Girl-Crazy #2

I met Judy Shields in the autumn of 1964.

It was at a church youth group dance.  They called it “Young Peoples” in those days.  At one point in the evening, full of life and sparkling with energy, Judy approached me, chattering on as if she’d known me for years.

Not yet aware of how girl-crazy I was, I savoured the moment and engaged her in conversation as much as a self-conscious pre-teen boy could.  I must have held my own because at the end of the evening we both expressed interest in seeing each other again.

As it turned out we attended different elementary schools in Oakville, but that didn’t stop us. We made it a habit to meet after our respective bells either at Hopedale Plaza, or at a school ground closer to her home. Sometimes Judy’s sister, Marsha, would be with her. For some reason, we always migrated to the south end of a lacrosse box and hung out there with a number of her friends. I’m guessing it was to be less conspicuous, since someone in the group would always bring a cigarette slipped from a parent’s pack to share with the rest of us.

Those carefree days are easy to time stamp, with Roy Obison’s “Pretty Woman” and Manfred Mann’s “Do Wah Diddy” crackling through our transistor radios.  The British Invasion of North America was underway and Beatlemania was taking the world by storm.  Music reflected a renewed spirit of hope and optimism, wrapped in the innocence of the times.

None of us had any idea how tragic the next year would be for Judy and her family.

Even today, fifty-eight years later, one night in 1965 is permanently etched in my memory.  Same church.  Same youth group.  Nasty, dark evening of rain with temps hovering around freezing.  Lights reflecting off of the road surface, reducing visibility.

Judy and one or two of her friends were leaving St Hilda’s, ten or fifteen yards ahead of the rest of us.  Attepting to get across Rebecca Street, Judy was struck by a car and pinned in the ditch.  After the sound of the skid, my memory drops off a cliff.  I now know trauma can do that.

I remember receiving dreadful news the next day that Judy had not survived the night.  With no outlet for my immature grief and sadness, I didn’t know what to do.  I felt empty inside.  I’d never lost a friend or someone close to me.

In 2002 my wife and I lost a daughter.  Some of you know what that feels like.  Even still, I can’t imagine the depth of despair Mr. and Mrs Shields must have felt that night, and for years of nights after, losing a daughter into whom they’d poured their love for 11 or 12 years.

Without a faith in God and his amazing redemptive and comforting power, losing children can drive a wedge into a marriage.  Like frost in a foundation. I see those unnecessary casualties all the time.  I’m speculating that Judy’s father and mother had a shared faith that kept them going, day-by-day, and that over decades their faithfulness to God and to each other helped to partially heal their hearts.

Personally, I’m grateful for Judy’s life — having known this effervescent young lady even for a brief season when there was some pre-teen chemistry between us.  Wanting to honour her, these enduring memories, and all the families who have lost a child — those are my reasons for this post.

In the end, I’m thankful for the living God who involves Himself in the lives of His most beloved of creatures, whether we be suffering or celebrating.

Blessings on your home,
robert