Page created by: Trish McEvoy Sherman

For forty-four years, Ron was by my side. He was my best friend, my soulmate, my confidante, my business partner, my husband, my protector and my world – but he was so many things to so many people. A beloved son, brother and uncle, a caring boss whose staff adored him, and a wonderful professor to so many students. He was always alight with life, even when he became ill, always curious, wanting to learn, joyful and open. He had such a wonderful calming demeanor, and he immediately put people at ease with his gentle spirit and brilliant sense of humor. He was so fun and dynamic, but so incredibly determined and focused with his work. Everyone looked up to him – all the staff in our joint medi-spa called him Dr S and we were forever sneaking kisses in the corridor between patients. We relished working together on everything from our practice to the skincare products we created, always collaborating as one team.

We met on a blind date, of all places. And it wasn’t even my blind date! I went instead of my roommate to meet him at a coffee shop, and the rest is history. From the very start, we loved nothing more than being together and we were forever working on some project, planning for the future. Ron was so full of life that way. And New York? New York was his city through and through. He adored Central Park (he has a bench near the pond where he liked to sit), he loved the variety of the people, the architecture, the food, the that it brought to people’s souls. We used to love exploring new neighborhoods together, always on the go. We were both big travelers when we met, and so went to London and Paris on our honeymoon, and later raced through the Almafi Coast, Japan, the south of France – Ron loved life and the world and being right in the heart of it all.

He had so much vigor. Even during his long and brave fight with Parkinson’s, he never let his shine be dimmed nor allowed himself to wallow. Two days before he passed, he was swimming in the pool, thanks to the staff who got him in and out of the water, calling out to me “This is living!”. He got up and pedaled away on his exercise bike, no matter how hard it was. He may have become a patient, but he never stopped being a doctor. He loved his doctor, Dr Lawrence Severt, who the Michael J. Foundation connected him to. Dr Severt told him, “hope is informed optimism.”

He was a brave, courageous and loving man right up until the end. I miss him greatly, even though I still feel him around me in so many ways. The Michael J. Fox foundation and their tireless work brought him so much relief and easier days, and he had the utmost faith in their groundbreaking research and the medical advances they worked towards. That’s why I’ve chosen to honor his memory by supporting their work, and would invite you to do the same.

- Trish McEvoy Sherman