July 19, 2023-Old Photographs

wingssail images fredrick roswold Judy 

I started a project about two weeks ago which was probably ill advised: I’m going through old photo albums scanning the old photographs. Sounds dumb, huh? Well I had my reasons.

But I say it was ill advised because it is painful. When you are going through an old photo album you keep running into land mines. Like, you turn a page and there is a photo you don’t want to see. I’ve done a lot of crying.

Even though I took almost all the photos, and remember them all, I am still devastated when I turn that page.

Then why am I doing it?

I’d been clearing out stuff I no longer need. It started with Judy’s clothes. I sent three bags full to the mountains where they might do some good, and whoever wears them I won’t see them walking the streets of La Cruz. I couldn’t bear that.

I looked around the boat so see what else could go and decided that the eleven photo albums we’ve had stashed since 2004, when I went digital, could be next; they were bulky and heavy and while Judy loved them I never much looked through them. Oh, I’d fetch the odd photo from time to time, but just sit there and flip pages? Never. But Judy did. She treasured them. So to honor her I decided to scan them and save them in the cloud. I would not throw away her treasured photos.

But while I started that project for a good cause it resulted in a lot of pain.

In the first place it’s too much work. I’ve been going on the project for a couple of weeks and it’s not done yet and that is keeping me from other work which needs to be done, but actually that’s not the problem. The issue is that a lot of my photos are of Judy so on every page of every album there is a photo of Judy with her lovely face and fantastic smile. I remember each shot and I remember the circumstances. Even though many of the photos are just happy snaps and I can scan them and move to the next bunch it keeps happening that “Boom!” there is one which brings back the most painful memories.

I have to treat those images with the special care they deserve. I edit them and save them carefully, making them just right. It takes time to make each of these images perfect and it gives me a lot of time to feel sorry for myself. At this point in my grieving process I am mostly feeling sorry for myself. This photo scanning project is just feeding that grieving.

Did I mention that Judy left me notes? She has been through these albums before me and she has labeled many of the photos. There are hundreds of photos and next to many of them there are small printed labels. Sometime, I don’t know when, she typed them into the computer and printed them. Then she put each label on the right photo. I didn’t know she was doing that. When did she have the time? And on the occasional photo which was not yet labeled, on the back she had written a note on a yellow sticky. I flip them over and there is her handwriting telling me what it is. These notes are for me. I never expected that, it devastates me.

What really keeps hitting me is that I most of these shots are meaningless to anyone else on the whole frigging planet. Why am I saving them? For whom? All I want to do is say, “Look honey, do you remember this?” To whom do I say that too?

But it’s like that Brandi Carlile song I keep quoting, “Each line across my face tells a story of where I’ve been… but what good is a story if you’ve got no-one to tell it too?” At his point, from 1998 when we went cruising across the seas until now I have about 250 photos of Judy. They tell a story of who she was but what good is a story if you’ve got no-one to tell it too? Maybe I should tell it to you. Someday I will.

But what is worse is that these images show her “aliveness”. In these images I see her alive every day for all those years, then, in one instant that life is gone. It is beyond comprehension.

But that is life, isn’t it? We are all created in a moment of joining, some DNA comes together and a new life is created. Then we live and later we die. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. In Judy’s case it was a bit more than 72 years. Too short to my way of thinking. And she is gone, and whatever it was which was inside of her head, behind that glorious smile all those years, we can only guess, I didn’t ask her often enough, but I know it was joyous, loving, and generous because that is who she was. Whatever, it is gone now and I have only my memories, photos, and tears.

I’ve got good memories, and plenty of tears, and I will keep the photos, so my work will continue.

Maybe that will be enough.

It has to be enough because there is no more.

Good bye Judy, we love you.

Click here for photos of Judy

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Fred Roswold, SV Wings, Mexico

June 15, 2023-Judy gave me 100% of what she had to give

wingssail images-fredrick roswold Judy 

I told a person who wrote to me that my life was very blessed by having Judy for the time that we were together, “Yes, absolutely, I was blessed by having her for 40 years. But it was not enough.”

Another person entered the conversation and replied, “It would never be ‘enough’. But one of you has to go first. And she gave you 100% of what she had to give.”

She gave me 100% of what she had to give

That is the most profound statement anyone has made to me about this, Judy gave me 100% of what she had to give, and in the end, that included her life.

We’ve talked for years, Judy and I, about how Judy found life on the boat increasingly difficult due to health issues and increasing frailties, that she felt that eventually we’d have to be off the boat. We both loved our life on the boat but for Judy it was getting harder. Living ashore might be easier. I said, “I’m not ready to give up this life.” and she agreed, she wasn’t ready either, but it was coming.

“Maybe we can delay that change,” I said. “Maybe we can make things easier for you where we are. We can change how we sail the boat so sailing is easier, and I can help you more around the boat in our daily living, so we can keep on doing it.”

Judy, being Judy, sucked it up and kept on sailing hard, working hard, and doing whatever she had to do so that we could continue this life, so we could live on the boat, sail the boat, and race the boat and be an integral part of the boating community where we lived. During this time of increased weakness and pain she continued without complaint to be the beloved Judy who brought light and joy to everyone whose path crossed hers.

On the boat she always did whatever it took to get the job done. She tackled her responsibilities with ever greater dedication and determination. She never let up, even though it hurt.

When her job on the race crew changed to navigator she became the best navigator we ever had. She said. “This is my only job and I am going to do it right.” She wanted it to be clear that she was a part of the team, not a passenger. But it wasn’t her only job. She was a key part of the team in so many more ways than just being the best navigator we ever had. She monitored the entire boat and watched every member of the crew. She helped us avoid countless boat handling problems. She packed all the kites. Plus she was “Mom” to everyone. And when the boat went to sea it was Judy who made sure it was ready. In port it was Judy who made living on the boat work for us. She did it all.

But this came at a great cost to her.

I recall the last sailing trip we did together, just the two of us. It was a horribly rough trip up the coast from Tennacatita, in the heaviest of winds and biggest of seas. I needed her to steer while I got the mainsail down. To keep from being thrown off the boat in the big waves she had to sit on the cockpit floor and reach behind her with one hand to steer and while she eased the halyard with the other. A huge wave struck the boat and yanked the tiller impossibly hard, which injured her shoulder, which was already hurting, but she held on and kept the boat steady then tacked when I called for it. She gave 100%. And then she cried.

One day a few months ago Judy said, “I want to get an MRI, the pain and weakness is too much.”

The MRI showed that she had problems with some discs in her neck, but that it was operable; a common operation which is often done as an outpatient.

So Judy she went in for the operation. The one which might make some things easier so we could continue sailing and living aboard, which we both wanted but in reality it was for me mostly. It was that operation which killed her.

So yes, she gave me 100% of what she had to give.

I think she sacrificed herself for this life that we chose and I am dumb struck and shattered by the depth of that sacrifice.

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Fred Roswold

June 11, 2023-Passing of Judy

Judy Diane Jensen

 Last evening, June 10 at around 5:00 PM, Judy passed away

It has been a long struggle to live for her since her cardiac arrest in the operating room at Punta Mita Hospital on May 10, 30 days, in which she fought valiantly but ultimately lost.

Judy will be missed by many, most of all by myself. She was a light in the world and a generous loving friend to all. I am sure and none of us can quite fathom why she was taken so suddenly and without warning.

I don't know her last thoughts, she texted her friends that she would be at Mexican Train Dominos and then she and I spoke, "See you in three hours" and they wheeled her away never to return.

Judy's passing leaves a hole in the world that cannot be filled and an ache in our hearts.

She will be remembered as a wonderful person and a great sailor.

Good Bye Judy

Fred

​Click here for more about Judy's Passing