Warm Norm

Tomorrow marks the end of observing sheloshim for my late father, Norman Dishotsky. In Judaism, sheloshim is the bridge between the quiet reflection of shiva and the mundane, ordinary life. I wanted to share my thoughts about this experience as it’s been helpful for me to open up. I have never shied away from a public conversation about mental health, and given Norm was a psychiatrist, it’s what he would have wanted.

Shooting Star

On September 10th, 2021, I was on a family vacation when my wife woke me up in the middle of the night. She had received a call from my sister because my phone was off. I called my sister and heard the unbearable news that dad was rushed to the hospital. He suffered an inoperable brain stem aneurism. My wife held my limp body as I struggled to breathe with the news.

I laid back in my chair outside in utter disbelief. At that moment, I saw a bright shooting star. I am skeptical of serendipitous signs, but that was my dad saying goodbye to me.

We flew back the next day, and the family gathered at the hospital as he passed away on Sunday, September 12th.

Norm was 81, a picture of health, who rode his Peloton multiple times a week, danced to jazz, and was a daily romantic to my mom. He seemed to be living his best life. He always talked about living until 100, and nobody doubted him.

He was still working most weeks in his dedicated practice of psychiatry and regularly contributing at Stanford University as Emeritus Adjunct Clinical Professor. He was passionate about furthering the field of existential psychiatry, which was passed down to him by his mentor Irv. He had just recently received the Distinguished Service Award from Stanford’s Psychiatry Department.

He still had a lot left in the tank.

To date, I hadn’t given much thought to losing my dad. Parents eventually die, and it’s a fact of life, but I didn’t look at him in that light. We marked him down as most likely last to go of the “alte kakers,” (Yiddish for elderly).

What do you do when you lose a best friend, father, mentor all at once? Talking to the people who touched him has helped to fill the void. Slowing down and spending time reflecting on what made him great has helped to fill the void. Having small children who don’t know any better and are laughing and playing through all the sadness helped fill the void. Taking care of myself, eating right, trying to get a good night’s sleep, and exercising has helped not make the void any darker.

Warm Norm

We had a hot tub in the backyard where I grew up that he loved. My friends would come by and soak for hours with him and just talk. No topic was taboo, everything was on the table, and there were no judgments. They called him “Warm Norm,” in temperature and attitude. At his memorial service, colleagues and friends echo’ed the same.

“He always spoke to me as an equal,”
“He helped me become the man I am today,”
“I will cry more for Norm’s passing than my own father.”
“He always listened to me, and it felt genuine.”

It’s almost as if he knew a secret long before anyone else. A secret that Maya Angelou so eloquently put, “I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

A Weird Walk Through the Woods

I want to thank my community of family, friends, and everyone else that has said something or given me a hug. I will continue to use you as guideposts as I walk through the woods. I want to thank my work community, including everyone as far back at the C&W crew, to the Starcity family, and the team Common. I stepped down from my full-time role at Common and to take time with family, thank you to everyone for understanding.

Through the darkest days so far, I’ve felt the warm light of friends floating in and out of the void with humanitarian aid in the form of advice, food and hugs.

One of my friends who lost a father told me the coming years will be “a weird walk through the woods.” I like that analogy and take it to heart. I am prepared for the weirdness, and I have the best dad in the world for providing me with a strong compass.

For those who wish to provide your condolences or well wishes, please consider contributing to The Jewish Family Services of Silicon Valley.