suffered a major stroke that impaired his judgment and paralyzed him on the left side—a devastating blow for someone who’d previously exuded invincibility.
A Jewish redneck, if there is such a thing, my father wasn’t averse to letting you know he was a man’s man. When I was felled by a serious depression in midlife, he told me to “hurry up and snap out of it.”
My dad was a wily character who first cashed in on the TV bonanza of the 1950s. He soon pivoted, riding the gravy train of commercial New York real estate over the ensuing three decades. His modus operandi was rehabilitating poorly maintained commercial buildings whose upside rent potential could be tapped with minimal upgrading.
Partly by chance and partly through shrewdness, my father concentrated his investments beneath the glamour of Midtown. He often invited me to accompany him to his office in Lower Manhattan, where he would have me stand by the window as he waved his right arm in an arc and tapped me on the shoulder. “Stevie, they have no more room up there, so they’ll have to take all their ruckus down here. Maybe not in time for Mommy and me, but for you and Richie.”
But for all his bluster, my father was no match for his stroke. The paralysis punctured his bloated sense of masculinity and mastery. Feeling vulnerable and frightened, he abruptly unloaded all his buildings in one mad dash. Insecurity about his health prompted an impulsive cashing out that meant paying large sales commissions, closing costs, legal fees and capital gains taxes.
The untimely selling spree included dumping the property at 591 Broadway, which cuts across the center of gentrified and tony SoHo. It’s now leased to an expansive Victoria’s Secret, whose monthly rent alone dwarfs the price my father received for the sale. In concert with his other nearby properties, it would have “made us a small player on the SoHo scene,” says my brother Richie. “Broadway was his crown jewel. No way he would have let it go,” were it not for his stroke.
Back into surgery. “Richie, how goes it? The day after the surgery, you were in a lot of pain.”
“It’s still really bad. It cuts right through the painkiller. And I can’t walk outside without a cane.”
“What? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“It’s worse than that. I can’t bend. I need one of those grabbers to pick my dirty socks off the floor. How can I run a law practice when I can’t sit for very long? What a mess.”
“Holy smokes, your back situation is worse than it was before. What do they tell you?”
“That I should feel some relief in a month or two.”
“Well, sounds like you just have to hold on for a while.”
“No, Stevie, I’ve already gotten a second opinion. The guy looked at my records and scans, and thinks the operation was botched. Standard lower back surgery shouldn’t take eight hours.”
“Oh, boy. Now what?”
“He thinks I should first try to get some relief by removing the two loose screws. We’ll go from there. Why did this happen to me? I’ve exercised like a madman, using a treadmill for more than 25 years. Now they think all that stomping may have contributed to the spinal deterioration. Here I was looking to wind down from the law business and enjoy the retirement I deserve. I had it all figured out. I would combine Social Security and my Roth with the net rents from the properties to create a hands-off income stream.”
“Oh, Richie, I’m so sorry this happened to you. Sometimes life can be so random and unfair.”
Short tenure. “And how about what your depression did to your career, Stevie?” my brother asks. “No more graduate students, no more research and eventually no more job. Your currencies were publications, grants and tenure rather than money, but it’s really all the same thing.”
“Yeah, it was a rough go. The depression made me wise before my time about people, families and the role of just plain luck. I had the good fortune to have a phenomenal disability benefit with the university. By classifying me as disabled rather than retired, the medical school credited me with many years of continuous ‘employment’ that vastly increased my pension.”
I continued: “Richie, my close friends were great, and gave Alberta and me loads of support. But my colleagues at the university disappeared. That really hurt, especially because some of them owed their tenure to my ghostwriting.”
“Mommy and Daddy came through, though, right?”
“Boy, you’re not kidding. Even though he thought that depression was just a psychobabble cover-up for laziness, Daddy paid for all those years of therapy. Our father was a real character, so difficult but so loyal.”
“But Stevie, all your retirement planning got waylaid.”
“It would be easy to say yes, but it was more complicated than that. Early on, I was a trigger-happy investor, particularly when I was trading stocks. Back then, long-term meant over the weekend until the market opened again on Monday. But when the depression hit, I had so little energy. I simply wasn’t able to flip properties or play the market. Benign neglect allowed me to have more than 20 years of uninterrupted appreciation and compounding.”
“Unbelievable. You made out like a bandit in spite of yourself.”
“Just think, Richie, if we didn’t have the financial wherewithal to support us through our health ordeals. So many people approaching retirement don’t have that kind of cushion. A healthy lifestyle can turn the odds in your favor, but it can’t remove all the uncertainties. Everyone needs to prepare for the possibility of a health catastrophe that sabotages retirement in ways that seemed unimaginable only days before.”
Steve Abramowitz is a psychologist in Sacramento, California. Earlier in his career, Steve was a university professor, including serving as research director for the psychiatry department at the University of California, Davis. He also ran his own investment advisory firm. Check out Steve’s earlier articles.
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Thank you for the excellent article discussing such an important topic. One of the most valuable pieces of advice I was fortunate to receive when I was in my late 30s came from the lovely gentleman whose position I took upon his retirement. During one of his generous check-ins with me, he mentioned the importance of taking advantage of opportunities to do fun things (vacations, etc.) while working, rather than waiting until retirement when “your body might not be able to keep up with your brain”. Though he was only 58 and in good health, his plans were thwarted somewhat by his partner’s health.
Another item I heard or read somewhere also really struck a chord.
It suggested that when it comes to three precious resources–health, wealth and time, it seems we are often only able to enjoy two at a time.
In our youth, we often have our health and plenty of time, but little money.
During our working years, we may finally have some money and still enjoy good health, but our time is limited due to all of the competing demands for our attention. In retirement, we may have wealth and more (free) time, but our health may be compromised.
I’d like to take the notion of time in retirement a little further. I think a meaningful retirement may start with travel, entertainment and a rekindling of hobbies, but it can be so much more. There’s room to draw from and enhance your inner experience. You can revisit childhood memories and reinterpret dubious choices you made in mid-adulthood in the light of newfound wisdom. Just driving around town, I find myself laughing out loud as I replay youthful antics shared with friends so very long ago. Although our inner voice can be critical and harsh, it can also be a fount of self-awareness and renewal in the quiet space made possible in retirement.
Steve – you always lay yourself wide open with these articles. Thanks for sharing your experiences and insights. Plus – – – I see you’ve started responding to comments in real time!
Thanks, Jeff. You always seem to have something soothing and supportive to say.
Great article, Steve. I have learned a few lessons from my own life and my observations of what happened to friends and relatives. Life is a series of ups and downs. Those who thrive do not get over-joyed when good things happen or depressed when bad things happen. They take it in their stride, being thankful for what they have. I keep telling myself, “There is always someone, a lot worse off than me. Have a smile and keep moving.”
I like that notion of “thrive.” Survivors are, I think, people who have made peace with life’s unpredictable nature. They don’t surrender to it, nor are they naive. Eventually, this harmony makes it easier for them to cope with the finality of death.
Steve…Thanks for sharing your story.
I learned the lesson about “life being unfair” when my older brother Justin Lynch was KIA in Viet Nam, November 6, 1965. That lesson was reinforced when my father, CSM Marshall C Lynch died at age 53, after 30 years of service in the United States Army, from a service connected illness he contracted during one of his three tours in Southeast Asia.
I retired this past January, at age 73. While I don’t regret working longer financially, I wouldn’t recommend it to others, if they have visions of super active retirements. While I am in decent health (I am able to walk 30-45 minutes on a treadmill 3 X a week, after doing 30 minutes of strength exercises,) I would be able to engage in more activities had I retired a few years sooner. My wife was also in better health 3-5 years ago, as she is 4 years younger than me.
There are always tradeoffs in life, and I made my choices, but your dad and my dad did not have the retirements they worked for and deserved, because life is unfortunately, not always fair.
It brings to mind the saying, “No one is promised tomorrow so enjoy your life while you can.”
When you’re young and healthy or middle-aged and weary from the challenges of life, retirement takes on a dreamlike character. But by the time we reach our senior years, we are chastened and recognize that the retirement years are more complicated than that. When I was a teenager, my parents used to say “I know you think we’re idiots now, but when you get a little older and rub shoulders with life, you may think we weren’t so dumb after all. And if you’re lucky enough to have a long life, you may look back and think we were geniuses.”
Kevin, you’ve prevailed over so much hardship and disappointment. Ironically, it’s prepared you to see life in all its complexities. You realize it can be so unfair and unjustly wound the pious as well as the sinner. But I can tell you haven’t surrendered and carry on with spirit and dignity despite the tragedies randomness has thrown your way.
Thanks for your note Steve!
You are correct…I have not surrendered. For years I had a sign in my various offices, hanging above my office door, where I could see it. It said, “Illegitimi Non Carborundum!” It reminded me, constantly, to remember, “Don’t let the bastards grind you down!”
I love your comment about realizing the wisdom of your elders as you age. My first born, a daughter, was a “problem child” in her mid teen years. In her early twenties, however, she confided in me that she was sorry for causing us grief and she wished now that she had listened to us, mainly me. Today, we remain close and we talk weekly at a minimum.
It truly is amazing how smart our parents were. And thankfully, some of us realize it earlier on.
One of the reasons I retired at 55 was the fact that many people I knew who had worked hard at a career for forty years or more retired at 65 and then passed away within a year.
We humans like to pretend that because we plan carefully for the future that what might happen is within our control…….well, it isn’t.
I have found I have control of some. mundane things, like paying my monthly credit card bill in full and on time. But the truly important challenges in life—like a stillborn or a serious late-life illness and of course death—are largely beyo random. Life can be so unfair and strikes the most well-meaning as well as the heartless.
Great article Steve!
And great comments everyone!!
Thank you. I hope it has meaning for many readers.
Another intimate and thought provoking article Steve. Chris and I appreciate every good day we have because we’ve seen the life changing events that happen in a New York minute.
I can tell you have learned how the “now”, even with all its travails, is more knowable and precious than what may (or may not) come to be. That you have a partner who can share such wisdom with you is little short of a blessing.
The same story is told over and over. Seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine. Seven years to prepare for the seven years of need. The problem is that the years of plenty is in our youth and we can’t imagine there ever being a time of need.
That kind of awareness makes you so much better prepared to understand and overcome the challenges life brings us. I can only imagine how much your family and friends have benefited from your depth.
Steve, thanks for a sobering, but important article. I would think many of us have experience with fiends and relatives who never had a retirement, or one significantly different than planned. Be it bad luck, poor planning, gray divorce, or whatever. We should plan for the worst, and hope for the best.
Unfortunately for many of us, it’s so hard to plan for the worst. Our working years are hard—that’s why they call it work—and society promises relief and reward in retirement. And saving requires the ability and will to delay gratification. I have nothing against the idea of putting money aside for possible disability and bypass the prohibitive cost of insurance, but please folks be realistic and methodical about how much you’re willing to set aside.
Thanks for another article Steve, so well written- not even close to the AI-generated ones. Though we’ve gotten to know your dad from previous articles, this one is particularly poignant and with an important lesson about how life’s unexpected challenges can throw a monkey wrench into well-thought out plans. Mentioning that your dad paid for your therapy is also an important lesson about the value of family support and parental love: despite his feelings that you should just get on with your life, he still did what needed to be done to help his son. Thanks so much! (I will think of you the next time I pass by that Victoria’s Secret on lower Broadway).
Thanks so much for the kind words. But Linda, please don’t send me a picture. I can’t handle another one!
I promise not to. 😊
Steve, it seems that health problems catch most folks by surprise. My specialty is physical rehab, but I frequently find myself having conversations with patients trying to help them deal with the emotional loss caused by injury or disease. And even when we have a realistic view of life, we’re usually unprepared for the reality of disease in ourselves and others. The financial implications are a huge component of the mental stress.
I thought I had my life planned out. High school would mean excelling in sports, college would be a blast and prepare me for a meaningful career, my mixed marriage would defy the odds and retirement would be the icing on the cake. I was a middling athlete at best, college was rewarding but an emotional challenge and my first marriage ended in a rocky divorce. Partial retirement has been soothing but in the innocence of youth I never factored in cancer and a heart event. Like my parents used to say, man plans and God laughs.
So true. I had a person who worked for me with a dream of retiring to Maine. That’s all he talked about. Then he got bladder cancer. He worked a year or so, but had to retire on disability. The first thing he did was sell their house and buy a place in Maine. I visited him once, the place was on a tidal river in the middle of nowhere.
He lasted a miserable two years or so. He had his dream of sorts, but left his wife alone stranded away from friends and family.
Some dreams, especially retirement dreams, need to be shared to be real.
yup. I am very skeptical of dreams and fantasies. They, like grass, look brighter further away.
Yes, a poetic closing thought. I have a friend who won’t pursue a relationship because he doesn’t want to be financially and morally “responsible” in the event of a health catastrophe of an elderly partner. He remains lonely and bitter in what might otherwise have been an emotionally rich retirement.
Nice closing observation.