There is no one like a sister. My sisters are my anchors, competitors, champions, and knew me better than I knew myself. Who do you fight with viciously one minute and hug tightly the next? Who is brutally honest about the dreadful outfit you wore? Who is upfront about the person you date? Who will always show up no matter the circumstance? Who can you sit in silence and understand each other’s thoughts? Our sisters. When I lost Margie and Jane I struggled with my identity, and realized I am Judy, the middle of three sisters, past, present, and future. The memories of Margie and Jane remain, live on in me, and in the next generations. When I cleaned out my home downsizing to an apartment, I found a box of thirty-three records still intact. I chuckled to myself as I saw the bright neon labels taped to the right corner of the album with our names identifying ownership of Margie, Judy, or Jane. The eclectic assortment from musicals, rock, sixties, and artist ranging from James Taylor, Diana Ross, KC and the Sunshine Band, Seals and Croft, and Chicago to name a few. I learned Margie and Jane were both Carole King fans locating a duplicate Tapestry album. Their age difference of five years surprised me. We each had a turn style and speakers in our bedroom and a larger sound system in the den that housed primarily the musical collection. Before attending a musical, we listened to the tunes. Sound of Music was one of our favorites. Music, like skating connected me to my sisters, and I learned more about my sisters that I thought I lost. Margie and Jane were great dancers and for our father’s fiftieth party, Margie insisted on a disco party, typical older sister being the boss. Our father dressed up in a white suit, like John Travolta, and Margie led the group in a dance step, so typical of her vivacious personality. I shielded away and stood in the back, Jane somewhere in the middle. The photo below is from that party. The “Sisters” song written by Irving Berlin in 1954, and is best known from the 1954 film, White Christmas. The song is fitting as 1954 is the year my beloved sister Margie was born. I watch three sisters I skate with, ages seven, five and three, filled with mixed emotions. The three adorable girls bring back precious memories of my sisters and I skating, some of my happiest memories. When the sisters’ songs play, a tear or two falls out of my, down my cheek, the little girls skate an adorable number, practicing for our spring show. I feel a pang in my heart, but smile. Skating is the chord that forever binds me to my beloved sisters Margie and Jane. Some lyrics of “Sisters” solidify the strong sisterly bond:
“Sisters, sisters There were never such devoted sisters… Caring, sharing Every little thing that we are wearing… All kinds of weather We stick together The same in the rain or sun Two different faces But in tight places We think and we act as one… Those who've seen us Know that not a thing can come between us…. All kinds of weather We stick together…. Sisters Sisters…. Source: LyricFind Songwriters: Irving Berlin
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My beloved older sister Margie passed away in 1991 after a twenty-year battle with anorexia and bulimia. The tragic illness robbed beautiful Margie of her life, dreams, and me of a cherished sister whom I idolized, my best friend and confidante. A permanent void in my life, a part of me gone. After decades, I want to share the experience, because the illness is receiving more press today. I hope to show compassion not only for those suffering with anorexia, but the siblings whose lives are deeply affected. At age fourteen, elated when Margie arrived to meet me at the bus from my return from overnight camp. This marked the sixth summer. Margie and I were apart for eight weeks. The second I saw Margie, I witnessed sixteen-year-old Margie, not the same Margie. Her perfect five-foot body figure who wore bikinis, not needing to lose weight, the opposite of me who struggled with weight, thinner. Little did I know, this day marked the beginning of tumultuous, courageous, and heroic, twenty-year battle with anorexia/bulimia Margie fought to the bitter end. The illness took over Margie, every fiber of our family, never knowing when a crisis would occur, perpetually walking on eggshells. Despite it all Margie pieces of remained able to read me better than anyone else, hearing how I felt by the tone in my voice. Although many times I became angry at her for ruining special occasions for me or because my parents ran to take care of constant crises, I became frustrated when the illness allowed her to function for a while, and became hopeful well Margie coming back to me, only to be disappointed. I felt guilty for not having the capacity to be supportive and moved away to separate myself from the horrible pain and anguish I knew this illness brought to me and the entire family. Angry at the illness that chipped away a piece of Margie every day. I wanted my old Margie back and couldn’t or wouldn’t accept the newer version, powerless to help Margie. My life took a backseat. Intellectually I knew Margie needed to be the center focus, And fortunate not to endure Margie’s pain and struggles. No one inquired about my well-being, and we became the targets of gossip, forced to keep secrets because mental illness taboo and not discussed. I shut down and drew inward. In my teens, visiting my sister in a mental institution did not seem real, a harrowing experience, one my peers would ever comprehend, nor did I ever divulge. I wanted Margie to be remembered for Margie. I did not want Margie to be defined by the illness. Distressed when the Rabbi’s eulogy focused on the eating disorder, not Margie as a person–her vivaciousness’, wide smile, goodness, generosity, helping others, creativity as a poet, intellect, talented guitarist, cheerleader, and figure skater. Yes, she had her flaws, like we all do - her constant chatter embarrassed me, the outbursts, but boy could Margie make me laugh. I envied her beauty, unique style, the famous white go go boots, and the way she applied black eyeliner with precision, and every day when I apply black eyeliner, not as precise as my Margie’s, I think of her. Margie, I miss you each day, right Rho, and you say, okay Bren from the Mary Tyler Moore Show, or saying Lipson let’s go, and I jumped to rearrange your room for the one hundredth time. Your legacy lives on in our precious Madelyn named for you who shares your beautiful smile. I will always love you. Kym Advocates provides a wonderful resource for siblings of eating disorders. For more information, please visit: https://kymadvocates.com To honor Margie, The Lipson Fund: https://because.massgeneral.org/campaign/celebration-of-sisters/c137087 Which supports The Massachusetts Eating Disorders and Clinical Research Program,
https://www.massgeneral.org/psychiatry/treatments-and-services/eating-disorders-clinical-and-research-program In a world of chaos, and worry, deep kindness remains from many people. Simple gestures or words-a smile, please, and thank you go a long way to reduce tension and unite people.
A move out of downtown Boston to the South Shore a year and a half ago, charting a new territory, new explorations, and navigating a new world–hairdresser, nail salon, and at the top of my list - a skating club. I toggle between two clubs–The Bog Skating Club and The Bourne Skating Club. I am astounded by the kindness and welcoming found in both clubs. The first time I skated, at The Bourne Skating club, the coaches saw a new face and introduced themselves to me. The skaters said, “hi.” I felt the warmth, and a sense of community. The young women chatted with me about their skating, what test or competition they were working on, and I enjoyed hearing about their skating journeys. Beautiful skaters and beautiful people. I am a slow skater. The rules of a freestyle session designate that the individual taking a lesson has the right of way on the ice. Not quick enough to dodge the young skaters, the lovely skaters apologized to me. I am the one who should apologize to them for getting in their way, not annoyed at the disruption of their precious lesson time. I appreciated their grace and kindness towards an adult skater. The Bog Skating Club invited my friend and I to skate in their Christmas show. We practiced two to three times a week and became friendly with the individuals who skated in the public sessions and worked at the rink. The caring team encouraged two adult skaters and championed us along the way. The day of the performance, my nerves were off the charts. The woman checking us before we stepped onto the ice provided me with hand warmers, the president of the club asked me many times during the warm-up, “Judy are you okay?” When I stood waiting to be next to perform, overwhelmed as the gentlemen who runs the Zamboni walked over with two bouquets of flowers, one for me and one for my friend. In addition, the twins who skate at both clubs, present the day of the show, handed me a lovely card and chocolates. Kindness remains. As I continue to grow and navigate my grief journey and share my story, the walls that had been up for decades came down. People talk to me. The saying goes, “everyone has a story.” Being more open and vulnerable, not closed like a vault, has allowed me to reciprocate. I joined The Compassionate Friends Sibling Grief Book Club, a warm, welcoming group who share our bond of sibling loss, and love of reading. One of my bereaved sibling friends I met through the group, appreciating my passion for skating, and graciously presented me with a bracelet with a skating charm. I felt touched by her kindness and thoughtfulness. Having both lost sisters, we share a bond despite our age difference, and years of loss. Little speckles of kindness, reciprocate greater rewards, endure friendships and relationships from unknown places. I reflect on the past year, many changes, and challenges in the world, I witness the strain on my daughters and son-in laws raising children trying to juggle family, work, and anxious about national and world events that never entered my radar when raising my two daughters.
Fortunate at age sixty-seven to be afforded opportunities I never could have imagined or dreamed–to be called an author, speaker, figure skater, besides my proudest roles as mother and grandmother aka “Nini.” I find myself conflicted with the roles and the changing times, staying true to myself, needing to embrace the speed of technology, and seems like time is racing by and I want it to slow down. Never a fan of technology, not wired for technology, struggle with the nuances of technology, I prefer interpersonal communication. What happened to a human conversation or a telephone call? I can’t feel the pulse of friends through a text or email. In their voice or in person I hear or see their true feelings and see the emotions in their eyes. The subject of my memoir is grief, a difficult topic for folks to talk about. If individuals meet me in person, hear me speak, then they understand, and many can relate on some level and share, contemplate on their own sister or sibling relationships. Another avenue I feel comfortable to communicate is through writing, a blog, a newsletter, an essay. I am leery posting about myself, being the center focus, a private person. The need to step out of my comfort zone, and readers wanting to know about me. The process is slow, developing, learning a new skill with encouragement and support of many. Charting a fresh course, defining a new me, exciting, exhilarating, daunting, and empowering. The old question, what do I want to be when I grow up? A time to grow and learn. I hope over the Christmas break to pause and rethink my goals, personally and professionally, not resolutions. I hope to develop a system to plan better, schedule into an unscheduled life. Give myself grace and loosen up the expectations. Make a system of some checks and balances and now that COVID has exited our lives explore more traveling. To all have been with since the journey began in 2011 my deepest gratitude. For those prior, those whom I met in recent years, you are all a gift. I would not be where I am today. Family, friends, colleagues, you collectively shape who I am today. Wishing you and yours Happy Holidays and I hope the New Year will bring everyone peace, and time to enjoy precious gifts from them, and compassion for others. For the first time in twelve years, November will be void of the Celebration of Sisters skating event to honor the lives and memories of my beloved sisters Margie and Jane. The month of their birthdays and the anniversary of Jane’s death. How do I feel this month? Good question. The answer is I don’t know.
I fear I have been so busy as no time to think or allow myself which may be good or fall back into the old pattern of suppressing my emotions. Because of a broken foot, grandchildren, speaking engagements, I would not have had the time required to produce Celebration of Sisters. Thankfully, the event had mushroomed into something that required a year’s work of preparation. I am grateful for the beautiful memories and am thinking of bringing back in a few years to celebrate my seventieth birthday. To channel my focus, I am attending skating camp the first few days of November. I think inwardly my body is feeling the emotions. I am tired and my stomach is telling me I am missing Margie and Jane. I am being pulled in too many directions to have time to remember the birthdays that are around the corner. In some ways I can’t wrap my head around the years. Jane will be gone for forty-two years on November seventh. She lived for twenty-two years. Next year the two will celebrate milestone birthdays–sixty-five and seventy. I am getting ahead of myself. As I look at my grandchildren, I see pieces of Margie and Jane. What they are missing watching these three dolls and my lack of sharing them with my sisters. Writing this, the tears are streaming down my cheeks. Jane and I shared a room until I was fourteen. I wish we didn’t move and went into our own silos. The closeness I felt knowing she was sleeping in the bed next to me always comforting, and I took the role of big sister seriously. Our relationship faltered because of our opposite personalities, but the immense sisterly love shone through. Unfortunately, we never had the chance to develop a bond as adults. Jane would have been a great nursery schoolteacher. I wish she believed in herself. Margie suffered with her demons but had immense courage. Despite it all she could always read me and knew me better than I knew myself. Smart as a whip she could have done anything she wanted to, but the illness robbed her of the opportunities. We had our moments too, as sisters do, but always came back to one another closer than ever. I remember the three of us getting dressed up to go into downtown Boston into Stella’s an Italian restaurant in North End. Looking at the pictures, I must laugh. They bundled us up with puffy winter coats, not wearing tights, but lacey white ankle socks and black patent leather shoes. Weren’t our legs freezing? I don’t recall. Our birthday parties celebrated in our basement with a long, rectangular table. The birthday girl at the head of the table, eating cake and the Hoodsie with the small wooden spoon all smiles surrounded by friends. On November sixth and November eighth to wish Jane and Margie a Happy Birthday, I will eat a cupcake and Hoodsie, and look at the old photos. There will be a hole in my heart, but know my sisters are forever beside me. “I am an author.”
I hear myself utter the words and still cannot fathom this is a reality. In my sixties to be given a new career, an opportunity to express on paper what sometimes I cannot articulate or communicate because of an introvert character, is an incredible gift. When I went to a support group after I lost my father in 2011, the leader of the group encouraged me to share my story and write an article for The Centering Corporation. For decades I kept emotions and feelings dormant. The death of my father forced me to grieve for my beloved sisters Margie and Jane, feelings I suppressed now bubbled to the surface. This mushroomed to being a contributor for The Open To Hope Foundation. Am I talented at the craft of writing? The answer is no. As a friend who is an esteemed author uses the term, pedestrian. I pursued writing classes and workshops. Urged by many to write a book, I took the plunge in 2018, left employment and devoted time to write. I suffered a concussion and through podcasts located a memoir coach. With the coach, and many editors, as they say a village, many drafts, I secured a wonderful hybrid publisher, WriteLife Publishing, and the rest they say is history. Countless hours spent reliving the deaths of my sisters, redrafting the arc of the memoir, learning to show not tell, being able to accept criticism to grow, and not take rejection personally and produced Celebration of Sisters: It Is Never Too Late To Grieve which I hope with help others in their grief. I think of writing as a second passion, my first being skating. When I tackle a new element in skating, it requires patience, practice, and time, not unlike writing. If I waver in my confidence, a wise coach asked, “Why do you skate?” The answer, “For the joy.” The same analogy to writing. To expand, I write to share a story to give back and help others. I am writing a second book. Originally a memoir, I did not have the emotional capacity to write about a sister with a mental illness so out of a suggestion of a writer friend. I am writing fiction. The transition from memoir to fiction is challenging, and taking yourself out of the equation, specifically out of the character. We write what we know which is the motto for memoir, and somewhat true in fiction, however, to write an interesting fiction story, I had to learn the character is not me, although may have pieces of me. The process is a learning curve, have shed some tears, and shifted the story from four siblings down to three. I know in my heart it is an important story that must be told. Like my memoir, I have no expectations, but feel it is an important story to be told. I have found writing is now part of my life, much like skating. If I do not write, I feel like part of me is missing. To write, like skating, is to have discipline, to practice, and do regularly. There are obstacles and life that can interfere, and I am trying to focus on carving out time every day to write to complete the manuscript. I know it will take a village to complete and grateful for all the support and kindness to individuals who are joining me on the journey. The fall ushers in the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, the holiday that celebrates the creation of the world, reflected in the name, head of the year in Hebrew. Traditional greetings on Rosh Hashanah include, L’Shana Tova tikatevu, which means, may you be inscribed for a good year, or “Shana Tova,” which means a good year.
A new year, a time to pause, reflect, and reset. I reflect on the past year, beaming with all that transpired–the birth of two new grandchildren, honored to be selected as a keynote speaker, settling into a new life south of Boston, and the many opportunities to share Celebration of Sisters, and in doing so, the wonderful people who have entered my life. This year feels strange not feverously preparing and rehearsing my performance for the Celebration of Sisters annual skating fundraiser. I am filled with gratitude and memories. The publication of the memoir bearing its name provided the right time to move onto the next chapter. The Judy who founded the event in 2011 is not the same Judy of 2023. Twelve years older, wiser, a few more wrinkles, and more to accomplish on herself, in helping others, and honor the memories of Margie and Jane. Forever will my heart feel a loss, miss my beloved sisters Margie and Jane, wish they were here to witness their sister Judy of today, the evolution, the work, and share the precious grandchildren. Is this really Judy? Is this a dream or real life? Margie and Jane are the anchors that provide me the courage and resilience to be where I am today. A tradition for Rosh Hashanah and celebrate a sweet New Year comprises dipping an apple into honey. This will be a sweet year. I am now a grandmother of three beautiful grandchildren under four, each special in their own way, two spectacular daughters and son in laws who are growing into wonderful individuals and family units. The future is bright. With all that I have lost, where there is grief there is love, where there is joy there is love. My goals for the New Year are for health, happiness, peace, and joy for all. For me relish every moment with family, resume figure skating with vigor now that the broken foot healed, settled down to a regular writing schedule on book number two, engage speaking opportunities to tell my story, an important message so no one is alone with their grief. A butterfly symbolizes transformation, beauty, hope, and love. For my college graduation I received a butterfly necklace I wore every day until I lost the special momentum in 2013 and could never replicate the unique design. My search will continue to find a replacement.
Honored to be the keynote speaker at the Bereaved Parents USA National Conference to represent the bereaved siblings, I felt like a butterfly, transformed from the shy, middle introverted sister, having the courage to present and speak in front of a crowd. The experience was more than that. Sharing my grief journey and having the validation of the loss of my beloved sisters Margie and Jane after decades with individuals who understood and spoke the same language, overwhelming, and grateful. I shed many tears throughout the weekend, my heart full, and memories and friendships to last a lifetime. Prior to the day of the talk, my nerves escalated. The run through provided by the technical crew and encouragement dissipated after a few seconds when I began with, “I am the middle of three. Sadly, I lost both my sisters.” Looking out to the room of warm faces the words flowed knowing Margie and Jane were on my shoulders cheering me on, not unlike the feeling I have when I skate. To my surprise, I told the group, I never imagined myself standing in front of them speaking, publishing a memoir, or skating my first solo in front of a crowd. I must pinch myself to ensure this is not a dream. After decades of being alone in grief, to have others to talk is a genuine gift. If another person can relate to a piece of my journey and not be alone in their grief, I will be eternally grateful. The journey to DC brought me back to childhood memories. Due to tunnel construction in Boston, I flew out of Providence. Our small aircraft settled out on the tarmac. Not seen since I was a teenager when I flew on an airplane, wore white gloves and a dressed up to fly, did we walk out of the terminal to the plane? Thankfully travel in both directions seamless and flights were both on time. At the conference, I hugged fellow bereaved siblings in person whom I met on Zoom and podcasts. The connection face to face only solidified our bond. We laughed and the funny comments, “I thought you were taller,” as they looked down on my stature of five feet. Because of the size of the conference, many conversations ensued with attendees throughout the county, each with a story. Astounded by the courage and resilience of many whom suffered multiple loses, children and siblings, came together in love, conversation, and music. The closing ceremony released butterflies, a symbol of hope and comfort. Our grief comes is waves, like the ocean, hitting the sand in varying degrees of harshness and softer as the last of the wave’s foamy white water hits the edge showing the tide is over. Grief hits us like a wave, sometimes soft, sometimes loud, perhaps out of the blue, often at a family gathering, and harsh on the anniversaries, birthdays, milestones, and the lists goes on. Year to year, day to day, hour to hour, even minute to minute the sound is different.
I am experiencing a new level of my grief journey and how to process the emotions dormant for years, still unable to have the time for me to sort out where I go from here, and grateful today I have other bereaved siblings who understand and speak my language. The birth of three grandchildren, two in the past six months has been a whirlwind, coupled with publishing my memoir and repeatedly sharing my story and retelling the story of the deaths of Margie and Jane, the path I took to grieve for Margie and after thirty years, founding of the Celebration of Sisters fundraiser, and the regrets I still hold. Despite losing my sisters in 1981 and 1990, in some respects, I feel I am a newly bereaved sibling, navigating two separate grieving parallel universes. When my sisters died, grief was a foreign concept, and not having anyone to talk to, I took the role of caregiver and not allowing myself time to think about the losses of Margie and Jane. Sadness, confusion, and loneliness took over, and I kept pushing down the feelings and kept busy raising two daughters as a single mother, taking care of my parents, working full time, yet knew not a recipe for the mourning process. The other day I went through some photographs, and reread cards and letters from Margie and Jane. I discovered a poem written by Margie entitled, “The Library.” My heart skipped a beat. The connection to my sisters clear not solely in skating. I received a degree in Library Science shortly after Margie died. At the hospital library, Margie read newspapers, periodicals, and wrote. We shared the love of reading and apparently writing too. Jane and I shared our work in retail. There are gaps that are now being filled. Why did I wait three decades? Would I be where I am today? Bottom line is the love of my sisters. I need to unleash more memories and realize how deeply my sisters define me, how deeply I miss them, and for them to be part of my life, talked about and shared for the beautiful, special sisters they were, complicated, but my Margie and Jane. Today I have support of other bereaved siblings and continue to work with a therapist. I may explore other options on the grief journey. I am upset that people look at me and think that the grief defines me; it is part of me, and I have moved forward. I hope to help others in their grief, but there is always work to be done on me, and to advocate for others in their grief. The birth of a grandchild brings new love, life, and joy. With each grandchild, my heart bursts with love from the moment I hold them in my arms, and beam as I witness my two daughters as mothers holding their newborn child.
My first grandchild Benji, named for my beloved father enlisted unexpected emotions. After his birth, I returned to ice skating after an eight-day hiatus. I stepped onto the ice and shook knowing the onset of a tsunami of tears. Skating is my passion and solace, and on this day baffled by my body’s reaction. Attempting to skate for a short while, I knew I had to exit the ice and remove my skates. At home, after I calmed down and gave thought to the experience, I realized the emotions not unlike when I lost my beloved sisters Margie and Jane. The death of my sisters changed my life, the birth of Benji changed my life, both sparking extreme antithesis of emotions. Where there is deep grief there is love, where there is deep joy there is love. Jake, my second grandchild was born five weeks prematurely. Filled with worry for him and his parents, Jake spent twenty-two days in the NICU and is thriving. He is a sweet little boy who constantly smiles and giggles. His bris, the Jewish ceremony in which a baby boy is circumcised was postponed. The beautiful ceremony marked with the Jewish heritage from both parents, deepened by the gift of Jake’s good health, and immense love from family and a few close friends. I looked around and witnessed the gift of four generations of our family present. I came home and cried for two days: the emotions overwhelming. Jake and Benji will grow up as cousins, and my daughters Janie and Amy have each other as sisters. My heart hurt from missing my cherished sisters Margie and Jane. We welcomed Madelyn, my third grandchild on June ninth, a beautiful girl named for my sister Margie. I have shed many tears and touched Margie will now be remembered for all her good, smiles, laughter, and spark and not the challenges she suffered. I look forward to sharing stories about Margie with Madelyn. My heart is full. Both my beloved sisters now have a legacy to be remembered. Benji named me “Nini,” and I love he chose my grandmother title. With each grandchild, there is a new love, life, and joy. Every moment spent with them is a precious gift. I do not take photos, every memory imprinted in my heart. |
AuthorJudy Lipson, is the Founder of Celebration of Sisters, an ice skating fundraiser established in 2011 to commemorate the memories of her beloved sisters to benefit Massachusetts General Hospital. Judy has published articles for The Open to Hope Foundation and The Centering Organization. Massachusetts General Hospital and SKATING Magazine featured numerous pieces on Judy’s philanthropic work. Judy appeared as a guest on The Open To Hope and The Morning Glory Podcasts. Her passion for figure skating secured the recipient of U.S. Figure Skating Association 2020 Get Up Award. Judy’s memoir, Celebration of Sisters: It Is Never Too Late To Grieve, released December 2021 by WriteLife Publishing. Archives
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