Please wait...
by Ann Moliver Ruben
“Let My Husband Die”
Gershon and I met as teenagers and by the tug on my heart, I knew we belonged together. We were both born in Pittsburgh. I was almost 16 and he was 18 at the time. What fun we had together. We jitterbugged to tunes that spilled out of a lit-up flashing jukebox. He had rhythm and a serious smile. He was generous with the spending money given to him as an only child. He paid to take me to my favorite Bette Davis movie and I remember how we licked on the same chocolate ice cream cone afterwards.
“Let My Husband Die”
The articles in this special section:A Prayer of Trust
adapted from Rabbi Nina Beth Cardin
The Promise
poetry by Sharon Olds
What to Do
resources compiled by Caryn Tamber
Where to Turn
resources compiled by Caryn Tamber
What It Means
resources compiled by Caryn Tamber