He sort of was waiting for us to come home, because after work I-- first thing I did
with my sister, ran down to the hospital.
That particular evening,
he was in bad shape.
And I can see that he was waiting for us to come.
He started to talk to me, but I couldn't understand him anymore.
His lungs filled up with-- with fluid
and that's when he passed-- passed away.
And to me, it was such a great shock.
Not on death-- even before that-- the minute the doctor told me what it is,
it's just like a-- a--
a black hole would open up for me.
And I went down and immediately went into a depression.
And every time you looked at me, I was crying, sort of,
every once in a while.
I mean, really crying.
And I pictured the Passover night without him already.
And I just--
it was deeper and deeper that I went into depression, the harder it felt.
And I sort of--
he was this-- this to Rock of Gibraltar.
Well, as long as I had him, I didn't feel the loss of the family as yet.
The minute I
got the verdict on his situation,
I just-- just like the whole dam broke. And everything came up on me,
like the whole family. I'm by myself. I'm lost,
like, in the middle of an ocean and drowning.
And I have nothing to hold on to.
It was just-- even so,
I had my own family.
I had my wife and a little kid.
Nothing matter anymore.
It's just the whole--
the whole tragedy that happened to us came upon me,
right down, like coming at me like an avalanche and burying me.
And of course, I started getting sick myself--
not actually physically sick, but emotionally sick.
I-- I got the stomach pain, chest pains, all kinds of pains.
And I started running to doctors.
And they kept reassuring me there is nothing wrong with me.
They took X-rays and GI tests and all kinds of things for me
just to prove to me that there's nothing wrong with me. But nothing they did helped.
And it took years and years and therapies
of all kinds. Because at that time, 1960, 61, 62,
not everybody knew about therapy, psychiatric therapy.
But anyway, my family doctor suggested.
He saw that I am helpless, that he cannot help me.
The cardiologist told me that he can't help it.
There's nothing wrong with me.
So finally they-- they arranged it for me to see a psychiatrist.
And I started at the psychiatrist and then I started at the psychologist,
and group therapy, individual therapy,
relaxation exercise. But not much helped.
And I was-- I developed the phobia, agoraphobia.
I was afraid to go to movies.
I was afraid to be in public.
I was afraid to leave home.
I had miserable, miserable days.
And the only thing they could do is give me medication.
And these somehow helped me while I was taking.
But I-- I didn't want to live on them.
So I kept taking them on, then taking myself off them.
And it was going up and down, up and down, constant for me.
And that took me years until finally I started
coming out a little bit, by little bit by bit.
And it's-- it went-- I went through quite a bit afterwards.