What really matters
In the nearly 13 years that The Legal Genealogist has been writing, death has come to visit far too many times.
It’s taken three of my mother’s siblings in those years: my Aunt Carol in 2012.1 My Uncle Jerry in 2016.2 My Uncle David in 2019.3
And now…
Now…
Now it has come for one of mine.
I can be forgiven, I think, for not remembering the day we met. I was, after all, only about five days old at the time and she was only a few days past her second birthday. Neither of us seems entirely convinced that our meeting was a good idea.
But, as with all siblings, my older sister Diana was stuck with me and I was stuck with her — and we stuck together all our lives.
The family story is that she named me. My parents were sure I was going to be a boy and had my name all picked out,4 realizing only when the event was days away that they didn’t even have a possibility for a girl. Diana, meanwhile, had heard a recording of someone saying the line “Judy, Judy, Judy”5 and walked around the house babbling “Judy, Judy, Judy” to the point where it was driving our mother batty and she finally exploded: “That’s it. If it’s a girl, she’ll be Judy.”
In so many ways, we were so different. She was the responsible first-born.6 I was the “how-much-trouble-can-we-get-into” second child. She took after the blond haired blue eyed side of the family. I was dark haired and dark eyed. She loved egg yolks but not egg whites. I’d eat egg whites and not yolks.7
Nobody could mistake which side of the room we shared for the first 16 years of my life was whose. You could have eaten off the floor on Diana’s side. You couldn’t see the floor on my side. I don’t think she ever missed a day of school unless she was horribly ill. I made a game out of seeing how many days I could skip without being held back a year. She went off into the U.S. Air Force as soon as she turned 18. I wouldn’t have lasted an hour in an environment where I was expected to follow orders.
She went west, to California, after the service. I stayed east. She rode motorcycles. I could occasionally be compelled to ride a bike. She climbed rocks and mountains. I photographed them from a convenient overlook. She moved back east, back near family in Virginia. I stayed in New Jersey.
As much as our lives drifted apart, we found ways to bring them back together, particularly as we got older. She came with me to Europe, to the Caribbean, even on an Alaska cruise sponsored by the Federation of Genealogical Societies. She told me about the students she served at the University of Virginia. I told her about mine at Rutgers Law School. Both of us without kids of our own, we shared every Christmas we could for more than 20 years. We shared a constant stream of photos of our cats — her beloved calicos, first Cassandra and in more recent years Katlyn, my tabbies and later the rascally Ragdolls.
The pandemic broke some of our patterns, but forged new ones. Joined by our younger sister Kacy, we started doing sisters’ trips: Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia. Assateague and Chincoteague, Virginia. Longwood Gardens, Pennsylvania. And my move three years ago to Virginia made getting together easier. We did birthdays together and hit a number of the area wineries. Instead of going somewhere to spend Christmas together, she came to my home.
We talked on the phone every single day unless I was traveling. And if I was traveling I was required to text before the plane took off and just after it landed safely, no matter how many connections or how many texts. I even texted her in August when I went to Washington, D.C., by train to give the final sessions at the Genealogical Institute on Federal Records at the National Archives.
When I took the train home that Friday, she didn’t answer my text. I called on Saturday, and the call went to voicemail. We scrambled to find she’d been taken to the hospital by ambulance and, from that day to this past week, it was a blur of hospitals, doctors, skilled nursing, hospice. By the time she was willing to admit that it might be something more than just indigestion, it was too late.
At 7:22 p.m. on Wednesday, 19 November 2025, Diana Marie (Geissler) McKenzie took her last breath. She was just 76 years old.
The last thing she ever said to anyone on this earth was “I love you.”
The last thing we’re sure she heard before she left this earth was “I love you.”
In the final analysis, nothing else matters.
Cite/link to this post: Judy G. Russell, “In the final analysis…,” The Legal Genealogist (https://www.legalgenealogist.com/blog/ : posted 22 Nov 2025).
SOURCES/NOTES
- See Judy G. Russell, “The pain of another goodbye,” The Legal Genealogist, posted 19 Oct 2012 (https://www.legalgenealogist.com/blog : accessed 22 Nov 2025) ↩
- See ibid., “Saying goodbye,” posted 10 Dec 2016. ↩
- See ibid., “David Fred Cottrell, 1928-2019,” posted 13 Jul 2019. ↩
- Thomas Scott, if you’re wondering. ↩
- Misattributed to Cary Grant, see “CaryGrant.net ↩
- First of my mother’s children, that is. We have a dearly loved older brother from our father’s first marriage. ↩
- Jack Sprat and his wife would have loved us. ↩
Such a lovely tribute. Sending my love to you and your family.
I am so very sorry for your loss! Thank you for sharing your wonderful memories.
Judy, Judy, Judy,
This is such a loving tribute of your sister, Diana.
May the love of family and friends soothe you as you grieve Diana’s loss.
Just three words – ““I love you.”
“In the final analysis, nothing else matters.”
Judy, I am so very sorry for your loss. My heart breaks for you and your family. May fond memories quickly replace the immeasurable grief you feel today. May Perpetual Light shine upon her, and may she rest in peace.
My heart just bleeds for you, Judy, but my goodness, what a beautiful post to a life well spent. Thank you for sharing your life experiences together even while you grieve.
I am so sorry for the loss of your beloved sister. Thank you for the lovely memorial. I wish I had the skill to do the same. May your memories of your love and times together stay with you forever.
Sorry to read your sad news Judy. That was a beautiful tribute to your sister. My thoughts are with you. Take care.
Dear Judy,
This is the first time I’ve responded to your posts, and I’m sitting here with tears streaming after reading about the loss of your sister. Your words touched me deeply. I have two sisters—one living only an hour away and the other in Texas—and yet I rarely see them. Why? I honestly don’t know. They’re in their 60s now, and I’m in my 70s, and time continues to move whether we choose to or not.
Your story has inspired me to reach out to them more often and to make sure they know how much I love them. Thank you for sharing something so personal and for reminding me of what truly matters.
I’m so glad you’re reaching out.
I am so sorry for your loss. What wonderful memories you have!
Judy, I’m so sorry for your loss. Maureen
Thanks so much.
I’m so sorry, Judy. Early sibling loss is…undescribable. Your adult-onset unification will bring gratitude, and even joy, to your heart forever. Thank you for sharing them with us.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Judy. What a beautiful tribute to her and to the power of family and, most importantly, connection. I’ve often thought as I’ve read your articles through the years how similar we seem. It really hit home with this post as I just lost my older brother unexpectedly last month. It’s so tough but made easier by the wonderful memories we shared. May all your precious memories guide you through this time.
Sending sympathy on this terrible loss. Your sister sounds like a true gem. Very glad you were able to say and hear “I love you” at the end.