Finding Judy
This is a story about karma. That amazing energy that we give and often get back by things we think, say and do.
Karma isn’t just good deeds done for grace or payback. We’ve all known people who do favors for others. Trouble is, they often keep score, carefully tallying who owes them and how much. Karma isn’t like that, at least not the kind I’m talking about. No score keeping here, or in the hereafter, it’s just energy generated by loving kindness that somehow revolves and comes back to the giver in unexpected ways.
I’ve written many times in these pages about my younger sister the teacher, scientist and sometimes philosopher whom I admire and love. But we have another sister about whom I rarely write. Judy is the one with the Mensa I.Q. who attracts interesting people. Perfectly organized, always perfectly coifed, dressed, made-up, her quick wit and sense of humor were widely appreciated.
I stopped trying to be like her when I was six and already tired of teachers asking why I couldn’t be more like my sister. “Because I don’t want to be like my sister,” I would cry.
Even at age six I sensed she was afraid not to be perfect. In all my messy, noisy, adventurous foolishness, I was an embarrassment to her.
In turn, we both left home for college, travel and marriage. During the years we were both involved with show horses we saw each other often but didn’t grow much closer. When she divorced, she unjustly blamed our younger sister and stopped speaking to her. I think she blamed me too, but I was harder to ignore.
Our contact was reduced to funny, and often rude, birthday greetings and postcards from far- flung travels. Every year, when the rest of the family gathered for holidays I would invite her to join us, but she always declined.
When I moved to Montana, I wrote letters and called but it seemed she was growing more reclusive. About a year ago, I called and she said she’d had a stroke but that she was getting physical therapy and was doing OK. Then my e-mails were rejected with an automatic “triallady” is not accepting e-mail from “newspaml.”
After dozens of tries, I reached her by phone and she said something was wrong with her computer or her server. I offered to help but she said never mind, a friend was taking care of it. It never was fixed. Then her answering machine was off and the phone just rang and rang. That’s when I got really worried.
Just before Thanksgiving, I learned one of her friends had failed to reach her and also was worried. I called her. She had dropped by Judy’s house but found all the shutters drawn, no car in the driveway and no signs of life. She said she was afraid to get out of her car.
Afraid of what, I wondered.
Then my imagination spun out of control. What if Judy was the victim of elder abuse? What if she was in a nursing home? What if she was dead? I had to find out.
Back in California, I got on the phone. I called a friend, a retired LAPD captain, and asked how I should go about this. He told me it would be OK to go to her house, ring the bell, beat on the door, even go around the back and try to get inside. Of course, the neighbors might call the police, he said, but I wouldn’t be arrested. Great.
If I suspected foul play, I should notify the police and social services. I gave him the address and he told me which precinct he thought had jurisdiction there. That’s a Latino neighborhood, he said. I remembered Judy joking about living in the “barrio.”
I parked in front of her house. Drawn shades. No car. Lawn mowed. Neat. Deadbolt on the iron screen door. Solid garden gate locked. No doorbell. I made a lot of noise. No response. She had always guarded her privacy, and I respected that. But this was ridiculous. I was getting braver.
I talked to neighbors, exchanged phone numbers. I found Letty, who recently bought the second house on the block. Judy had been kind to her family and had taught Letty to speak English. Letty, now a nurse, told me Judy had another stroke and had been in a nursing home for a month. She was back home now.
So here’s the karma. Letty had been caring for Judy the whole time, visiting the nursing home every day. Now she brings her food and checks in daily.
Letty opened the deadbolts, asked if Judy would see me. The room was dark; Judy wore black and sat in a black leather chair. She wore dark glasses. I could barely see her. We talked a long time.
Finally Judy said, “It’s a miracle, you coming here. Letty was worried because she didn’t know how to find anybody.” (I’m thinking, why didn’t you tell her?) Turns out Judy didn’t want anyone to see her. She hates the way she looks. The dark glasses keep her eyes from being seen. I tell her she looks fine. She has fewer wrinkles than I have. She laughs.
Then I make a promise I might not be able to keep. She says she’s ready to die but she never wants to go back to the nursing home. I understand that. So I promise I won’t let that happen.
I’m not sure how this will work. But now the karma touches Judy, Letty and me. And it’s a bond I won’t break.