The lawyer’s telephone rang. A man’s
voice on the other end spoke urgently: "My name is Henry
Jones. My mother, Ophelia Jones, fell yesterday and is in the
hospital. I saw a power of attorney on her desk with your
card. Did she sign it?"
"I’m sorry, Henry" replied the
attorney. "I hope she’ll be OK. Your mother only took it home
a few weeks ago to review it, and hadn’t called to set up a
time to sign it. Unless she signed it somewhere else, it’s
probably not signed, and not effective."
"Can I get her to sign it in the
hospital?" the son asked.
"That depends. Is she mentally ‘with
it’?"
"No," Henry lamented. "She hit her
head pretty hard on the coffee table when she fell, and
doesn’t know anybody. They say she had a concussion and her
brain is swelling. The doctors and nurses at the hospital are
great, but they want to know who can sign for her care, and
who’ll be paying the bills."
The lawyer sighed. "She said you’re
the only child, so unless she has a spouse she didn’t mention
to me, you can sign for her care under Maryland law. If you
had brothers and sisters, the decision would have to be made
unanimously, but that’s not an issue here.
"On the payment of the bills, though,
you can’t have her sign a power of attorney if she’s not in
her right mind. The bank isn’t going to allow you to write
checks for her or get money from her bank account without a
power of attorney, unless you’re on her account. Are you a
joint owner or POA on her account?"
"No," Henry moaned. "After Dad died a
couple of years ago, she wouldn’t put me on the account as
joint owner – she said you wrote an article saying that was a
bad idea. She was going get a power of attorney written and
take it to the bank, but I guess she hadn’t gotten around to
it."
"Touché," smiled the attorney, "but
she was right. Joint ownership can cause more problems than it
solves. She said you’d just been through a nasty divorce. Can
you imagine what your ex-wife’s attorney would have tried if
you’d been a joint owner of your mom’s bank accounts?
"If your mother’s mental capacity
comes back, this whole problem will go away. If she doesn’t
regain capacity, then you’ll need to file for guardianship."
"How does that work?" Henry queried.
"Guardianship appoints you to do
whatever she needs. If the Court appoints you her guardian,
she will be legally unable to make her own decisions, so it’s
a drastic step and one the Court won’t take unless it decides
that guardianship is the least restrictive means to provide
for your mom’s needs.
"Guardianship starts with filing a
petition. You have to submit certificates from two doctors
that explain your mother’s inability to make her own decisions
and any physical disability, and estimate how long her mental
or physical disability will last.
"Assuming that the doctors tell the
Court that your mother’s mental or disability will be
long-term or lifelong, then the Court can appoint you guardian
of her person and property. The former allows you to make
personal and medical decisions for her; the latter allows you
to control her finances and assets. Both require you to report
to the Court annually.
"Guardianship takes several months,
unless there’s some sort of emergency, and costs a few
thousand dollars. It’s also a public proceeding, which can be
embarrassing. Unless there’s something pending that requires
immediate action, let’s wait and see if your mother regains
her competency. Has the doctor said she won’t?"
"No," Henry replied, "they haven’t
said anything yet."
"Then call me if anything comes up.
Let’s wait a few weeks and see if she gets better. I hope so."
"Me, too," Henry sighed. "Me, too."