Ken and I were fortunate to meet and get to know Judy through our children. We live in San Diego so the times we had together were visits and each one fairly brief. BUT, they were long enough and eventful enough that we felt as though we got to know who she was and what she truly loved. She loved her children and Gil. She loved play acting and enjoyed trying to get parts in movies. She loved the outdoors and, especially, watching birds. She loved her times in Maine. She loved traveling, when she and Gil could manage to get away. She was a wonderful host. We celebrated one Thanksgiving together at their home that was delicious, as well as, having a warm family feel about it. She was always a happy, positive person. We were lucky to have known her and the wonderful memory of her still lives within us.
The last time I saw Judy was one of the best. Less than a month before she passed out of this life, I went to spend the weekend with her in Delmar. Judy and I have always joked around, and even under the shadow of her recent diagnosis, this weekend was no exception.
We sat around the dining table: Judy, Jenna, my 15-year-old daughter, Vaishali, and me. I don’t remember whose idea it was, but we decided to make a movie. Jobs were quickly assigned: Judy, myself, and Vaishali would be actors, and Jenna would stay behind the scenes as camerawoman.
What was our movie about? Nobody knew, and nobody cared. Jenna got the video rolling. Outside, the gray, upstate New York December put out a 40’s film noir vibe.
I fed Judy a line to get her going. “Okay, Gladys, let me get this straight. You were here all night alone. You’re sure?”
The mysterious ways of improvisation kicked in. Judy slipped easily into the persona of a wealthy heiress robbed of a prized cameo necklace. Long sigh, as she traveled deeper into the world of Gladys, considering her choices.
“Umm… ehh…” she started. “Well, there was a — no.” Her hand slapped the air. “Yes,” she declared. “I was alone.”
“Let’s rethink this, Gladys. What did you do, let’s say, after 5 p.m. dinner? Walk me through it.”
Judy’s actor eyes studied me, and the story machine in her head started chugging. Her hand went to her chin. “It started with me climbing the stairs,” she said. “Laboriously… climbing… stairs.”
We were gripped. If she’d been performing to a full house at Lincoln Center, she couldn’t have delivered her lines with more conviction. We weren’t just goofing around her dining room table — this was a gig.
So many have gone before Some just stories of struggle and success The genetic fiber weaves itself into the person I am becoming Life leads me in busyness to neglect their breath of life now dead. A puff away from my own existence, and yet I forget. Remember, I must, these people of old. I share their spirit within my soul. The wind of history can steer the course and I, I may not know. – MPS
Judy was on a journey to discover her past, her heritage. Her mother died when she was very young. Because of her father’s deep grief, her mother was not talked about much if ever after her funeral. In her memoir, Judy shares a story of the day of her mother’s funeral. The large black car slowly drove up to the front of their house. Her father and grandparents walked down the steps, got into the car and were driven away. Judy was left on the porch not knowing where they were going or where her mother had gone. This image inspired Judy to dig deeply into her family history. Being an only child, and having no close family, she did not know where to start. Finding a box of old family photos, Judy began trying to piece together her family history. She found one or two pictures of her mother. There were other family pictures, but most had no labels to identify the people. Judy was frustrated by the lack of information but was determined to find life in her heritage.
Visiting Pemaquid Point, Maine several years ago, Judy came upon a memorial rock. It was a memorial to the Blaisdell Family. Judy was thrilled. Being a Blaisdell, she finally had a sense of her roots.
Judy’s stories of memoir are funny, touching and sad. She was always searching to hear the voices of the past. She did not have time to solve the mystery of all the people in the old family photos, but she left us with a sense of peace. She must be celebrating with the mom she lost all too early for both.
I am Judy’s cousin. My dad Frank was her mom Ida’s brother. In the early 90’s we visited Judy and shared a family album with a few pictures of Ida on the farm in Kearney, NE. Judy wanted to know all about her mom- what my dad and she did together. My dad told stories of taking Ida to a barn dance on the buck board horse carriage. Judy recorded these conversations on tape and camera. I remember her mom faintly, as I was only six. We played together a lot when we were little and then grew apart, her being in New York and me in California, but we kept in contact through family gatherings. Her dad ‘Blais’ was very witty and it was a big deal when he came to visit. I am still very saddened about her death; can’t seem to accept the fact she is gone; every day I think about her. I am so glad I got to visit her in October of 2017, before we knew of the dreaded disease. She was blessed with a wonderful husband, Gil, great kids, Jenna and Aaron, and a grand-daughter she admired and had so much fun with.
