Life’s Fragility

A personal injury lawyer knows, perhaps better than most, of life’s fragility. I represented a woman who lost her baby boy in a car accident. When I met her at the hospital she was beyond distraught – not in the sense of becoming more and more frantic, but of a person who had entered another phase of life, a life lived in silent tragedy. She held a worn look, her wrinkled clothes betraying days of use, the smell of dried sweat and tears emanating so much sadness. As I held her hand, she recounted what had happened, second by second, as I required the facts and her an expulsion. When she had finished she paused, then let out a sick laugh. There was nothing to do but appreciate the macabre tragedy. No miracles, no god, no natural evolution, no determinism, no spirituality could elicit from her any other truth, but that this was all a jest of unspeakable magnitude.

So it was in this spirit, years later, when we sat at a pre-trial in front of a judge in leather-bound chairs, the comfort of a warm chamber on a winter morning. Defence counsel delivered a rousing speech discussing the finer points of liability, the nature of causation, and physics. At least, it would have been rousing for a law school class. The judge had none of it. He waited patiently for counsel to finish, then sat in silence as he gathered his thoughts. He then chuckled and said, looking into counsel’s eyes, “I strongly suggest you settle this today.” Then he smiled and turned to me. I had written a mediation memo, one of my best, for I was powered by facts that did not need authoring. The words had written themselves and I had prepared a speech worthy of Cicero, the words humming in my mind for days. But my speech was left unsaid, on a cutting room floor filled with the notes of lawyers before and after me, never needing to be touched, for the judge ushered me out. And so I sat with my client back in the halls of the court, fiddling on my phone, growing tired and hungry as we passed noon with anxiety and impatience. Eventually judge and counsel stepped out, the former smiling and the latter not. Counsel approached me, offered a number, and we accepted.

As we walked out I shook my client’s hand and she thanked me, rote words with little meaning. What was the money to her? Only in tragic jest could money be offered and accepted for the loss of a son. She had no use for it, no island vacation to enjoy, no Mercedes-Benz to cruise, no honey to sweeten her taste for life. As we separated, I knew I would never see her again. No google review awaited me, no gift of scotch, no invitation to the annual firm party would be accepted. Nor did I expect this, as it was the nature of my trade to maintain dignity where it is due. It was not my lot in life to market myself at every opportunity nor to seize every moment. I did not expect and did not feel the rush of thankfulness or satisfaction. It was enough to do my duty. What followed? More files, more clients, and more tragedies awaited me.

[Details have been changed to maintain confidentiality.]