Afterword III: Judy

On September 8, 2000, Frank and Claire lost their darling daughter.
Judy was fifty-six years old.
In the last ten years of her life, I was privileged to become friends with my cousin, yet I can't possibly do justice to her unique and compelling persona.
To say she was bright is inadequate to describe her fine intelligence, her keen reason, her quick intuition. She was supremely comfortable in the world of the mind.
To say she was fun-loving doesn't capture the wit, the amused lift of her eyebrow, the radiant smile, the full-throated laugh.
To say she was spiritual trivializes her intense relationship with her God and her religion. She never displayed her piety; she simply knew herself as His handmaiden.
To say she was the rock on which her parents leaned doesn't illustrate her powers of organization, her managerial bent, her skills at planning and implementing that largely kept the household--and her own care--going.
To say she was courageous can't begin to suggest what must have been a constant struggle to rise above the despair that threatened her.
But the accident that trapped her in paralysis when she was a lovely and vibrant twenty-two was not the defining event of Judy's life.
The bond between her and her parents defined her. Her encompassing humanity defined her. How own glowing inner powers defined her.
I loved you, Judy, and I miss you so much. When I think of you, you're not immobile in your old affliction. You're walking along a shady path on a farm in the country, laughing and talking, turning this way and that, leading a little group of companions into the light.