I Got It From My Mama’s Mama

This past Sunday, on June 14th, my mother’s mother, Judy Darling Evans, passed away. It happened quickly and heartbreakingly so.  At the same time, the strongest, and also the shortest, woman I know is now gone. The pillar and matriarch of my family. 

Her excellence is easy to celebrate, but her absence is hard to accept. At her request, our celebration included a dance party and a “no black” dress code.

Judy Darling Evans was fiercely competitive. She represented Quebec and Canada in golf for nearly 30 years, building a career in the sport she loved. In 2017, she was inducted into the Canadian Golf Hall of Fame, a fitting recognition for a woman who dedicated so much of herself to excellence.

Now, I do not claim to be good at golf, nor do I have deep aspirations of becoming good at golf.

But I will never stop wanting to be more like Judy.

Growing up, I often felt a little different from the rest of my family. Between the ages of about five and eight, I seemed committed to rebelling against nearly every effort my parents made to guide me. My well-behaved siblings wondered how my attitude and existence fit into the family tree.

At times, my nickname was “little bitch.”

As I got older, I preferred the term “spunky”, a word my dad used when trying to put a more positive spin on my childhood tendencies. 

While helping my mom and her three sisters sort through photos, newspaper clippings, and memories from my nana’s life, I stumbled upon something unexpected.

A news clipping with the headline reading:

“Spunky Judy Darling Wins in Tension-Packed Final.”

The words leapt off the page and straight into my heart.

For a moment, the weight I had carried for years seemed to lift. The weight of guilt for being so difficult to my parents.  

Spunky Judy.

That is one of the many lessons I am taking from her.

Not the trophies-although that would be pretty sick.

But the fierceness. The confidence to know what you want and pursue it wholeheartedly. The ability to move forward without carrying every mistake, every criticism, and every version of yourself that no longer fits. 

For years, calling it "spunky" was a coping mechanism for the shame of my bad behavior. 

Then I found that clipping.

"Spunky Judy Darling Wins in Tension-Packed Final."

The very thing I spent years trying to soften was never a flaw at all. It was an inheritance. It is meant to drive me forward in my aspirations.

I had never felt more alike to my nana, and more proud to inherit her spunk.

Maybe I got it from my mama.

But I know I got it from my mama's mama.