I never defined Judy when people asked me why I spent so much time with a woman old enough to be my mother. She didn’t exactly fill that role. She was more. She accepted me when I gave her no cause to do so. She kept my secrets. She laughed before the punch line. She told me my life in between our eating sushi and yelling Jeopardy questions at Alex Trebek on the tiny TV in her kitchen.

Sometimes we talked from an afternoon swim until she felt like making us brisket around 2 a.m. Other times we played gin in silence until my tired eyes drooped enough for her to let me win. Sometimes she shouted the answer before I put the question mark at the end. Other times she could not even finish her sentences without stuttering. Sometimes she laughed until she choked. Other times she stared at you like you were the only person who ever spoke. Sometimes she pointed her finger and laughed at you. Other times she pointed the other four back and laughed at herself.

Her quirks were predictable as almanac weather. She always knew a better restaurant than I did. The movie I wanted to watch was always “a piece of shit.” Every driver other than her was “a fucking moron,” most likely because they did not employ her one-hand-on-the-wheel, one-eye-on-the-road technique.

Judy was an acquired taste, like the stuffed grape leaves or pistachios she always kept on hand because she knew, eventually, I would come over and eat them.

Last night, when I closed my eyes, I could still see her driving her fire engine red Seabring, the top down and the heat on full blast, even before spring had nosed its way into winter. When she was in that car by herself, she called me to tell me there was something funny enough to rush outside and turn on the radio. When we were in that car together on long drives to see Charly perform, we bickered about whose teen years were more chaotic and hazy. She won most of those debates.

If you knew Judy, you knew her well. Nobody knew her a little bit. If she let you in, you were in. And you were in forever. If you didn’t know her, you missed meeting one of God’s truly unique souls.