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.

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“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