These days, when people ask how I’m doing—some of them still ask, you’d be surprised—I shrug and say, as manfully as I can, “Much better than you’d think.” And this is true. I am fed, I am clothed, I still have a few patients, the Nets are winning, and my mother, thank God, has finally agreed to the assisted-living place in Rockland. And I have a home, of sorts—the room we built for Alec above the garage so that he could pursue his oil painting with the firm scaffold of our love and money under his feet. God forbid that Alec should ever have felt unsupported—that we should show dismay at his dropping out of Hampshire after three semesters and almost sixty thousand dollars of tuition, books, board, and other proofs of parental esteem. Sixty thousand dollars vanished—puff—like smoke; our son fails out of a college that doesn’t even give grades, and in response we build him an art studio above our garage. And here’s the kicker: we were happy to do it. This is one of the many lessons we took from the plight of our friends Joe and Iris Stern, whose daughter Laura was lost to them once, and is again, now.
– A Friend of the Family by Lauren Grodstein