from Ingrud

For Myron from Ingrid
October 17, 2008

We were legally married for over 40 years, and psychologically married for longer than that. Til the end, we remained good friends.
We met on a blind date in New York City on New Years’ eve, 1956. I knew that night that things would probably last, because we laughed all evening and half of the next day.
Myron was a very funny man. His brain was sufficiently unique that it’s difficult to remember exactly what was so funny , but his humor was with him til the end of his life.
Out of the past, I bring up images.
During our second year of marriage, Myron – who had one year of psych residency -- was working as a psychiatrist in a naval hospital where marines were sent when they had mental breakdowns. They were a tough bunch. I remember a caller in the middle of the night telling Myron that one of the patients was threatening the staff with a broken bottle. A second call said that another patient was eating the glass. Myron was scared, but he dashed to the ward and was able to walk into the ward, talk to the threatening patient and calm him down. On two other occasions he had to hospitalize his superior officers, who were alcoholic. It took courage.
Another image is of Myron at my bedside during 4 long labors. He was right there with me, kissing me through the most difficult contractions. I’m not sure how it worked, since I was taking quick Lamaze breaths, but I know he was there during the roughest contractions.
I also see him comforting and explaining things to our oldest son, when our second baby unexpectedly died of meningitis. The older boy was only 18 months old but Myron would show him pictures, and talk about his little brother. I couldn’t do it.
That child’s death never divided us, as happens with so many couples. I remember that we hung onto each other all through the night after the phone had rung, with news of Matthew’s death.
I see him racing down stairs to our landlord’s apartment when their young toddler was having seizures. He went with her to the hospital and got them to start treatment right away – a pediatric intern, he had recognized this second case of meningitis and probably saved her life. Our own child had not had such clear symptoms.
Many years later, Myron’s brother and sister were visiting us in Minneapolis when we got news that his sister’s son had hung himself. Everyone turned to Myron as the one who would find a way to break the news to his sister. He did it in a deeply caring, empathic way as the family sat near by, everyone holding their breath.
He was the rock, the steadfast, calming person in the family. He remained so until a horrible illness separated him from us.
Many years later, when Myron himself was hospitalized among some very threatening patients, I see him talking them down. He was in an elevated mood state himself, but he still had the capacity to soothe people who were out of control. He never lost his touch.
We remained good friends until the end of his life. Just a few weeks ago we were having dinner and playing cards with friends, as he sat in his special chair which helped him get to a standing position. He was very weak, but he was recovering.
And he could still play bridge.
Wherever he is, I suspect he is stronger than ever, perhaps causing an uproar of laughter in heaven.
Ingrid Stocking