Skating Through Grief

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