I believe that people don’t come to me—they are sent to me. I offer my eternal gratitude to the many extraordinary people who have been sent to me, without whom my life wouldn’t be what it is, and without whom this book wouldn’t exist:
First and foremost, my precious sister Magda Gilbert—who is ninety-five years old and still blossoming, who kept me alive in Auschwitz—and her devoted daughter Ilona Shillman, who fights for the family like no other.
Klara Korda—who was larger than life, who truly became my second mom, who made every visit to Sydney a honeymoon, who created Friday night dinners like our mother’s, everything artfully done by hand—and Jeanie and Charlotte, the women following in her line. (Remember the Hungarian song? No, no, we’re not going away until you kick us out!) My patients, the unique and one-of-a-kind humans who have taught me that healing isn’t about recovery; it’s about discovery. Discovering hope in hopelessness, discovering an answer where there doesn’t seem to be one, discovering that it’s not what happens that matters—it’s what you do with it.
My wonderful teachers and mentors: Professor Whitworth; John Haddox, who introduced me to the existentialists and phenomenologists; Ed Leonard; Carl Rogers; Richard Farson; and especially Viktor Frankl, whose book gave me the verbal capacity to share my secret, whose letters showed me I didn’t have to run away anymore, and whose guidance helped me discover not only that I survived, but how I could help others to survive.
My amazing colleagues and friends in the healing arts: Dr. Harold Kolmer, Dr. Sid Zisook, Dr. Saul Levine, Steven Smith, Michael Curd, David Woehr, Bob Kaufman (my “adopted son”), Charlie Hogue, Patty Heffernan, and especially Phil Zimbardo, my “baby brother,” who wouldn’t rest until he’d helped find this book a publishing home.
The many people who have invited me to bring my story to audiences around the world, including: Howard and Henriette Peckett of YPO; Dr. Jim Henry; Dr. Sean Daneshmand and his wife, Marjan, of The Miracle Circle; Mike Hoge of Wingmen Ministries; and the International Conference of Logotherapy.
My friends and healers: Gloria Lavis; Sylvia Wechter and Edy Schroder, my treasured fellow Musketeers; Lisa Kelty; Wendy Walker; Flora Sullivan; Katrine Gilcrest, mother of nine, who calls me Mom, whom I can count on day and night; Dory Bitry, Shirley Godwin, and Jeremy and Inette Forbs, with whom I can talk so openly about the ages and stages of our lives and how to make the best out of what we have as we age; my doctors, Sabina Wallach and Scott McCaul; my acupuncturist, Bambi Merryweather; Marcella Grell, my companion and friend who has taken exceptional care of me and my home for the last sixteen years and who always tells me what she thinks right out.
Béla. Life mate. Soul mate. Father of my children. Loving, committed partner who risked it all to build a new life with me in America. You used to say, when I was consulting for the military and we traveled Europe together, “Edie works, and I eat.” Béla, it was our rich life together that was the true feast. I love you.
All of my love and gratitude to my children: my son, John Eger, who has taught me how not to be a victim and who has never given up the fight for people living with disabilities; my daughters, Marianne Engle and Audrey Thompson, who have offered me unceasing moral support and loving comfort during the many months of writing, and who understood, perhaps before I did, that it would be more difficult for me to relive the past than it was to survive Auschwitz. In Auschwitz, I could think only about my survival needs; to write this book required that I feel all of the feelings. I couldn’t have taken the risk without your strength and love.
And thank you to my children’s and grandchildren’s beautiful spouses and life partners, the people who keep adding branches to the family tree: Rob Engle, Dale Thompson, Lourdes, Justin Richland, John Williamson, and Illynger Engle.
My nephew Richard Eger—my Dickie-boy—and his wife, Byrne, thank you for being true relatives, for watching over me and my health and celebrating holidays together.
When our first grandchild was born Béla said, “Three generations—that’s the best revenge to Hitler.” Now we are four! Thank you to the next generation, to Silas, Graham, and Hale. Every time I hear you call me GG Dicu my heart goes pitter-patter.
Eugene Cook, my dancing partner and soul mate, a gentle man and a gentleman. Thank you for reminding me that love isn’t what we feel—it’s what we do. You’re there for me always, every step and every word. Let’s keep dancing the boogie-woogie as long as we’re able.
Finally, the people who word by word and page by page helped me bring this book into being, a collaboration that from the beginning has felt meant to be:
The talented Nan Graham and Roz Lippel and their able staff at Scribner. How lucky I am to have been sent the most qualified editors with hearts as brilliant as their minds. Your editorial wisdom, persistence, and human compassion helped this book become what I always hoped it could be: an instrument of healing.
Esmé Schwall Weigand, my cowriter—you didn’t just find the words. You became me. Thank you for being my ophthalmologist, for your ability to see my healing journey from so many different perspectives.
Doug Abrams, world-class agent and world’s truest mensch, thank you for being a person with the backbone and character and soul to commit himself to make the world a better place. Your presence on the planet is an absolute gift.
To all: In my ninety years of life I have never felt so blessed and grateful—or so young! Thank you.