This is going to be a hard post to write.
Back in late-May of 2020, Ashley and I looked at what is now our house. We were excited about the prospect of putting an offer on this quiet little property during a time when the world seemed full of chaos. Before we even set up a time to go see it, we drove to the end of the street, parked, and got out to look at it from the sidewalk.
A woman wandered down and approached us with a smile. She introduced herself as someone who lived a few doors up. She was terrified of dogs and was unsure of Myrtle, but she managed to stifle her fear for the sake of engaging with us. After a light conversation about the street, the neighborhood, and her personal time there on the street since 2004, she said, “I hope you get it.” That was the first time we met Judy.
The day we closed, I saw her outside and rushed over to tell her the good news. We were both elated that we’d be neighbors. She started giving us plants to put in our yard so we could begin replacing the weeds with rose of sharons, hydrangeas, and loads of others she willingly shared with us. From day one, we had Judy’s plants in our back yard.
Over the years, we shared a lovely neighborly relationship. I’d hang her Christmas lights every year and help her transplant bushes. She’d make us pies and bake us treats. Ashley always gave her a bouquet of flowers whenever she had them to give, and Judy graciously accepted one of the first of my plant stands that I made a few summers ago for the farmer’s market.
When it snowed, we always made sure to dig Judy out before going back in to warm up. Ice cream in her backyard tasted better than it did on our porch. She quickly learned that Myrtle is a sweetie and told us she was the only dog she wasn’t afraid of.
When kids started ding-dong-ditching her one summer, we drew up plans to make her a gate for her porch before she eventually settled on a camera in her window instead. She helped us replant the hill at the end of the street in the hot sun last summer.
Whenever we’d go on trips, we’d bring her back some sort of jam because she loved them so much. She used an old CRT TV well into 2022 before we ended up giving her a small LCD TV that we weren’t using, and she raved about how much clearer the picture was on PBS. Her delight and appreciation for everything small warmed my heart.
She taught anthropology at NKU and told us tales of how she grew up in California, worked on Wall Street, lived in Philadelphia and Thailand, and finally settled in Bellevue by herself in 2004. Educated and well-read, she had an appreciation for other cultures, art, and philosophy. She thought the current government was trash, and she always said “I don’t like to gossip” before doing just that.
She was an indelible part of the fabric of Grandview Avenue in my eyes—both part of the foundation that our life in Bellevue was built upon as well as the beauty that made it what it is today. A friend and someone I both looked up to and loved interacting with every week. I’m not grappling with her sudden loss well, but grief isn’t dispelled in a day. I’m going to miss seeing her wander down to our end of the street on summer evenings to look at the plants and flowers and catch up with us. Though we live next to a freight train line, her absence will be the loudest thing on the street.
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