Eulogy for Lewis Aron
3 March 2019, Riverside Memorial Chapel, New York City
After Lew, how?
I feel deep sorrow. My mind and heart are in a state of siege. The poet utters, “Stop the clocks.”
The death of Lew is uncontainable. My only consolation is to remember that the last series of interactions I had with Lew at NYU, at his home, and in hospice care were the most distressing and the happiest I have ever had.
When I told him that in our relationship, I was the one with the extraordinarily fortunate honor to be his brother-in-life, he said, “The feelings are mutual,” and we both smiled because we knew what that meant. It was vintage Lew.
I have known Lew since the 1980s. It took about ten years for us to become brothers. Since that time, I was often his wing man. In the last five years, he often became my wing man as well.
Lew Aron pictured by Mark Gerald
We spent many hours together at spirited luncheons or espresso bars talking about our children and partners, psychoanalytic education, candidates, music, Ferenczi. We argued over which was smoother: bourbon or cognac. I learned his Zen-like way of polishing the huge, wooden conference table at the NYU Postdoc office. As recently as last month, he was alerting me to how to watch the Israeli TV series Stichel – “Ignore the slow first episodes; it gets better,” he explained. I read a lot, but let me tell you – Lew read everything, and all the time. And if he wasn’t reading, he was practicing his electric guitar in the office. When he logged onto his state-of-the-art Mac computer the first thing that appeared on the screen was an image of a strumming Eric Clapton.
Lew was a deeply loving man who did not forget those who left us. I recall so clearly his telling me how much he missed Steve Mitchell, Mannie Ghent, Ruth Stein, Muriel Dimen, Jeremy Safran, and many others. How much he loved hanging out with them, thinking, planning, and implementing. And now we are the ones to miss him.
Lew was in possession of a passionate ability to love, and a preternatural brilliance and energy. He was an independent thinker and a man with sparkling authenticity. In the days to come, many will write about his great accomplishments as they should. His legacy is as huge as the sun.
My brother Lew, I have been coming to the realization that there might be no chance to speak to you again. I know you realized your leave-taking would bring grief to your loved ones and others. You knew what torture your physical pain was, but we also suspect you covered up your psychological anguish at leaving us.
Relationships were everything to you.
You knew how to cry and how to laugh and how to love others.
I speak now to the Lew’s children, Benjamin, Raphi, Kirya, and to Lew’s partner Galit, and her children, Emma, Yali, and Mia, and to family and friends, and surely to myself:
A hole has been made in your life.
Forgive the clumsy expressions of sympathy.
It will never be easy to speak about it.
Remember how he loved you.
Few people love with such passion.
We are all so fortunate to have touched him and to be touched by him.
Coda: 16 April 2019
I still cannot believe such luminosity has been extinguished. For decades, Lew Aron poured his love into teaching, writing and organizing psychoanalysts. I recall rapturous conversations with Lew about the birth and growth of IARPP. Such talks began in the living room of Steve Mitchell in year 2000. We were young, free, and innocent. Who can I talk to heart to heart now? The Greek poet utters, “Death does not have the final word.”
Spyros Orfanos, PhD (USA)
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