November brings a host of feelings. I recall my two beautiful, beloved sisters, who celebrate birthdays this month, and the anniversary of Jane’s death. The trifecta of dates–Jane, three years younger than me, born on November 6, 1959; Margie, two years older, on November 8, 1954, and Jane’s death on November 7, 1981.

Decades have passed, and the emotional roller coaster evolves, never knowing how the pulse will feel from year to year. In 2011, I founded the Celebration of Sisters ice skating fundraiser to provide a focus, a venue to honor and commemorate the memories and lives of two cherished sisters. I desperately needed to channel the grief meaningfully in a way that spoke to the vivacious, fun, and active sisters I adored.

The photographs and music selected for the fundraiser helped recall lost memories. Now I could share Margie and Jane with others that I had suppressed for decades. With gusto, I sifted through piles of scattered photos and thirty-three albums, thoughtfully selecting the most meaningful pictures for the invitation and songs reflective of my skate in my performance. I cling to Margie and Jane, my anchors, sisters, with deep love, who remain my past, present, and future.

One year, I skated to Judy Collins’ Both Sides Now, recalling a family trip to California in the 1970s. The three of us saw Judy Collins in concert in LA. I was 19, Margie was 21, and Jane was 16. Another highlight of the trip, we snuck Jane into a comedy club where JJ Walker performed. Because of our tardiness, the comedian took it upon himself to use this content for his act. Mortified, we slinked to our tables, thankfully, the dim lighting hid our bright red faces. When we calmed down, we could poke each other and laugh.

In the basement of our home for twenty years, I stored a large plastic tub with the combined eclectic thirty-three album collection of the three Lipson sisters. Identified by owner with neon name tags, Margie liked James Taylor, Diana Ross, Steely Dan; Jane favored KC and the Sunshine Boys; and I liked Chicago, Hall and Oates, Seals and Crofts, to name a few. Shocked to see that Jane and Margie were Carole King fans. I skated to Beautiful in a trio, and a few years later performed a solo, knowing how beautiful Jane and Margie are.

Margie and Jane loved to dance, and I contemplated incorporating dance into a fundraiser, but ice skating won. For our father’s fiftieth birthday, we celebrated with a disco party. Margie and Jane were in their element, me not so much, but went along. Dolled up in a white suit and red shirt, mimicking John Travolta of Saturday Night Fever, our father played the part too. The party was a tremendous success, and the beaming smiles reflected a cherished memory.
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2026 will mark the forty-fifth year of Jane’s passing. I will turn seventy, and time for the revival of Celebration of Sisters after a hiatus. The first song I skated to was by Whitney Houston, I Will Always Love You, the perfect choice. Margie and Jane, I will always love you.

Skating became crucial piece surviving the tragedies in my life. When I lost my beloved sisters Margie and Jane, without being consciously aware, skating was the chord that brought me full circle back to them, to the precious memories of three sisters taking skating lessons. The death of my sisters forever changed me. Raising two daughters as a single mother and working full time left little time for me, let alone skating. The return to the ice was like being home, a place of safety, after a long break.

Because of my grieving journey, many memories of my sisters I cannot recall. The skating memories remained. The shy, poor body image of nine-year-old Judy found love and solace skating with her sisters. Margie’s long, straight, silky brown hair tied back into a ponytail, Jane’s blond hair in a bob with bangs blew off her face as she skated, and my wavy brown hair pulled back with a cotton headband. Our unique personalities reflected off and on the ice. Margie, talented, chatty and athletic, zoomed around the ice. Jane, carefree, not that interested but tagged along for the ride, and I only wanted to be Margie.

The three Lipson sisters, different, encountered challenges, and skating remained innocent. Our laughter, rosy cheeks, plaid skating bags holding our skates, racing to be first on the ice are memories cemented in my brain and heart forever.

In my memoir, Celebration of Sisters: It Is Never To Late To Grieve, I delve into how I founded Celebration of Sisters, the annual ice skating fundraiser. After suppressing the grief for thirty years, a skating fundraiser was the natural evolution to honor and commemorate Margie and Jane in a sport we all shared.

As I painstakingly took part in a complicated grief study in 2015, skating was my restoration. On the ice, in my meditation, joy, I experienced freedom, and connection to Margie and Jane. 

Throughout the study, I had to track my emotions. The moment I set my blade on the slick ice surface and pushed off into a glide, all tensions melted away, my head clear of heavy grief work and process but focused on the stroke, and magic of skating.

For however long I spent on the ice, typically an hour, several times a week, the best therapy for my mind and body. It became my lifeline and an integral part of my life. I became addicted to the sport. I spent four to five times a week on the ice, between teaching and practice. My skates remained in a permanent spot at the door to my apartment, under a chair, never entering a closet.

In 2011 when I founded the Celebration of Sisters fundraiser, the planning, practicing of my performance, and the emotional piece took a year to plan, a focus I desperately needed to ease the pain and channel my head in another direction to the emotional upheaval of Margie and Jane’s November birthdays. 

I had many moments of tears on the ice, emotions connected with my sisters, frustrations, too sensitive from mean girls, and being my hardest critic. Most of all times of happiness, camaraderie with fellow skaters, laughter, and smiles. It is the symmetry of love. If I didn’t love my sisters, I wouldn’t grieve so hard; if I didn’t love skating, I wouldn’t experience such joy. The two must merge. For my life, one does not exist without the other, and when they collide or become too overwhelming, I feel my body tremble, get the Judy shakes, a precursor for a teary session on the ice. There have been rare occurrences when a soccer punch emotional, too grand, and skating isn’t working the magic. Never lasting long, I know to get off the ice and try again the next time. As the skating platform states, when we fall on and off the ice, We Get Up.

Skating also provided routine in a chaotic life. It centered me. Grief is tricky business, hitting you at unexpected times. Knowing I have skating at my core, no matter how I am feeling, is reassuring.

In 2024, I attended River Walk Skating Camp, which occurred on the birthdays/anniversaries of Margie and Jane. I struggled to decide whether to attend. On the one hand, skating made sense as the best place to be, but what if I broke down? I broke down every day, and the support from the adult skating community around me was wonderful. Teary-eyed for a bit, I got my groove. I couldn’t shut off my emotions like I had done for thirty years, and although I may have started the day off rocky, knowing Margie and Jane were with me saying, “Judy you’ve got this,” kept me going. 

​Gliding across the slick, beautiful sheet of ice, the cool breeze through my hair, I sense Margie and Jane with me. I whisper, “I will always love you.”
 
I wrote Celebration of Sisters: It Is Never Too Late To Grieve to help other surviving siblings. If you know someone who would benefit, please pass along or share your thoughts by writing a review on Amazon: https://a.co/d/dVKPHpv

​Athlete train with discipline to achieve their goals. They hope their mind and body create synchrony and harmony to maximize performance. We have witnessed athletes reach rewards and achievements, stumble setbacks, plateaus, fall and get up, recover from injuries, and put their heart and soul into the sport.
 
Training can be applied to other areas of your life. I am an adult figure skater with no sports background. Training is a new phenomenon. I incorporate the principles into my writing, and attempt to in the grief process. When I train, the degree of synchrony varies. I continue to be unable to sync my mind and body in the grief journey, predominately in skating, and allow in the writing process.
 
I fell over in the chair at the doctor’s office when he called me an athlete in my fifties. Adult skaters need consistent practice, hard work, and above all, fun to improve our skills. Our bodies and thinking unlike in our youth. When a coach teaches me a new element, I comprehend how to execute in my head, but sometimes the body doesn’t follow. Repeating the drill, I come up with the “Judy” verbiage in my mind to interrupt the coach’s word to translate to the ice. Understanding your body’s strengths, weaknesses, limitations, and setting realistic goals will help you succeed.
 
A broken foot two years ago, set my skating training back. I babied the weak right foot and put too much effort on the stronger left leg. The goal of performing in the club show and securing a program within a month, forced me to ignore the imbalance. The beautiful program’s emphasis on the stronger left side only worsened the weakness on the right. I pulled a hamstring on the left leg. I opted out of performing in this year to focus on balancing out both legs. The challenge for next year’s performance is to do elements bilaterally. I hope the mind and body align to skate a lovely performance. I have a lot of work to do.
 
Writing is about discipline as I say -tushy to the table, the discipline to write daily.  A recent kink in an editor forced me to pivot the trajectory of my writing process. I had to reevaluate what path to take and find a new method of achievements and goals.  I took a Creative Writing course that sparked a new dimension to my writing. I sifted through old material finding new topics for blogs and deepened some pieces. I set some unrealistic goals that I tweaked and were better suited to not overwhelm me.
 
Training in the grieving process proved the most challenging. Forgiving myself for not doing the grief work sooner, left my head and heart at odds.  I knew I did the best I could at the time at a young twenty-five, but my heart full of regrets and years lost. Why wouldn’t I allow my skating training principles to grief? Emotions factored into the equation. If I had rewarded myself with small victories, forgiveness may have looked different. I feel like champion on the ice when I master a small element. For grief, I need to give myself the same grace.
 
I’m thankful for training and the numerous lessons learned – discipline, when you fall you get up, setting goals, hard work, and routine. Training requires personal growth and staying true to myself.

Our deepest condolences to all the families who lost loved ones in the tragic plane crash on January thirtieth. Among those lost, a large contingent of skaters, a dark reminder of the 1961 horrific crash where we lost the entire U.S. Figure Skating Team.

The lives of the individuals who lost loved ones are forever changed. Each will have their own grief journey, on their timeline, and in a manner that works for them, and most importantly know that they are not alone. As supporters, acknowledging their loved one with their name and a memory and a simple, “I’m sorry for your loss,” is a start. Thank you to Margo Fowkes, Founder of Find Your Harbor for providing two informative articles on how to support a grieving friend.

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/death-and-dying_b_4329830

https://findyourharbor.com/the-way-home/

When I initially began my grief journey after suppressing my grief for thirty years, the first resource I discovered was a thesis by Brenda Marshall. I reached out to Brenda who graciously sent me a copy. I read her book, Adult Sibling Loss: Stories, Reflections and Ripples, and found comfort in Brenda’s story and the stories of three other adult siblings. I was no longer alone in my grief. Their words resonated with me and felt surrounded by others who understood the impact of the loss of a sibling.

For me, I need to pace myself in the amount of grief information I can read and take part in. That works for me. Others may delve in deeper – attend support groups, conferences, and read multiple books on grief. I am grateful today to witness the increase of resources that exist compared to forty-three and thirty-four years ago when I lost my beloved sisters Jane and Margie.

More organizations, resources, and books are available on sibling loss. Many individuals are brave to share their stories in beautiful memoirs, research, and appear as guests on podcasts. We have found unity in a community we never expected to be part of. 

Below, I have listed a smattering of resources. I do not know the reason there are more books written on sibling loss about the loss of a brother versus losing a sister. For now, I’m focusing the book list on sibling loss of sisters. The more we share our collective resources and stories, open the conversation about grief, no one will grieve alone.

Please DM me @celebofsisters or Judy A Lipson on Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/JudyLipsonAuthor  to add to the list of resources or for a referral.

ORGANIZATIONS/ONLINE SOURCES
Bereaved Parents USA, https://bereavedparentsusa.org
The Centering, https://centering.org
The Compassionate Friends, https://www.compassionatefriends.org
COPE, https://copefoundation.org
The Dougy Center, https://www.dougy.org
For Grief, https://www.forgrief.com
Hospice Foundation of America, https://www.hospicefoundation.org
Loss of A Lifetime, https://www.lossofalifetime.com
The Loss Project, https://www.thelossproject.com
Open To Hope, https://www.opentohope.com
ReImagine, https://letsreimagine.org
Salt Water: Find Your Safe Harbor, https://findyourharbor.com
 
PODCASTS
The 10 Ninety
As I Live and Grieve
The Broken Pack
Good Grief
Grief and Light
Grief Out Loud
Open To Hope
Share Your Story
Surviving Sibling Loss
The Surviving Siblings Podcast
Where’s The Grief
 
SISTER LOSS BOOKS
History Of a Suicide: My Sister’s Unfinished Life, Jill Bialosky
Living with Sibling Grief: Imaging a Way Forward, Earla Dawn Legault & Monica Murphy
Everywhere I Look, Ona Gritz
Invisible Sisters, Jessica Handler
Opening up to Grief: A Surviving Sibling’s Journey with Loss and Love, Janice Jernigan
While You Were Out, Meg Kissinger
Nobody Ever Talks About Anything but The End, Liz Levine
The Perfect Other, Kyleigh Leddy
Celebration of Sisters: It Is Never Too Late To Grieve, Judy Lipson
Adult Sibling Loss: Stories, Reflections and Ripples, Brenda J. Marshall, PhD, CT
Her: A Memoir, Christa Parravani
The Oxidation of Grief: Reflections on Adult Sibling Loss, Maria Piantanida
My Sister Lives on a Mantelpiece, Annabel Pitcher
Tolstoy and the Purple Chair, Nina Sankovitch
Grace Street: A Sister’s Memoir of Grief & Gratitude, Maureen Callahan Smith
Without Her: A Chronicle of Grief and Love, Rebecca Spiegel

Grief is typically a taboo topic not unlike mental illness but thankfully because of more platforms, forums, the landscape is changing. My personal history as a grief survivor for four decades afforded me to learn, witness the evolution, and offer some insights.

Grief becomes an instant buzz kill to a conversation, a deafening silence. The moment I mention the title of my memoir, Celebration of Sisters: It Is Never Too Late To Grieve, look at me with blank expressions on their faces and no words. Why? The answer is that individuals are uncomfortable with grief because of lack of knowledge, understanding, and perhaps fortunate enough to not have experienced the devastating loss or losses of a loved one. How sad that employers offer a three-day bereavement leave when often a funeral may not take place for several days waiting for funeral arrangements or family members from out of town to travel. Grief in the workplace is a topic that is now becoming in the forefront of companies hoping to develop compassion and awareness to the needs of grieving employees.

On a recent talk, to a non-grief audience, I presented a few basics on what to do and not do when someone suffers a loss and shared some personal stories.

When my father passed away, a friend called and said, “I’m on my way, tell me what you need?” Rather than ask me what I needed, she took the lead. When we suffer a loss, we are not in the right frame of mind, in a fog unable to process the grave tragedy that changed our lives in an instant. I told her I needed hard candies because of a dry throat from excess talking. In addition, I needed stoppers from the annoyance of the constant scratching noise of the kitchen chairs being pushed in and out. When my friend arrived, we turned the chairs over and placed the felt stoppers on the bottom of the chairs. Several months later, her mother passed away, and I arrived with a bag of hard candies.

I recalled years earlier, a month after my beloved sister Margie died, I sat outside on a bench waiting to pick my daughter up from kindergarten. Two of Margie’s friends stood, whispered and pointed at me. They knew of Margie’s death, never acknowledged it to my family. I went home and cried. In hindsight, I wish I handled the situation differently and had spoken to them.

Individuals are uncomfortable with grief and say things like: “Everything happens for a reason, they’re in a better place, or it’s time to move on.” All are like salt on a wound. What to say is: “I’m sorry for your loss, I wish I had the right words, please know I care, I don’t know how you feel, I remember when (say name) and share a memory. Listen to the grieving person. Don’t chatter on, sometimes quiet, a shoulder to cry on, or a holding a hand is best. Show up, be direct. “I’m bringing over a pizza, tell me what kind your family likes.” Drop off the basics that grieving families cannot think about–toilet paper, paper towels, milk, bread, coffee, and orange juice.

Amongst my bereaved siblings as we support one another, we cannot compare our grief. We unite in our themes, feelings and emotions but cannot compare our timelines or process. Some may need to cry every day, or read every piece of literature, podcast, or research on grief, some may need quiet or go for a walk. Groups may work or not feel right for others. The important message is to not grieve alone, and to have compassion for yourself and others.

​Grief is real. Grief is part of our lives. Let’s open the conversation about grief.

“Grief does not define me; grief is part of me.”
 
This quote solidified the strongest revelation in my grief journey and magnified with the publication of Celebration of Sisters: It Is Never Too Late To Grieve (COS). The deep conversations ensued on opportunities provided to share my story on podcasts, speaking engagements, and author talks, afforded me to learn and grow into the feelings and emotions I kept closed for decades about my grief and the impact on my life. I am grateful to the individuals who allowed my voice to be heard in the hopes to help others in their grief process.

I took the journey after thirty years to grieve my beloved sisters Margie and Jane and went into deep therapy. The daunting process of repeating over and over the horrific details of their deaths, forced me to remember details not necessarily important, but jogged memories. The thought of lost memories haunted me. I shed many tears. For another exercise I looked at photos of Margie and Jane that I had shunned for years. I recalled precious times together. I learned that I will never remember every detail. Does it matter what was Jane’s favorite ice cream flavor or Margie’s favorite color? The clarity and solid memory is the love.


I took on the role of caretaker for decades and placed my needs and grief on the back burner. At age twenty -five, I grieved my sisters but unable to understand grief or how to express my feelings. I learned in grief the emotions are universal, individual journeys are unique, even in families. Communication lines are broken. The instant we lose our loved one our lives change.

I coped by putting up walls around me. Afraid to get too close to someone, I may lose them. I grieved the loss of two sisters, and the trauma of Margie’s illness for twenty years. I felt alone. Writing my memoir and being vocal is like a child who learns to walk, first crawls, stands, takes a few steps, walks, and then runs. There is a community of individuals who speak my language. I am grateful I can reach out when I feel the need.

Talking and sharing is still difficult. I pace myself. I inherited from my father the gift of public speaking. Little did I know I too possessed the skill. When you are passionate about a topic, it exudes. Writing became a tool to express myself and go deeper into myself and my grief. One piece I still struggle with is making peace with the regret for not doing the work on grief earlier. I repeat I did the best I could. My head tells me one thing, my heart another and the two do not meet. As an introvert, groups are hard for me. It took me time to embrace what works for me and find tools and resources that fit my needs, a smaller setting, or talking one-on-one.

​Part of the process of therapy focused on restoration, taking care of me. Skating won the prize. On the ice, my meditation, joy, and passion, I turn off- glide across with the breeze in my hair and recall the fondest memories of Margie and Jane–the three of us skating together.

I often wonder if the challenges and tragedies I faced, shaped the woman I am today. Would the shy, insecure, middle sister who preferred backstage, have the guts to speak or perform on the ice in front of a large crowd? Would I serve on the Board of Directors of the COPE Foundation? Would I meet new wonderful new people from the various arenas as I broaden the horizons in my life?

Grief is a part of me. There will be days of tears, there will days of joy, there will be days of sorrow, there will days my heart hurts I can’t breathe, there will days of elation, but the common denomination of all the emotions is love. Margie and Jane are forever beside me and imprinted in my heart.