
Something terrible just happened. My wife, Elise Cawley, was recovering from heart surgery and had just attended virtually a celebration for one of our children when she had a freak, vast cardiovascular event—and died instantly. We had been together for 36 years. The picture above was taken just hours before she died.
In all the writing and public speaking I have done, I have chosen, as a matter of privacy, to say little about my family. But now that Elise is gone I cannot restrain myself from telling the world something about the remarkable person with whom I shared the past 36 years of my life.
It was September 17, 1990, and I was in New York City. The event I had been attending finished a little early, so I decided to drop in on a friend of mine. And there, sitting stylishly on the floor, was Elise, a somewhat bashful but obviously brilliant young pure mathematician. It took me a couple of weeks to call her. But from that moment on we talked essentially every day for 36 years—until the day she died a week ago. Continue reading








