“You’re going to have to be strong for your folks.”

The funeral, burial, and shiva period were a blur. Family and friends came and went. I felt numb. “How are your parents
doing?” “How is your mother holding up?” “You’re going to have to be strong for your folks.”

When I think back, not one person asked me how I was doing.

I now want your undivided attention.

The summer after Ruth died, my parents established The Ruth
Gottscho Kidney Foundation in memory of Ruth to help people in New Jersey with kidney disorders.

On one level, I was in awe of how quickly the organization made such a difference in the lives of New Jersey kidney patients. But I was also very jealous of my parents’ commitment to their “new baby.” When asked, I gave lip service to what a wonderful thing they were doing. But I really wanted to shout at them, “After you spent so many years catering to Ruth and her needs, I now want your undivided attention.”

Why couldn’t I handle this without my parents?

. . . .I stayed at my parents’ house for the rest of the weekend. Late Sunday afternoon, my father drove me the twenty minutes to the small bus terminal in Irvington, New Jersey, that badly needed renovation. Buses to Port Authority ran fairly often at that time of the weekend. He parked the car, and we waited outside at the end of the short queue.

As the minutes ticked by, something started welling up inside me. I tried to push it down and looked away. I kept thinking about the bus coming soon and taking me back to the city.

Suddenly I started sobbing uncontrollably. “What’s the matter?” he asked in alarm.

“I feel like I’m falling apart,” I managed to say, swallowing gulps of air. “I think I need help.”

“Let’s go back to the house and talk to Mom. She’ll know how to find someone you can talk to.”

As we returned to the car, I berated myself. Why couldn’t I handle this without my parents?