On This Day: Remembering Judy

Pictured: My dad carrying Judy as I look on.

On the historic date of October 17th, Doris Humphrey, choreographer, dancer, and writer was born (October 17, 1895); American film star, actress, and dancer, Rita Hayworth, the legendary Hollywood beauty, was born (October 17, 1918); Physicist and renowned genius, Albert Einstein, arrived in the United States as a refugee from Nazi Germany (October 17, 1933); Evel Knievel, motorcycle daredevil, was born (October 17, 1838); Jimmy Seals, singer, songwriter, and one half of the successful soft rock band “Seals and Croft” was born (October 17, 1941); and the famous actress, Ava Gardner, and jazz composer and bandleader, Artie Shaw, were married (October 17, 1945). More recently, Mother Teresa, of India, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for her work on behalf of the destitute in Calcutta (October 17, 1979).

However, on October 17, 1945, a historic event occurred in my family of origin when my older sister, Judy, was born. She was a dancer, actress, singer, acrobat novas, comic, teacher, treasured friend, loving mother and beloved wife. I called her “sister.”

Judy had carrot red hair and a personality to match! She was a petite 4’ 10” and I was a tall 5’ 7”, a virtual giant in my mind, standing next to her. I loved being with her. She made things happen and she pushed me to do more . . . to be more.

My sister Judy was five years older than me. Our parents spaced their children rather far apart. There was a three-year space following the birth of my older sister, Vicki, before Judy was born. Five years later I arrived, five more years brought my younger brother, Devro, and then finally seven years later, my little sister, Loni, completed our family.

Judy was full of energy! She loved people and she was always busy with lots of activity. She loved to dance. Judy had Perthes disease when she was young, a disorder of the hip in young children. Many theories have been proposed as to the cause of the disease, including inflammation, infection, trauma, and even “hip problems” noted at birth. Whatever the cause, my parents were told Judy would always walk with a limp. However, Judy didn’t let the disease stop her. She wore her crutches to school and let the other kids try them out while she hopped around. She claimed they even made her popular! However it was dancing lessons that eventually created magic in her life and a miracle in her body. Her bones fused in such a way that she could walk and dance with grace. When the doctors examined the x-rays of her hip, they couldn’t understand why she didn’t walk with a limp.

I was shocked the day our Judy died. Even though she had a serious form of Leukemia, I had not expected her death. No one in our family did. We rationalized that something that unthinkable couldn’t happen again in our family, remembering the toxemia related death of my sister-in-law Gayle and her baby, Skyler. Besides Judy’s husband, Neal, was so spiritual – the bishop in their ward. He had promised she’d be all right and I believed him. We all wanted to believe him. We were not prepared to lose a sibling, a daughter, a friend, wife and mother. I was angry with Neal for a long time following her death because he didn’t seem to display any guilt for the decision he’d helped her make to have the bone marrow transplant. I couldn’t feel his pain, only my own. However, we all felt guilt, each in his or her own way . . . for bone marrow not good enough, for time not spent together, and for silly arguments of long ago. We felt guilt that we didn’t know there wouldn’t be time for all the things we’d planned to do and say. I will never forget the shock on her children’s faces when they were brought to the hospital to view their mother. She had passed away earlier in the day and appeared to be sleeping peacefully, as the midday sun shown through her hospital window. Her five children were young, ranging in ages 4-15 and as I watched them gather around her lifeless body, I realized they were as unprepared as I was.

On September 10, 1986, twenty-three years ago, at the age of 40, my sister, Judy moved on to her heavenly home after her valiant battle. I was in her hospital room as she passed from this life into the next one. Only Neal, our mother, a nurse, and I, watched helplessly as she quietly slipped away. I’d arrived at the hospital only minutes before. I remember frantically trying to put on the protective clothing required by the hospital before entering the sanitary environment. My mother motioned to me to abandon the task, to come quickly. With tears blurring my eyes, I entered her room and reached for her tiny petite hand. Her eyes were closed and the only sound in the room was from the quiet hum of the machine she was hooked up to. As I took her small hand, I gently whispered, “It’s Linda, Judy, I’m here.” I felt the slightest squeeze of my hand, and then she was gone. I remember that moment as clearly as if it was yesterday. It was the first time in my life I had complete confirmation of life after death. I felt the spirit in the room and knew others were there to guide her home. Tears still well up in my eyes when I write or think about that day.

I have been told that earlier in that day, Judy opened her eyes and complained about the noise in her room, asking her husband to please tell everyone to be quiet. He was confused, as the room was silent with only the soft hum of the hospital machine. He assured her that there was no one in the room talking. That day, as she lay dying, the spirit testified to me of our life before this one. My family is noisy and when we get together we all talk at once, excited to share our news. I wonder if the talking, noisy people she referred to were all of our noisy ancestors, excited and preparing for her return, just as we anticipate and enthusiastically prepare for a new baby.

Last Saturday, October 17, 2009, Judy would have been 64 years old. I had a dream about Judy last week. It seemed so real, like I was really with her. She came to see me and Neal was with her, his arms around her shoulders. He was grinning from ear to ear and he was so happy. I was surprised to see her and couldn't believe she was real. I threw my arms around her hugging her tightly and she felt as real to my touch as anyone on earth! Perhaps that's what the resurrection will feel like.

Someone once told me, “We can’t heal our pain until we can find gratitude for the trial or experience that gave us the sadness.” I used to think, “I’ll be grateful when this trial is finally over!” Who knew that losing my sister would be the beginning of understanding the gift of gratitude and unconditional love? The Savior taught us to love one another unconditionally. It seems like a simple gospel principle. Now I know it is an essential principle and the one that will guide us safely home.

In Loving Memory of Judy: October 17, 1945 – September 10, 1986

Healing Our Family History

I have gradually been reading a book titled, “Healing Your Family History: 5 Steps to Break Free of Destructive Patterns,” by Rebecca Linder Hintz, and slowly contemplating it’s message content. The forward of this book is written by Stephen R. Covey, author of the best selling book, The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. “Healing Your Family History” comes highly recommended by Stephen Covey along with music celebrity, Marie Osmond and renowned MD, Christiane Northrup. I’m a fan of this book as well, having discovered some interesting patterns within my own family history.

I read a lot of different kinds of books during this particular season of my life, something I rarely did while raising my children. Back then I generally read ‘self help’ and ‘parenting’ books. However, thanks to the newly invented Kindle Reader (for more information click here), I have rediscovered reading for pleasure again, like I did during my teenage years. The books I enjoy reading usually fall into two basic categories: candy and chocolate. Some books are like sugary candy, a sweet treat that you must keep eating until it is consumed. While others are like decadent dark chocolate, something that must be savored over time. The book “Healing Your Family History” is like dark chocolate. It needs to be studied, pondered, and actively participated in to reap it’s full benefits. There are even worksheets included within its thought-provoking pages.



I have been reading this book along with writing my own history, a work still in progress. I have also been dabbling in researching and recording some of the histories of my ancestors. I’m especially drawn to the incredibly strong women I have descended from. I’ve discovered the truths in the following quote for myself, in being able to understand ‘who we are’ by understanding them:

“Something deep within us wants to connect with those who went before us: our parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and other family members. When we know who they are—their life stories, their triumphs and failures, their strengths and weaknesses—we gain a better sense of who we are. In a sense, their stories become our stories. We not only learn from them, we feel strengthened and inspired by their lives and experiences. We may even find ourselves thinking, ‘If they could do difficult things, so can I.’ With just a little effort, we can come to know and love those whose lives flow directly into ours.” ~ Lloyd D. Newell, Music and the Spoken Word

One of the many fascinating discoveries I’ve realized from pondering this book, is an interesting attitude that seems to have been passed down through the generations. This discovery about my female ancestors is only my opinion, but one that I find intriguing!

Since I wrote my little “Run-a-way Bride” blog on my anniversary (click here for blog entry), I've had some interesting discussions and thoughts that have brought about my recent revelation. I thought I was the only run-a-way bride in the family with fear of commitment. Then I discovered an aunt that also had a run-a-way bride story, and after a discussion with my younger sister I realized that all my siblings had fears of commitment as well. The fears go back to my mother, my grandmother and even way back to my great, great grandmother, who was probably the most reluctant bride of all! 



I've grown to love this great, great grandmother named, Emma, who made impetuous choices that she later regretted. There are so many lessons of life consequences, strength, and courage within her story. She was told it wasn’t proper to be running around the way she did, that she needed to marry the man who loved her or become one of the polygamous wife's of Wilford Woodruff, causing her to reluctantly choose the former. She gave birth to her first child just two months after her marriage date, obviously pregnant before marriage, an occurrence quite scandalous in the days before Hollywood made it appear acceptable. Of course things of that delicate nature were never discussed in that era. [I just finished reading Little Women again. There is no mention of Meg’s pending pregnancy until the twin babies are born, as “one does not speak of such things!”]

It is interesting to me how our fears get passed down through generations of DNA. That must be why it's so important to do our family history . . . so we can heal our hearts and theirs! What a glorious reunion that will be in heaven when we all understand one another in love without judgement!

I think my husband, Dale, understands that my run-a-way bride story had nothing to do with not loving him . . . just a fear of losing myself and my own dreams! He can't resist teasing me about it though. Recently I discovered a 40s song called, "Linda," that is so cute. When Dale heard it he said, "Hey that's me. That could have been my theme song in high school!" Here are some of the words he was referring to:

When I go to sleep, 


I never count sheep, 


I count all the charms about Linda. 


And lately it seems, 


In all of my dreams, 


I walk with my arms about Linda. 


But what good does it do me? 


For Linda doesn’t know that I exist. 


Can't help feeling gloomy, 


Think of all the lovin' I've missed!

I was truly afraid if I got married I would just have children, never graduating from college or being able to teach and travel. I wanted to travel and see far away places. However, my fears were needless. I married and still graduated from BYU, and that education has been such a blessing in my life. My six children were planned by choice and I have been able to travel with my husband, Dale, to some exciting places that have given me wonderful memories. My Dale is a fun traveling companion. I’ve taught preschool and taught in the church “because" of marriage, not in spite of it.

I come from a legacy of strong willed women who are stubborn and get what they want! Thats a great legacy of Family History!



“There's a story behind everything . . . How a picture got on a wall, how a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother's story because hers is where yours begins.” ~ Mitch Albom, For One More Day

“To heal our world, we must heal our families!” ~ Stephen Covey

“Healing our family’s history is key to getting better ourselves.”

~ Rebecca Linder Hintze, Healing Your Family History

“Every woman who heals herself helps heal all the women who came before her and all those who will come after her!” ~ Dr. Christiana Northrup, MD

Bugs Love Me!

We all want to love and to be loved, an innate instinct most of us are born with. Love is one of mankind’s strongest desires. Humans search for it longingly, end up in therapy when it is denied, and even murder one another for it, as is evident on the evening news. Love and hate are powerful words and are often used simultaneously, referencing the same object of affection. However all love is not requited. Sometimes those we love do not love us in return and those who seek our attention go unnoticed and rejected.

In my case, bugs love me! This is disturbing on so many levels, given my Lyme disease carrying tick bite that went unnoticed and was never formerly requested. I have had a long unreciprocated love affair with bugs. I hate bugs, but unfortunately they have always loved me.

One might ask why this affection? It is a mystery to me. Long before my tick incident, mosquitoes loved me. Is it my pale white, transparent Norwegian skin that makes me an easy target, as these blood sucking long legged flies penetrate my skin? Perhaps it is my particular brand of blood, sweeter than most and tantalizing to their insect taste-buds. As an example, if my husband, Dale, and I were driving in a car with three mosquito passengers, I would return home with three mosquito bites, more than likely excessively swelled and itching intensely. Dale would return unscathed, as if riding with butterflies.

Bugs love me! And now, much to my dismay, household flies, probably mosquito cousins having been sent in search of me, love me too. They don’t just fly around my nose and ears searching for entry. They have adopted me as their pet, sitting defiantly on my hands and wrists as I type, refusing to leave or be swatted away. They seem to know I can’t chase them down in my condition and they seek refuge and solitude with me. When Dale enters the room intent on their demise, they disappear like ghosts in the night, leaving me as the only testimony of their existence. Lately, while I am alone with my torturous flies, I have taken to yelling at them in a stern voice of authority, letting them know I am serious about wanting them to depart. I say, “Go away! Leave me alone! I hate you . . . you miserable excuse for an insect!” They don’t listen. They are not like houseplants that wither and die when unkind words are continuously projected towards them. My flies just sit and bask in the love-hate relationship we have developed. I have unkind thoughts towards them and do not mourn their deaths. I know there is a purpose for everything, but could somebody tell me, why flies? Why bugs? Bugs love me! Their love is unreturned.

“God in His wisdom made the fly, and then forgot to tell us why!”

~ Ogden Nash, “The Fly”

“We hope that, when the insects take over the world, they will remember with gratitude how we took them along on all our picnics. ~ Richard Vaughan

“Some days you're a bug, some days you're a windshield.”

~ Price Cobb