Because of the national attention that Amy’s death received, I also found myself descended upon by the media, and by—ready?—Hollywood producers. Shocking as it felt, I was “that husband,” “that guy,” so I guess there was an obvious logic to it, in someone’s world. It wasn’t my world, though, and I had no idea what to do. Wouldn’t you know, it was another Amy who came to the rescue. Her name is Amy Rennert, and she was Amy’s literary agent and friend. They were as close as sisters, and she feels like a part of our family. She stepped right in on my behalf, setting up a protective force field around me and our family and handling this barrage of inquiries.
I’m sure my mouth was hanging open a little when Amy Rennert explained that some top Hollywood producers were interested in obtaining film rights to Amy’s and my story and to some of her books. She encouraged me to at least listen to what these people had to say, sooner rather than later, so we could figure out who, if anyone, was the best fit. The idea of honoring Amy and perpetuating her exquisite messages by making a film about her life was definitely intriguing—Amy would have been ecstatic at the prospect.
Next thing I knew, we were on our way to Hollywood to “take meetings” with several very successful producers. Their bios were stellar, and their experience in the business was off the charts. For three days I collected myself emotionally and met one after another of these amazing people at a hotel in LA. Every single one of these superstars was warm, compassionate, and intensely interested in Amy and her legacy, and they came prepared. They’d dived deep into her vast body of work, from her published books to her films to her online presence to her résumé of public speaking engagements. I wasn’t just impressed, I was very, very grateful.
Amy Rennert and I flew out of LAX to our respective homes wishing Amy had known these people. She would have been fast friends with many of them, and she would have had dozens of collaboration ideas, whether they involved a feature film or not. It was an incredibly stimulating trip, and both thrilling and intimidating to think of Amy, and our family, being portrayed on the big screen. Choosing the best team to make it happen and make it happen right, capturing the unique magic and contagious generosity of her spirit, was one of the most significant decisions I’d faced since Amy died. I was lucky to have Amy Rennert by my side—someone who knows us all, loved us as much as we loved her, and wasn’t about to settle for anything but the best for us, and especially for Amy.
We ended up going with my first choice, a guy who shares a lot of my values, who reminds me of Paul, my father-in-law and role model, and who, as luck would have it, has Chicago connections.
The California trip was inspiring, and I came back more determined than ever not only to honor Amy’s legacy but also put it to good, active use. Soon after I returned, I began the process of forming the Amy Krouse Rosenthal Foundation.
The mission reflects two causes important to Amy and our family: to support research in early detection of ovarian cancer, and to promote child literacy. I can’t stress enough that I had no idea what I was doing. I had no qualifications to serve as the executive director and chairman of the board of a nonprofit organization. What I did have, though, was the full support of my entire family and the passionate involvement of a group of beautiful, supertalented people who agreed to serve on our initial board.
The Amy Krouse Rosenthal Foundation is small, and we’re new, but we’ve already funded a researcher in Amy’s name to see what kind of dent we can make in increasing awareness of the early signs of ovarian cancer, signs often ignored because they’re so common among women: B is for persistent BLOATING that doesn’t come and go; E is for difficulty EATING, and feeling full more quickly; A is for ABDOMINAL and pelvic pain felt on most days; and T is for TOILET, changes in urination or bowel habits. (And, guys, in case you haven’t already figured this out, women are a lot tougher than we are, so they often battle through these symptoms without taking them seriously enough. Pay attention!) Early-stage ovarian cancer detection can result in a 90 percent survival rate, as compared to late-stage ovarian cancer, which has about a 20 percent survival rate and is unfortunately much more common.
As for child literacy, we have already donated tens of thousands of books to kids in need and are committed to many, many more being handed out over time. We have also engaged in programming geared toward kids to expose them to books at an early age, those formative years when we know reading is essential for a lifetime engagement with learning.
I can’t begin to describe how proud I am of the Amy Krouse Rosenthal Foundation, and how fulfilled and grateful I am to be spending part of my time on this planet giving back, on Amy’s and our family’s behalf. And as usual, just when I thought Amy had enriched my life as much as she possibly could in the wake of her death, another door opened because of her, and all I had to do was say yes and walk on in.
All of this work on behalf of Amy’s memory came to a crescendo in April 2018 when I walked on the main stage for a TED talk.
A member of the TED community approached me at the end of 2017 and invited me to give a talk at the upcoming main conference in Vancouver, Canada. In case you’re not familiar with TED, it’s a nonprofit global media organization that holds a main annual conference (and many others around the world). Many of the talks are posted online in more than a hundred languages and cover a wide variety of subjects, with the slogan “Ideas worth spreading.” TED stands for Technology, Entertainment and Design.
Amy had a relationship with TED. She’d spoken at TEDx conferences throughout the country (a TEDx event is a local gathering where live TED-like talks and performances are shared with the community) and assisted them with other creative projects, sometimes in collaboration with other artists, and she had enormous respect for the whole organization.
A million reactions flooded through my body, mind, and soul at the suggestion that I was even capable of doing something like this. I asked for some time to think about it.
What attracted me most to even the suggestion of telling my story publicly in this setting was the fact that I’d have control of the content. It was not an interview setting, where a talking head would drill me on my personal life, on the concept of Amy’s essay being a personal ad, and on whether I’d found love yet. Here, I thought, I could control the message. If I agreed to write and deliver a TED talk, I could weave together my story the only way I knew how—being really honest about Amy and our relationship, the end of life, the treatment of the subject of death in our culture, loss of all types, the responses to Amy’s article, and moving through and with grief to find some joy, happiness, and beauty. If they’d let me convey all that in my own way, why not give it a shot? I agreed to write a piece for TED.
Writing that TED talk was cathartic. It was also overwhelmingly emotional. I labored over every single word. When the script was as close to finished as I felt it was going to get, I submitted it to the powers that be, and they accepted it virtually as is.
I was on my way to giving a TED talk.
I spent the next couple of months far outside my comfort zone. I rehearsed that speech as if my life depended on it. Of course, I wanted to deliver—or, as a dear friend offered as a bit of coaching advice, “not suck.” (Thanks again for that, Amy. Yes, yet another Amy R., AKR’s college roommate and now my confidante on many subjects.) I wanted to nail it for Amy, for the thousands of people who’d reached out to me about Amy’s essay, for my kids, for my family, and for the message itself. I practiced in front of the mirror. I practiced all over the house. I practiced in my law office. You name the place, I practiced there. I didn’t share the content with my children or my family or my friends. I occasionally worked with a wonderful TED coach, but other than that, I was very private about what I was going to say.