The Passing of Judy McDougall Syms

Judy passed away on October 10th, 2026. On the 13th, Gampo Abbey hosted funeral service for Judy, including remembrances from family members and a few close friends, followed by prayers and aspirations.

A Conversation with Judy

By Judy’s son, Sebastian Gault

You did have your own children, but you took the role of mother much further.
Like a thousand-eyed bodhisattva, you saw hurt and harm and need everywhere.
And like a thousand-armed bodhisattva, you extended kindness to countless lives.
You couldn’t help giving food and water to animals, stray and wild –
The smaller, the weaker, the more precious.
When I had children, you said: “Welcome to the Mahayana.”
I remember after the divorce,
Barefoot children came for ice cream in your apartment by the tracks.
Your 18 cats took over the space, and you didn’t seem to notice.
As a volunteer at the YMCA on St. Laurent, you were called “Mother Africa,”
Preparing Ghanian refugees for court appearances and life in a cold climate.
You heard cries for help and you went to them.
People young and old.
Scared and lost.
Abused and abusive.
Bored and dangerous.
Hopeful and desperate.
Some say the bodhisattva doesn’t shed tears at the sight of suffering
Since she draws strength and joy knowing she has the power to bring relief –
That rings true for you.

You were also a worker of wonders.
You controlled a reality distortion field, no, a reality enchantment field.
Those who entered your space came out as if from a magic show.
Your amazement at the world was infectious.
Original Chagall on the wall.
Tang dynasty love poems.
The battle with alcohol.
And then you might start on quantum physics…
You put on a dizzying display.
Jaws dropped when you danced in the aisles of the Coop. At 89. With a walker.
You said the humble mosquito was the most intelligent animal.
That subatomic particles were somehow more distant than the edge of the universe.

Once deeply fearful, you had grown very curious about death.
You would say, with theatrical flourish, “now this is going to be interesting!”

You were a teacher, but not with theories and morals, but with acts of warmth and
sharing and co-discovery.
You distilled the 3,626 texts of the Buddhist Canon into the directly, relatable
phrases “be kind” and “give it space.”
And like a mother camouflaging vegetables on her child’s plate,
You wove strands of Dharma in the stories you told.

You were an entertainer.
As an actress of cinema verité you shared the screen with Leonard Cohen.
In Barcelona at 18, you beguiled Salvator Dali for a whole afternoon.
You stunned my brothers and me when you appeared bare-breasted in Genevieve
Bujold’s film “Journey”.
You turned every venue, however modest, into a stage.
The Rainbow Bar & Grill, Darwin’s on Crescent, the Bakery in Chéticamp –
How many people came for a live cabaret with Judy!

You shone with the most luminosity in a social environment.
“Friend” may have been the first word you ever spoke.
In your enchantment zone, time expanded and slowed.
You lived without strict schedules or agendas.
And, very emphatically, without internet, Wi-Fi, social media, AI.
And of course, without those effing cell phones.
This way you could completely give yourself to others.Whether you charmed or administered shock therapy, all left feeling uplifted.

You might joke that the word “warrior” has suffered from buzzword fatigue,
But it fits your spirit spot on.
It was true with simple things.
It was true through all the seasons of your life, but especially through your final
years.
Your teeth caused you grief. But when you broke a tooth at dinner, there was no
hullabaloo – just a second small slice of pecan pie.

For you this was just the law of impermanence doing its job.
Macular degeneration was taking your vision,
but you never took your eyes off other people’s problems.
Your osteoporotic spine caused enough pain to bowl over a bull elephant,
But you rolled on with your walker.
With quiet determination. Without complaint. With gratitude.
Over and over again you would express gratitude:
The generosity and kindness of other people, even strangers.
You were grateful to everyone.
This message is one of your greatest gifts.

And lastly, I saw you as a lover in the broadest sense of the word.
You were deep-programmed for intimacy and tenderness.
I am in total awe of this depth of feeling.
I think it was bigger than you were and took you places you didn’t expect.
You were a lover of forgotten old women with dementia.
Loving attention for the taxi driver and the cashier.
Troubled teenagers, colicky babies.
You showed love to the homeless, the friendless.
And from your thousand arms, you had some hands left over to feed the pigeons and
release mice into the wild.

And of course, of course, you loved Myron
The incomparable Swiss Army Knife of husbands:
Part encyclopedia, part real-time fact-checker,
Shock absorber and heat pump.
Music maker, woodworker, pastry chef,
Online banker, social media personality and indomitable problem-solver.
You met Myron 50 years ago
And instantly the circle of Yin and Yang closed.
He was a co-participant in the great drama of your life.
Now you are no longer here.
However great my grief, I know it is only a pale shadow of his sense of loss.

On my last visit, two months ago, you sat before me
On that worn settee sofa from Canada House.
You were smaller, frailer, quieter.
But you struck me as so beautiful. So perfect. Like everything superfluous was
falling away, leaving behind what was essentially you.
A diamond, a beautiful diamond.
Like the picture of you on the shrine.
This is what happens when giver and receiver are one.
This is what happens when kindness and space co-mingle.
Dear, dear Mom – you are that magic.

Well, what would she say to me talking like this?

I think she’d get a little weary of it all, take a sip of her tea and wryly say:

“Okay, that’s enough about me. What’s next?”

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