…your health care proxy. With full authority over your medical decisions.”
I sat very still. My attorney, Ms. Grant, pointed to the page. If I’d signed the draft agreement, my daughter-in-law, Lisa, could decide where I lived, which doctors I saw and whether I received treatment.
“Combined with the financial power of attorney,” Ms. Grant said, “they would control every part of your life. And your daughter would have no say at all.”
My daughter, Rebecca, lives three hours away. She’s a nurse. If anyone in my family should have been named as my health care proxy, it was her.
I called Rebecca that evening and sent her the photo of the whiteboard. She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, “Mom, I’m coming tomorrow.”
She came. The next day, she, my son, David, and I sat in Ms. Grant’s office. David said Lisa had made the list. He said he’d only wanted help with the house. Then Rebecca asked him why their mother needed to be removed from her own medical decisions to help him buy a house. He didn’t have an answer.
I didn’t sign anything David had brought me. Ms. Grant drew up new documents instead. Rebecca became my health care proxy. My financial power of attorney went to Ms. Grant’s law firm, to be used only if two doctors ever confirmed I couldn’t manage my own affairs. My will stayed exactly as it was, divided equally between my children.
I still helped David with a down payment, but only $20,000, paid directly to the title company. The house they bought was smaller than the one in the photo.
Lisa and I are polite now. That’s enough. Rebecca visits more often. Last month, she brought me a small whiteboard for my kitchen. At the top, she’d written: “MOM’S PLANS.” Underneath, she’d left it blank. “It’s yours,” she said. “You decide what goes on it.”
