child’s death | MY JOURNEY'S INSIGHT

Posts Tagged ‘child’s death’

YOUR HAND WAS THE ONE HOLDING MINE

March 24, 2013

This photo of my son, Jason after his first open-heart surgery reminds me how it is possible to laugh and smile despite difficult circumstances.

I share here some recent music. One of my favorite songs that I wrote at the age of 19 is called “How We Don’t Care.” I will post a story for it soon. Clicking the blue links below play recordings of my song:

HOW WE DON’T CARE INSTRUMENTAL

Life was getting difficult for me. My eyes hurt. It seemed that everything about my eye condition had accelerated. Only a week before, I saw a specialist outside my HMO. It turned out that the fogginess that bothered me was actually a result of seeing through the cloudy edge of my remaining cataract; it wasn’t just a floater that I was told I’d eventually get used to.

For two months it bothered me how I wasn’t getting used to it. I just couldn’t stand the irritating curtain in my eye. Then both my eyes began to hurt and the pain gnawed at me. When I shared this with my friend, Dr. Sam, he encouraged me to push my HMO to do something sooner. Otherwise it was two weeks until my appointment. I share our correspondence below, with his words in brown:

Judy, I would certainly advocate getting this done sooner. Tell them that you are essentially visually disabled until the procedure is done. It’s only 12 days away, but it sounds like it will be a long 12 days, can you go through a patient ombudsman? After all, your HMO should have been on this much sooner. It was only because you went out of the system that you discovered you needed this done. I’m so sorry it’s getting worse! I know you have that big art project; feel better and let me know how it’s going! Sam

I wrote this message to my primary doctor:

Hi Dr. , I was given an appointment on April 1st. The problem is my condition is worsening and in both of my eyes now. I feel like there is a gray curtain in my vision. It is very uncomfortable and my eyes are watering all the time. Can you please contact the head of ophthalmology? He denied my request for an outside opinion and is allowing me to suffer – because now I have information from a doctor outside this HMO stating that my condition is treatable. I am more than willing to see a different doctor, or even go to a private doctor. I really don’t want to go on disability for a problem that is correctable when quickly treated. Please find out if I can have this taken care of ASAP! Thank you!

I received a phone call giving me an appointment a week sooner. I shared the news with Sam. He wrote back:

You might want to verify that it is an appointment at which you will be treated. Show up with a white cane and a German Shepherd that should help! Sam

Thanks, Sam. Good idea. I’ll call tomorrow. I have to steel myself to face a doctor who might be pretty huffy that I complained and was demanding. It’s only my life that has been totally affected by this. I’ll remind myself of that. It was so bad tonight. I had dinner with friends and sat there in a fog. It was hard to converse or think.

Judy

You were advocating for your health; every patient has the right to do that. It’s your vision that is getting worse, not his, and you are paying your HMO to take care of you. They dropped the ball here!

I share links here to my story about how I reconnected with Sam when he left a message on my blog. We dated in high school:

YOU’RE NOT THE ONE

I REMEMBER THE FUN

A video snap from my prom date with Sam in 1975 when I was 15 years old. Sam’s car is parked in the same spot where my car is now parked!

Memories I treasure, being outdoors when I was in my twenties.

Now I was counting the days. My nerves were frayed. I cried easily and had a constant headache. I forged ahead on my illustration assignment, but my eyes were constantly hurting.

It was Saturday and I had only four more days until my appointment. I thought about going to Urgent Care because of my pain. I wished I could just go to sleep and wake up the day I’d be treated. As discouraged as I felt, I held onto the knowledge that I’d have relief soon.

Although I felt like hibernating and staying in bed, I decided to stick with my routine. I drove to see my mother at her nursing home for our weekly Saturday lunch outing. As I sat trying to hold it together, my mother continuously beamed at me. Her dementia did not allow her to converse anymore, but I could still feel her love. I tried hard not to appear distraught.

It was after I dropped my mother back at her nursing home that I received the phone call.

It was so beautiful and amazing that it left me breathless.

I believe God definitely sent me a message to help me.

While looking for pictures of an old friend to add to my story, I found more beautiful pictures of Jason to share on my blog.

I wrote my story with flashbacks interspersed. They are in purple italics.

“Judy, it’s Jeanne! Do you remember me?”

My heart skipped a beat as I yelled, “Are you kidding? Of course! I would never forget you!”

It was three days after Jason’s funeral. I was numb and in a fog. But Jeanne and her husband Josh were at the door. They had come over to make breakfast and I was so grateful to see them. I was filled with desperation. There was no one else who understood my desolation – no one. It was because Jeanne had experienced a stillbirth many years before; to me, she was an expert about grief. Her explanations comforted me and I could never get enough. But it always led to the same place. I needed to know when the agony would subside. Sadly, it had only just begun.

Jeanne was crying as she said, “Judy, I was thinking of you and looked you up on the Internet. I have been reading your blog. Oh my god, you had me crying and laughing! I saw Jason’s pictures, heard your music and caught up on your life. You are such an incredible person and a gifted writer. I am so excited about where you are going with your life. I couldn’t wait to call you!”

Then that explained the 200 views I had on my blog one day last week. I knew someone was reading a lot of pages and I had a premonition about it. I often wondered about certain people from my past and hoped to hear from them someday. Jeanne was definitely one of them.

Jeanne explained why she had looked me up. It was because of her anniversary of the heart for Jillian. Her beloved little girl would have been 25 years old had she lived. She said, “There’s no one I can share that day with anymore. My ex was the only one and that’s over. But then I thought of you; I went on the Internet to look you up.”

I told Jeanne I had a calendar with events marked on it. Her daughter’s anniversary of the heart was there and whenever I saw it, I always remembered Jeanne and what she taught me about grief through Jillian’s death. I would never forget how much she helped me during my horrible grief.

I wailed to Jeanne – I couldn’t smell Jason anymore. I was forgetting him! Jeanne was patient and gentle when she said she had felt the same way. She said that the fear of forgetting was very real. I cried and cried to her.

Jillian had died on the day she was born. I remember Jeanne breaking my heart when she shared how Josh carried his tiny dead infant daughter throughout the hospital so he could show everyone how perfect and beautiful she was.

I wasn’t feeling better. I wished I were dead. The only time I felt better was when I was with other people suffering the same way. I went to support groups several times a week; I searched high and low for them. Some support groups weren’t specifically about losing a child and weren’t as helpful for me. But it was better than nothing.

I wanted Jeanne to tell me about the group that helped her so much after her loss. I begged her, but she kept hesitating. After constantly badgering her, she finally told me why. She said, “Judy, I don’t want you to go this group. I’m concerned that you might say that your loss is greater because your child lived five years. This group is for infant loss, and there are people there suffering through miscarriages. If you say your loss is greater that would be very hurtful for them.”

I always remembered her words. I have written a lot about grief and about grief comparisons. It breaks my heart recalling how Jeanne and Josh were there for us, while constantly hearing from my family, friends and even from me how their loss was not comparable to mine. I totally readjusted my thinking after I healed from my grief. I do not believe in comparing grief anymore.

Both of us continued babbling. Jeanne’s tone was firm when she mentioned that she wanted to talk to me about my singing. She reminded me that I had performed at her wedding. I’d forgotten! It was the one and only time I had ever done something like that. She gushed to me about how much she loved my voice. My presence and the song I played at her wedding was something unforgettable to her. It was such a unique and beautiful song, but I no longer remembered how to play it. I wasn’t sure when to mention to her that I knew about her divorce because I had run into Josh.

I loved playing 70’s songs. Judy Collins had a sensitive, sweet song named “Since You’ve Asked.” I was extremely honored to play it for my friends’ wedding. The wedding was held outdoors and it was a warm day. There were orchards and sweet blossoms that intoxicated me as I gently fingerpicked my song and sang from my heart. It was a beautiful moment; singing next to my good friends with their eyes locked in love.

We talked about what had happened to our mutual friends. I had met Jeanne and her husband Josh at a workshop called “Making Marriage Work.” Just writing those words gave me a pang in my heart. Perhaps the class did work somewhat, as I had stayed married for many years through tribulations that most couples broke apart from. And the class did not work for Josh and Jeanne either.

Six years ago, I was shopping at the market when I heard a voice behind me. I was stunned; it was my friend Josh whom I hadn’t seen in seven years. I couldn’t believe it. He had gone through gastric bypass surgery and lost over 100 pounds; I hardly recognized him. He told me that he had gotten divorced and lived in the area. I took his business card and a week later I invited him to dinner at our house. My husband and I caught up with him over that dinner. I felt very sad when he talked about Jeanne. I realized that I was hearing only one side of the story. As he spoke about the deterioration of their relationship, most of his words flew over my head because it sounded so painful. Even though my husband and I talked about seeing him again, it was the last time we saw Josh.

Jeanne told me she certainly understood about the sadness of divorce after a long marriage. It was then when I told her how I had seen Josh. Because of my openness, I mentioned that I hadn’t believed the negative things he said about her during our reunion with him. I did not tell her what he said. But I regretted that remark instantly. Her voice revealed she was hurt as she brightly said that she had never said anything negative about him. She didn’t feel that it was fair for him to have done that. I certainly agreed.

We continued talking for a long time, until it was time for both of us to hang up. As I said goodbye, I felt exhilarated and looked forward to seeing her and catching up more. She didn’t live too far away from me.

Later that day, I tried to remember why my husband and I had lost touch with Josh and Jeanne. We had been close friends for about 20 years. At first, I thought it had to do with the problems I faced with my living children. For at least a decade, I was so encompassed with their challenges that there was little time left in my life for friendship. Then I remembered that they moved to another state and that truly was the reason. But they did end up moving back and I last saw them at my fortieth birthday party, which was a surprise for me.

This was from a camping trip. My husband and I stayed close for many years with five couples from a workshop we attended called “Making Marriage Work.”

This is Jeanne on a camping trip. My husband and I stayed close for many years with five couples from a class we attended called “Making Marriage Work.”

Jeanne’s phone call meant so much to me!

It gave me the strength to cope a few more days until my eye appointment.

Up until her phone call, I had been prepping myself. I didn’t want to burst into tears when I went to the appointment with my eye surgeon. I didn’t want to yell either. I was overwhelmed with my eye discomfort and it deeply burdened my life.

At 53, I always felt rather young to have had cataract surgery, despite all the years of playing tennis in the sun without sunglasses.

But one of the first things Jeanne and I talked about was the fact that she had also had cataract surgery. It reminded me that it wasn’t as rare as I thought.

She said she not only had cataract surgery, but she also experienced the same complication I had.

Below is an explanation I found on Wikipedia:

The crystalline lens capsule is retained and used to contain and position the Intraocular Lens Implant. Months or years after the cataract operation, the crystalline lens capsule can become opaque. This happens in about 30% of eyes, and it can happen months or years after the cataract surgery. A laser capsulotomy is used to reduce this opacity of the crystalline lens capsule after cataract surgeries.

Jeanne said it was awful for her too, but a laser treatment had fixed it completely on one eye. Her other eye would need it soon. I listened because it was so amazing for me.

Her timing stunned me. Sometimes I believe there are no coincidences in life. This was one of those times.

I received a wonderful message and it was a beautiful moment for me receiving her phone call. Jeanne had counseled me during a horrible time during my bereavement. She was my mentor and I was her desperate pupil. Now I was someone who was reaching out to help others who were grieving.

I took in what that meant.

I savored it and lifted myself back off the ground.

It turns out that this picture I have with Jeanne was the last time I saw her.
This was taken at my fortieth birthday party, which was 13 years ago.

© 2013 by Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Tags:Cataracts when in fifties, child's death, compassionate friends, crystalline lens capsule, divorce after a long marriage, eyesight and aging, Friendship, friendship and grief, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, infant loss, inspiration, laser capsulotomy, loss, marraige and friendship, memories of friendship, mother daughter relationship, reconnecting, reconnecting with an old friend, separation, stillbirth
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LIEBSTER AWARD

February 25, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

I want to thank Tersia Burger. She has nominated me for the Liebster Award.

Tersia writes with heartbreaking honesty. Her writing about her daughter’s life and death really affected me. Tersia’s blog impacted me so much that I dedicated one of my songs to her daughter, Vicky:

Never Gone Away.

It amazes me how as a result of blogging, I’ve formed a wonderful friendship on the other side of the world. Here is a link that shares more about our friendship when it began:

Music Rescued My Soul

Tersia honors me by nominating me for the Liebster award and I humbly accept!

http://tersiaburger.com/tag/liebster-award/

Rules of The Liebster Award

1. You must thank the person who gave you this award

2. You must display the Liebster heart on your blog

3. You should nominate 7 other blogs

4. Each person must post 11 things about themselves

5. Answer the questions given to you by the blogger who nominated you

6. Create 11 questions for those you nominate to answer

7. Notify your nominees and provide a link back to your post

Seven Blogs I Nominate:

http://lunasmoondance.wordpress.com/

http://dailydivorcemeditations.wordpress.com/

http://doyleswidow.wordpress.com/

http://onewomansperspective02.wordpress.com/

http://littlestarslost.wordpress.com/

http://kloppenmum.wordpress.com/

http://wordsfallfrommyeyes.wordpress.com/

11 Things About Me:

1. My children are everything to me.

2. I am amazed at how many chords and lyrics I have memorized. I’ve composed well over 40 original songs and can play all of them by heart. The guitar parts can be quite complicated and some songs are played in several keys. I still remember many of the several hundred cover-songs I used to play, too.

3. I refused to learn how to use a computer and avoided learning to email for many years. So now I am very proud of how proficient I’ve become. I’ve found the computer is an incredible tool that truly assists me with music, art and writing. My excellent English and typing skills have been very useful for blogging. I am adept with Photoshop; it also has been very handy for me. I am proud and grateful that I embraced the digital age after resisting it for so long. I can’t wait to start recording my second audio book!

4. When I began my blog and started writing in 2010, I never would have believed it would lead to me to the decision to divorce my husband after 31 years of marriage.

5. Occasionally, I miss painting with watercolors, but my passion for art has been overshadowed by music. When I record and hear a new song, my heart bursts with joy. I usually cry when I’m singing. My songs are like babies. Nothing moves me like music.

6. I treasure my smile. I love to laugh and enjoy telling puns. It both irritates and amazes my friends.

7. I am very dangerous on the tennis court. All of the women whom I play women’s doubles with would agree. It is such great therapy for me to hit a tennis ball. Unfortunately, it is embarrassing when it rockets into my opponent’s face!

8. Although my mother has dementia and cannot understand much, she lights up when we’re together and exudes deep love for me. I bask in her light and appreciate that I’ve had her as long as I have; she is a miraculous survivor. She inspires me with her ability to hang in there, and I believe it’s because of her deep love for life and family.

9. I miss my father who died last year. But I feel him with me, especially since I sleep in the same bed and bedroom where he used to.

10. I love to write and express myself. My guitar is my best friend. I especially love dreaming about where my life will go. But if it remains the way it is now, I’m perfectly fine with that.

11. I am extremely open and honest. I can easily share my intimate feelings. My music rediscovery blossomed as a result of my opening up and I know that I’ve touched many people with my writing and music. When I began my blog, I shared many personal details about my children because my life was focused upon them for many years. I am grateful that I was able to move from writing about them to discovering my own life!

MY ELEVEN QUESTIONS TO ANSWER FROM TERSIA:

1) Are you addicted to your STATS?

Unfortunately, yes. Sometimes, I’ve added up the minutes per day checking them and realize it takes up a lot of my time. But I keep doing it!

2) What country do you live in?

The United States.

3) How many friends would you have on a major birthday party guest list?

I loved my fiftieth birthday where my dear tennis friends surrounded me. I also loved my fortieth birthday, which was a surprise party given to me by Norm and Jo (my brother and sister-in-law) and my parents. For my next major party (sixtieth) I’d definitely want my children there and perhaps 20 friends.

4) What is your favourite post?

My favorite post on my blog is: All I have left after the death of my child. I love it because it crystallizes everything that I express with my writing and music. The picture of my deceased son, Jason, biking with ET, gets me every time. He was such a happy child!

Inspiring hope of healing is what Jason wants me to share with the world. Our love is as deep as it was when I last cradled him in my arms, even though it has been twenty years since he died.

–

5) Who is your inspiration when writing?

Since childhood, I’ve written hearing a voice in my mind that I’ve called “Judy of the Future.” I always listen for her wise voice. I do believe that God inspires me now. I lived without faith and disliked religion for years, even more so after my son’s death. But now I feel blessed and inspired. I understand my purpose in life and accept that I’ll die someday. My life is precious.

6) Introvert or extrovert?

Both. I love playing my guitar and writing while alone. I also love sharing with other people. I have a lot to say in both cases!

7) Why do you read my blog?

I came across your blog, Tersia, while searching for blogs about grief. I wanted to carry my message of hopefulness to people in deep grief. But your blog had me bawling because unlike helping people who have lost a child, your daughter was still alive and suffering. I couldn’t imagine anything I could do to help. I didn’t expect to hear back from you when I shared my song “Set You Free.” Then you turned my world upside down by posting it and announcing how my song helped you. What more is there in life than to make a difference to another human? When you told me that Vicky listened to my music while she was dying; I cried picturing that!

8) Favourite quote?

“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.” Norman Cousins

9) Favourite holiday location?

Right where I am. Since I’ve given myself permission to pursue my passionate love for writing and music – my life is like a holiday. I am a workaholic who doesn’t feel like it’s work.

10) How long have you been writing?

I discovered I loved writing in the sixth grade when I was eleven years old. My teacher was certain I’d be published someday. I tried to share with her that I published a maze book when I was in eighth grade, but she had already moved away and I didn’t know how to contact her.

–

Autograph Book from Elementary School

11) Favourite TV show?

This is hard to answer. It’s embarrassing because I hate television with a passion. It was always turned on in my bedroom and I searched for ways to ignore it; listening to music helped somewhat. If I could travel back in time to when I did enjoy TV, it was a very long time ago. Okay, here it is: Thirtysomething. It was such a wonderful show and I still remember many of the episodes.

I love old pictures. I was about 9 years old in this photo with my mother and brother, Norm.

11 Questions For My Nominees:

1. Are you able to express your true feelings? When you can’t, how do you deal with it?

2. Do you wake up to write because it can’t wait?

3. Do you love chocolate? If not, what is your favorite delight?

4. Is exercise a chore or something you enjoy?

5. Do you imagine what you will be doing ten years from now? Will you be happier?

6. What is your favorite color and how does it make you feel?

7. Are you good about backing up your computer?

8. What is your favorite song that moves you?

9. What is your favorite post on your blog?

10. Do you dream?

“You’ve inspired me to write – Part 1”

I love inspiring other people.

A week ago, I spoke to a woman named Carol whom I reached out to on a Facebook grief site. We had some lovely exchanges, which I’ve already shared on my blog.

Last week, I received a message from Carol with a request from her for us to talk on the telephone. We both live on opposite coasts of the USA; Carol lives in New Jersey and I live in Los Angeles.

I called her and we were both on the phone for two hours. Carol wanted to discuss ways that I could share my music and writing with more people. It was very exciting for me to hear her ideas. I began to dream again about where my book and music would go.

Finally, I told her I was tired. I was going to go and pluck my guitar before going to bed.

I ended up propping up the phone on my music stand and playing a concert for her!

I sang while bending over near the phone. When I finished my first song, I picked up the phone. It was quiet, so I said, “Carol, are you still there?”

I heard a sniffle and her voice was teary as she said, “Oh my god, oh my god, you are making me cry – keep it coming, girl!”

I couldn’t believe that I was playing my guitar to someone I had just met over the phone!

Our exchange ended with Carol gushing, “Judy, you’ve inspired me to write again! My family can’t believe it. I made them all listen to your audio stories – it was important for me to do that because I wanted them to understand the depth of my pain losing my son. You have an amazing way of conveying that. I want to thank you for changing my life!”

This was taken at an open-mic performance where I courageously sang without my guitar!

“You’ve inspired me to write – Part 2”

I was smiling when I saw that Tersia had nominated me for the Liebster Award. I needed that smile because my day had been particularly challenging.

Tersia had posted something about eagles two days before. After studying the requirements for my Liebster Award, I carefully re-read her earlier post. It was all about eagle chicks and what their mother would do in order to teach them to fly.

Her post had me rolling on the floor. It was such a perfect post for my day! I was completely stressed out from issues with both my teenagers.

I wondered how in the world I was going to keep pushing my children without being hated! This was the hardest job in the world and I wished I knew what to do. But after reading about eagle moms, I had a much lighter feeling and a far better perspective. Instead of worrying whether my children might hate me, I needed to continue pushing because otherwise I would actually cripple them.

This was her post and I highly recommend it to any parent with teenagers: I WANT TO BE AN EAGLE

Though I appreciated Tersia’s timing, I was very sad to read that she felt she had smothered her daughter; she ached because her daughter never had the chance to leave her nest. Tersia’s longing and torment was inconsolable.

Suddenly, I felt compelled to write a story about Tersia and Vicky. It was so vivid! I emailed my story to Tersia and this was what she wrote back to me:

“Thank you Judy for writing Vic and my story. I have decided to try to publish a book on Vic’s journey. I don’t have a clue how to go about it but I know, that with your permission, this will be the foreword of the book! Thank you, dear friend.”

ANGEL MOMMY AND ANGEL BABY

The mommy eagle awaited the arrival of her baby chick. But when the time came, her baby was flaccid and close to death. There was little chance her sickly baby would survive. The eagle mom decided to name her child angel baby and prayed she would not lose her. The name was perfect, because her baby continued to live despite all odds.

But the eagle mom was not an ordinary mom; she was actually an angel mom and that was why an angel baby was borne to her. Both of them were special beyond description and surprisingly, neither one knew it.

But everyone around else did. There was no other explanation as to how her baby chick survived. It definitely was miraculous.

Every ounce of the angel mom’s soul went into helping her baby survive. Her baby fiercely clung to survival because of her mother’s love.

While other eagle mom’s had babies that flew, this angel mom had a child that would never fly. How she wished she could help her baby! She decided that not only would she devote herself to her child’s survival, she would teach her sickly angel baby to fly without ever leaving the nest! There were other ways her baby could fly and together they discovered beautiful ways.

It was their secret and her angel baby loved flying. She closed her eyes when she flew; her beauty was exquisite and she glowed.

Angel mom was so devoted to her baby that she never allowed herself to fly. She chose to only fly while holding onto her baby. She never understood that it was this connection that actually gave her baby the ability to fly.

Soon her baby eagle grew up. Her angel baby treasured her amazing life. Her ability to fly without wings was a secret. To outsiders, she appeared to be a suffering and deformed creature.

Eventually though, it was time for the angel chick to fly alone; now she would go to places in heaven. And one day, she would be reunited with her angel mom and together they would fly again.

When angel baby left for heaven, angel mom was heartbroken and suffered horribly. Even though this was something both of them had anticipated for a long time, angel mom had no idea what to do.

Angel mom cried and cried. She wondered why other people had babies that could easily fly and didn’t leave for heaven prematurely. Typically, babies were set free to live.

Instead, she was forced to set her baby free flying to heaven!

Even though she had helped her angel baby to fly secretly during her difficult life, angel mom had no idea how to fly herself.

She was tormented with longing for her angel baby and felt truly alone.

Angel baby didn’t want to leave and was very worried about her angel mommy. In her short life, angel baby touched many people with her courage. She actually flew farther than any eagle could.

She decided to carry a message to her mother. She whispered a story to a friend to share with her angel mommy.

With her story, angel baby reminded her mommy that setting her free was beautiful; just as she had gifted her with life, she had gifted her with death.

All children must be set free. Angel baby wanted to thank her mom and remind her mommy it was time for her to learn to fly. It was never too late!

Angel baby wanted her mommy to know that she was capable of flying. Angel mom would inspire many others to join her while she soared.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com. 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Tags:"sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, awards, blogger, child's death, composing, creativity, Daily Life, daughter vicky, death of a child, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, hopefulness, http://dailydivorcemeditations.wordpress.com/, http://doyleswidow.wordpress.com/, http://kloppenmum.wordpress.com/, http://littlestarslost.wordpress.com/, http://lunasmoondance.wordpress.com/, http://onewomansperspective02.wordpress.com/, http://tersiaburger.com/tag/liebster-award/, http://wordsfallfrommyeyes.wordpress.com/, Humor, humor daily life, inspiration, Liebster Award, loss, lovesong, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, optimism, original songs, performing, singing, songwriting, Tersia Burger, writing
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SO LITTLE WAS REQUIRED

February 4, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

Continuing correspondence on a grief forum: (My words are in bold)

I just thought of you, yesterday. I wrote on my blog about an eye condition I have been dealing with. I didn’t feel I was as empathetic as I could have been. Now I realize that simply knowing something might improve doesn’t extinguish each agonizing moment of the day while grieving.

I’m having a hard time accepting that my eyesight is gray in one eye. Every minute bothers me. That was nothing like the loss of my child, of course. But it was a reminder to me of your misery.

I am so sorry that you are suffering every day. It truly is a life sentence. I wish there were some way it could be easier for you. But that would only be if I could bring your son came back to life.

Judy, having gone through this, I know you understand my pain. You are indeed empathetic. How could you not be? You have been dealing with your pain for a much longer time so you see it from a different perspective and sometimes others don’t understand that.

This is a journey that must be taken alone. I look at you as a house along the way that started out as a shack. Over the years it has grown into a mansion that can accommodate many to give them a safe place of understanding along the way. I believe Jason and your dad are standing at your side helping you to help others. Thank you for caring.

AN EXCERPT FROM TERSIA’S BLOG:

I so desperately need to articulate my pain and yet I cannot. Words are inadequate and empty. There are not enough adjectives in the English language to describe my indescribable pain and longing for my precious child. Yet, my cyber friend, Judy Unger has articulated my emotions pretty accurately. So in the absence of my own words I am posting Judy’s email to me.

Thank you Judy. Your words do help. What a horrible area to be experienced in – the world of grief….

Post where my message of support can be seen: I Miss Being Mommy

Jason sitting on the floor of the coop where I’m now living.
He loved visiting his grandparents.

Below, I am sharing some lesson clips with my new voice teacher, Kimberly Haynes. I cannot find the words to adequately share how thrilled I am with Kimberly. The progress I’ve already made since taking lessons with her is spectacular. I record my lessons because it gives me tremendous pleasure listening to them and I absorb even more later on.

Kimberly has pointed out to me something that my post also articulates; she has noticed that I have a great deal of judgment while singing. I definitely want to say goodbye to my “inner critic.”

It might be interesting to hear that my habit of singing solely with “blue voice,” was something that Kimberly also did. She said I was the first student she had that did this. Now she tells me that Julie Andrews also used only her “blue voice!”

Clicking the blue link will play audio:

–

LESSON KIMBERLY 1/19/13 BLOG EXCERPT A

LESSON KIMBERLY 1/19/13 BLOG EXCERPT B

It was a beautiful Saturday morning as I entered Connie’s guesthouse for our hypnotherapy session. I hugged Connie before I sat down. Although it was sunny outside, I was in a dark place. It was difficult not to cry. My eyes were teary as I told her that once again I felt beaten down by life. It was harder for me to smile because my eyesight was bothering me terribly.

As I explained my challenges to her, I noticed that I didn’t have much compassion for myself; I was even a bit harsh. I told her that I had even written on my blog that my eye problem was an opportunity for me to find more empathy. I wondered why I had not viewed my struggles in a gentler way.

I told Connie, “I’m seeing things in black in white, while ironically my vision is gray!” I wished I could bring joy and color back into my life somehow. But at that moment, my eye problem seemed insurmountable.

Connie wanted to help me while under hypnosis. I moved over to the reclining chair for that part of our session. She counted and I closed my eyes. I could feel tears seeping out of the corners and running down my cheeks. Within seconds though, I was drifting and floating somewhere else and my tears stopped.

I heard her voice clearly. She said, “Allow for an image to form that represents black and white thinking.”

There was no hesitation for me. As she asked me that question, I already saw a checkerboard of black and white squares directly in my vision. I described them to her.

“My image is of the black and white linoleum floor in the coop apartment where I am now living. I look at that floor every day. Although I replaced most of the flooring elsewhere, I kept the checkerboard linoleum in the dining room. I wanted to replace it, but was reluctant for some reason.”

Connie asked me to explain more about that.

I explained that it had scratches, bumps and was worn out. I tried not to look at the flaws. It was part of my new life, but keeping it reminded me of the familiarity of my childhood home and helped me to feel better. I had lived in that coop from infancy until I was married at the age of 21.

I said, “I grew up and played upon that floor. My mother still visits and it comforts her to see that familiar pattern. That floor is almost the same age I am, I was a year old when the coop was built.”

As I described more memories to Connie, I realized how amazing it was that I could see that floor from my childhood in my present life. It was something that “grounded me.”

Yet it represented not only the stable memories of childhood but also the very rigid ideas from my upbringing. My mother was very certain about what was “right and wrong.” She definitely saw things in black and white. My father was not as rigid, but he was fairly critical and I still hear his voice correcting grammar throughout my day.

Now Connie asked me go outside of myself and imagine that I was that black and white floor. She wanted to know if there was something that the floor would like to tell Judy. In the peacefulness of hypnosis, I allowed for whatever words came into my mind. I said:

“Judy’s appreciation for past memories translated into keeping me, and it was beautiful that she knew it would be comforting when her mother visited, as well. After five decades, I’ve been stepped on a lot and I have some wear and tear, but I am just like her. I understand her sadness. It isn’t always easy to replace old things, because holding onto something familiar lends comfort.”

There were a few moments of silence as I digested my own words. In speaking about black and white, I thought that even though my parents might not have approved of my divorce, they still would have been supportive of me. Before my father died, he told me that my happiness was very important to him.

I continued to drift peacefully in space until I heard Connie’s voice again. She asked me to find another image, a replacement image that would be an antidote to seeing things in black and white.

As I waited for an image to pop into my mind, I saw some flat two-dimensional images. They felt contrived and weren’t real for me. A few minutes went by and I hadn’t found anything I could latch onto. Connie patiently waited for me.

I felt judgment creeping in. Perhaps I wasn’t finding an image because I didn’t want to feel better. I started to panic. I wanted something colorful, but there was simply a black void within my brain.

Then it came to me.

I said loudly, “My image is the comforter set in my bedroom – Wow, I can see it clearly!”

Sure enough, I had a three-dimensional view now. There was my bed. Whether it was made or unmade, the colorful comforter with two large pillow shams made my room come alive for me. I carefully described them to Connie and was relieved that I had found an image.

I said, “I wanted a new bedspread when I moved in. I was very cold at night because the heater wasn’t working. A did have a few blankets, but I didn’t rush to buy a new comforter set because I wanted to find one that was special. I went to many stores, even expensive ones and nothing was really colorful enough for me. I waited two months.”

I continued, “Then one day while I was shopping at Costco, it caught my eye. When I saw it; I knew it was just perfect. Every day, I celebrate my new life and find pleasure with my colorful comforter!”

Just telling Connie about it had me smiling. It was the perfect image to counter the black and white in my life. This new purchase definitely represented adding color and sparkle to my life.

Connie wanted me to tell her more about those feelings.

I felt waves of sadness pushing upward as I described my old bed in my former house; I had kept the same bedspread for over fifteen years. Like many parts of my old life, I didn’t feel it was worth spending money to change it – there was matching drapery and I didn’t want to replace that either.

I explained how my old bedroom was larger than half of my coop. There was a huge walk-in closet connected to the master bedroom, as well as a second closet. The large bathroom area had two separate sinks. The windows overlooked a spacious backyard and a large swimming pool.

But my old bedroom was the place I hated to be. The TV was usually on while my husband was at his computer. Our dog would be yapping at me whenever I opened my mouth or came through the door. I usually drowned out the noise by wearing ear buds. Sometimes, I came to bed very late when my husband was asleep in order to avoid the noise.

But the rising pain in my heart diminished when I began describing my new bedroom.

“Oh, it’s tiny compared to my old bedroom. I hear footsteps coming from the apartment above me. When I make vocal recordings, there’s a lot of traffic noise, helicopters and fire engines – it’s almost funny sometimes. But I don’t care – because it’s my oasis. I feel safe and secure in it. It is truly peaceful and one of the best parts of my new life. My new bedspread is heavenly!”

I had thought my marriage provided security, but I felt far more secure in my new life. I didn’t have to suppress and stuff my feelings anymore. I was free to express myself now.

Connie asked me if I could become that colorful comforter and speak to Judy, what wisdom would I impart to her? I channeled myself into the bedspread.

Suddenly my voice squeaked like a mouse and I could not speak. I could hardly get any words out as I felt my throat tighten. I gasped, caught my breath and said, “I would tell Judy, how beautiful it is that so little was required to give her happiness!”

I let out a sob. I couldn’t believe what I had just said. That a comforter had brought me happiness!

Then Connie gently asked me to continue.

My voice was still husky as I said, “I would tell her that if a comforter brought her happiness, then imagine how many other things in her life will also. She has so many new things to look forward to!”

It was time to awaken from hypnosis.

As I opened my teary eyes, I was emotionally drained. But Connie was beaming at me. It was clear that she was very excited for all the revelations that my subconscious had uncovered. I was excited, too.

Before I left our session, I sat back down next to her desk. Connie shuffled through some notes she had written. I listened carefully as she read back to me my own sentences. My thoughts about those sentences are in italics below them:

Black and white is a familiar way of looking at things for me.

That is because I grew up with a lot of judgment about “right and wrong.”

It isn’t always easy to replace old things, because holding onto something familiar lends comfort.

I have fallen back into old patterns, such as overeating and biting my nails.

I was very thoughtful about adding color to my life with my new bedspread. I didn’t rush and knew exactly what I wanted. I had good judgment.

I did not change my life impulsively. Navigating my new life involved making thoughtful decisions to soothe my sadness; such as beginning voice lessons with a teacher I discovered a year and a half earlier.

So little was required to make me happy.

This statement is my favorite. It brings me to tears each and every time I read it because it is absolutely true.

Imagine how many other new things in my life will also bring me happiness. This statement definitely leads to better feelings. All my sadness dissipates when I am able to dream again . . .

I have so much to look forward to!

© 2013 Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Tags:black and white linolium, blue voice and red voice, child's death, coping with divorce, creativity, death of a child, dementia, finding happiness, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, hope, hopefulness, hypnosis, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, judgmental, loss, seeing things in black and white, separation, separation after a long marriage, separation and divorce, singing, songwriting, vocal techniques, voice lessons, writing
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NEVER GONE AWAY

January 28, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

Clicking the blue links below will play my song:

NEVER GONE AWAY INSTRUMENTAL

-NEVER GONE AWAY

I know that soon you will leave me

how will I ever say goodbye?

there’s so much you’ve left me

I’ll try hard not to cry

and when you’ve left you’ll still be with me

in all the songs I’ll long to play

every time I see a smile

you’ll have never gone away

It always seems to me, that whenever I was down

your hand was the one holding mine

but your fingers I’ll let go of now; how I long to hold on

you’ll touch so many others when you’re gone

I know that soon you will leave me

how will I ever say goodbye?

there’s so much you’ve left me

I’ll try hard not to cry

when you’ve left you’ll still be with me

in all the songs I’ll long to play

every time I see a smile

you’ll have never gone away

Sometimes I will stop and wonder

you’ll know what I am feeling

I’ll hear your laughter in my mind

I’ll remember all our special moments

They’ll run by with a tear

You’ll leave, but in my heart, you’re still here

And I know that soon you will leave me

how will I ever say goodbye?

there’s so much you’ve left me

I’ll try hard not to cry

when you’ve left you’ll still be with me

in all the songs I’ll long to play

every time I see a smile

you’ll have never gone away

Jan. 20, 2013

Hi Tersia,

I am going to just send you messages of comfort. You do not need to reply unless you have the energy. I feel sure you will get these messages. Just read them and don’t feel you must respond to me.

I love to work with photos in Photoshop – I am sharing with you some creations I’ve made.

Just know that at this moment I am contemplating that you are numb. That is a form of protection – it is too impossible to come to grips that Vicky is gone. There is no right or wrong way to do things. I know everything feels bizarre and unreal. I remember I couldn’t understand why I was still alive – it was so very awful.

I know that Vic’s memorial service will be beautiful. Not sure if you’ve had it yet, but perhaps you can record it. It might bring you comfort later on.

Hang in there, Tersia.

Love, Judy

Jan 22, 2013

Hi Tersia,

I am continuing to write to you. You have entered the awful hole. You are now a member of the bereaved mother’s club. No one wants to join this club.

I read your post. The numbness is very bizarre. What purpose is there left to living – where did she go? I remember it all.

I continue to compose and sing. I was stunned when I wrote and recorded my new song “Angel in the Sky” just two weeks ago. Never has such a beautiful song come out of the sky to bless me. It is many years along for me – so I can sing about my angel with sweetness and without pain. I dream of when that time will come for you. For now, close your eyes and think of Angelic Vicky holding you tight.

Jan. 23, 2013

Hi Tersia,

Tersia, what can I say? I read your post. It is unbearable. There are no words. I think every bereaved parent suffers the helplessness of being unable to save his or her baby. Vic is your baby. The horror of her ending will eventually fade, but your opera has begun.

The amputation of a soul – there are no words for it. You will emerge from the fog, you will get through this – and you have already been through so much already. You had goodbyes – something that many bereaved parents long for. But with the goodbyes came god-awful suffering and trauma. How can you let go of that?

I think of the lyrics from my “Angel” song – “My lovely light – just not in sight.” Vic will always light your way now. She is not in sight – but that doesn’t mean she isn’t with you.

Jan. 24th

Dearest, dearest Tersia,

My song is completely for you now – please let me know of any feeling about Vic that I might add to these lyrics. I heard your wail before you even released it. It goes on and one . . . I KNOW!!!!!!

You’ve held your wail back for sooooo long. Such a dear stoic woman have been. Please know that tears are important – you are filling your own ocean now.

With love and understanding, Judy

Link to Tersia’s blog: Never Gone Away

Link to more information about Tersia and her blog: TERSIA BURGER

On Jan 28, 2013, Tersia wrote:

Dear Judy

I am numb and today I just wanted to die.

But then I read this email and saw the great picture you had Photo-shopped and I was filled with gratitude…It is my favorite photo of the two of us!

Thank you for your love, understanding, patience and support! You are an amazing person! I hope we will meet one day! Vic had a thing for butterflies, so I truly could relate to this beautiful song! Thank you for sharing it with me.

I will repost this on my blog with credit to you. Thank you dear friend.

with love and gratitude, Tersia

Dear Tersia,

I just came home from the ophthalmologist to see your message. I am having a tough time with my eyesight in one eye – it’s blurry. He said that there is blood that will reabsorb eventually and my eyesight will improve. But it could take a year!

I have been crying easily, lately. My music still helps me, but I am discouraged. I get headaches looking at my computer so much.

But then I remind myself that I have overcome many challenges before in my life. I’ve survived the death of a child. I will get through this.

Being in touch with you reminds me to have deep appreciation for life. Look at what Vicky (and you) went through – she would have given anything to live – even if she were blind!

Glad to hear you liked that image. I will make it into a painting and ship it to you soon. I do believe I will meet you someday.

Love, Judy

© 2013 Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com. Tersia Burger and http://www.tersiaburger.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Tags:Music, Friendship, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, grief, writing, Caregiving, Hospice, death, loss, original songs, lovesong, mother daughter relationship, lyrics, lyric writing, death of a child, child's death, terminal illness, music therapy, inspiration, goodbye song, separation, musical inspiration, impending death, dying, motherhood, end of life, palliative Care, terminally ill, saying goodbye, instrumental music, farewell, going away song, musical comfort, Tersia Burger
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HOW IT FELT WHEN YOU WENT AWAY

January 26, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

My post title is a line of lyrics from my song “More Than You Know.” I read those lyrics at my son’s funeral, but I composed my song when I was 19.

Clicking the blue link plays my song:

For several days, I have read the anguished words written by a newly bereaved mother across the world in South Africa. I believe it was no accident that I discovered Tersia’s blog a few months ago. Another good friend of mine who reads my blog told me that my sharing of Tersia’s story has moved her deeply. I understand. There is something so affecting when someone writes about death with such honesty. None of us are immune from dying, but many people live their lives without confronting that hard truth.

Comments on Tersia’s blog continue to pour in, and I am awed reading those beautiful messages. The tremendous love and compassion extended to her are incredibly touching, and there are even messages left by people who learned of her blog from mine.

When I wrote my story about my son’s death, it was 18 years later. The memories were sharp, as if my son had just died yesterday. When I attended Compassionate Friends’ meetings, I wrote a page or two as therapy – such as the one below:

This mother is writing about her experience as it is unfolding. I cannot imagine anything more heart-wrenching!

I have a lot more I want to share about this. But I begin with Tersia’s own anguished words. Her post can be accessed by clicking the blue link below:

Vic has left home for the last time. . .

WORDS FROM A NEWLY BEREAVED MOTHER

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Tonight is the first night since Vic’s death that I truly experienced the “emptiness” of the house. I kept listening for the sound of Vic’s little feet shuffling down the passage…

The house has been so busy. In the days preceding Vic’s death, the boys went to stay with friends and family. Vic’s suffering was too horrible for them to witness. I was in such a dazed stupor and fell asleep next to Vic with my head next to hers, and my hand on her heart whilst the minister was saying a prayer….

I knew on the 16^th that Vic would die by the weekend. She was still able to communicate with her eyes. Thursday, Dr. Sue came to see Vic.

“It is close,” Sue said.

Murky red urine dripped into the catheter bag…Vic’s eyes no longer closed completely…Her eyes had “broken”…she was gasping for breath.

We decided to let the boys come and say their goodbyes…Someone, I am not sure who, went and fetched the boys from school. The boys walked into their Mom’s room. Their eyes were wide and sad as they lay with her and whispered into her ears. They softly kissed her and walked away. It must have been the hardest thing they had ever done.

I lay next to her with my hand on her heart. Her little heart was pounding against the palm of my hand. Vic was fighting with every fiber in her body to stay alive. Vic was dying and I was helpless.

I could not save my child.

Vicky with her boys when they were little.

Thursday, January 24, 2012

I sat and listened to Vic’s breathing. She was motionless and her eyes were slightly open. Her feet, hands and arms were cold. The rest of her body was burning up with fever and her little toes had started discoloring.

I washed Vic. I had started cutting open her shirts so her little chest was covered. I was too scared to move her – scared that she would fracture and that it would cause her more pain. I put deodorant on her and baby powder. A light spray of Estee Lauder’s “Beautiful” finished off her beauty routine for the morning.

I lay next to my beautiful child. My hand was on her heart and my head right next hers. I could hear her breathing becoming more and more shallow. I whispered words of comfort and love to Vic – non-stop….

“I love you angel child…There is nothing to be scared off….It is almost over baby! I love you so much,” I repeated the words over and over again. I could feel her little heart beating softer and softer under my hand.

Her little chest hardly moved. Her breathing was so shallow! And then it stopped! For a couple of seconds there was no movement. No heartbeat. No breathing. And then a tiny little flutter…and then nothing! Just nothing!!

I heard someone wailing. It was a terrible sound. It was me.

Part of me had just died.

Friday, January 25, 2013

For a long time after Vic had breathed her last breath I lay next to her. I touched her face and hugged her close to me. Something I could not do in life, as I may have fractured a bone or two. Everybody left me alone with Vic. I was so grateful for that precious time with my angel child.

I dressed Vic in her favorite pajamas. It was so difficult trying to dress her limp body. Although I knew it did not matter anymore I was scared I would hurt her. Years of conditioning I suppose. Her back was still so warm from the fever that had racked her body. Her hands, feet and face were cold to the touch. I brushed her beautiful hair.

Then I realized that the boys could not come home until Vic had been “removed”. I phoned the undertakers and requested that they send their people to come and fetch my child. I lay with her for a further 30 minutes. I held her tight and cried for her. I just wanted to die.

Just before 1 p.m. the undertakers arrived. I was torn. I did not want her to go but I could see that her beautiful soul had left her body. It was no longer my beautiful baby girl who lay in that bed. In death, Vic looked like a stranger…yet I felt that if Vic left that room she would forever be gone. Strange…

The undertakers walked into Vic’s room. They were so smartly dressed in dark suits, white shirts and red ties. They wheeled in a gurney and meticulously folded up the outer cover to reveal a plastic sheet. They lowered the gurney to the same level as Vic’s bed and took her from my arms…

Someone said, “Be careful. She breaks bones easily…”

They lay Vic on this horrible plastic sheet and covered her in it. I still want to die just thinking of it. My beautiful baby girl, who only deserved Egyptian cotton, wrapped in hard plastic!! They quickly replaced the cover and zipped it close. I think my sobs were driving them mad. Vic looked so tiny on that darn gurney! Tiny and dead!!

Minutes after one my baby girl left home for the last time. Never again would she grace us with her presence. Never again would she shuffle down the passage, never again would we hear her laughter or her cries of pain.

Vic left home – forever.

A TRIBUTE TO VICKY BRUCE

Where do I start? How do I begin a farewell when I still can’t believe you’re gone? How do I say goodbye to a part of my soul? The day you were born I experienced this UNBELIEVABLE rush of love. I was smitten from the first second I lay eyes on you.

You came into my life and changed me forever. Over the years people have complimented me for being a good mother but I truly cannot take credit for that. You were born good, and great and amazing. You were the one who taught me lessons in life. I believe you are an angel God sent to teach me. You taught me how to be myself. Most of all you taught me about life and how to live.

When you were diagnosed with Osteogenesis Imperfecta at the age of 18 months, the doctors told me I should wrap you in cotton wool and wait for you to die. You are the bravest person in the world. You rewrote medical history. You defied death for so many years… You mocked bad news and a poor prognosis…

You made me so proud. You have always been my greatest pride and joy. At school you excelled as a pianist. As a mommy you were an example to all. As a dying person you were brave beyond words.

I’m not sure how I can live this life without you. You worried about me just as much as I worried about you. You fought so hard to stay alive. You fought until you gave your very last breath. You did not want to leave your boys. Your sons will honor you every day of their lives with their actions.

No one will ever forget you. You made an incredible impact on the world. Your dream of a Hospice for Alberton has been realized with Stepping Stone Hospice, and ironically you were Stepping Stone’s first death…. Thousands of people will benefit from your dream and compassion in years to come.

Vic, I miss you so much already and I don’t know if I can take this pain anymore. How can I be sad when you brought me so much happiness? How can I be sad when I feel like the luckiest person on earth to have been chosen to be your mother? How can I be sad when God gave you to me for 14,019 days, 20 hours and 15 minutes? I thank God every day for the time we shared together.

So now we must bid you farewell. It is your time to run, free from pain and suffering. We will always love you. We will never forget you.

Rest in Peace my Angel Child.

Tags:Caregiving, child's death, compassionate friends, death, death of a child, dying, end of life, Friendship, grief, Grief and Bereavement, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", grief Friendship, GRIEF RELATED, hopelessness, Hospice, impending death, inspiration, loss, loss of a child, love, lyric development, mother daughter relationship, motherhood, original songs, palliative Care, sadness, songwriting, terminal illness, terminally ill, writing
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I’LL TRY HARD NOT TO CRY

January 24, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

When I listen to my most recent musical creation, I am taken straight to heaven!

Clicking the blue link, will play my song:

My post title is a line of lyrics from my song “Never Gone Away.” Many of my songs have evolved and changed. I was amazed how at the same time I decided to do a new arrangement for “Never Gone Away,” I befriended a mother and her dying daughter.

My song turned into something completely different from where it started!

I have tried and tried to find a replacement line for “I’ll try hard not to cry.” Those words are not really positive, but they are honest.

Denying tears is very common. Since the feeling behind my song was about a mother saying goodbye to her dying daughter – I channeled what I imagined was the mother’s tremendous stoicism.

After my son died, I released my stoicism and constantly cried when I was alone. My favorite places to cry were in the shower or when I was driving. I wrote that during my bereavement, I cried enough tears to fill an ocean.

I believe in tears. I think crying is a healthy outlet. Tears lead to healing and releasing them are very important. But somehow, as the years went by – I stopped expressing myself in many ways. I preferred to deny tears, and soon ended up feeling nothing at all.

I appreciate my life now so much because I can express my emotions after decades of a zombie-like existence.

Although I do wish I were more joyful; I have no doubt that I will be again. Currently, I have extremely stressful circumstances in my life. I feel confident that I am coping as I continue to compose, write, edit my book, as well as support two teenagers.

Recently, some of my friends have remarked to me that my blog has been too sad. I even heard this: “There are plenty of suffering people in the world; reaching out to them is unhealthy and is bringing you down.”

I do realize that my friends are concerned about me; their intentions were caring. However, I feel I must disagree.

I feel a kinship with bereaved people.

For people who have not truly suffered, that might be difficult to understand. It is unimaginable unless you’ve experienced the torture of trying to get through every second of your day while your mind screams out in pain.

I have written about ways to help and connect to grieving people. But sadly, many people prefer to run the other way. Connecting is the last thing they want to do.

The irony is that grief is random and can strike anyone. No one knows when he or she might join those awful ranks.

My kinship with bereaved people is all related to my healing. I reached out to other bereaved people even when I was in terrible pain. That is why I often recommend that grieving people hold the hands of others who are grieving so they can crawl forward together. I know that it was very helpful for me.

And now that I am much father along on my grief journey, I can offer so much more and receive back even more.

I have a wonderful way of looking at what I can do to help people grieving.

I am a butterfly.

My wish is to help those who are suffering understand that the darkness of grief could be a cocoon from which some day they will emerge. There are no guarantees, but I offer that possibility.

I am sincere when I say that I am not suffering anymore over my child’s death. I feel peaceful on his birthday and death anniversary. I have reached a place of acceptance!

I still cry when certain memories surface and even while singing. I allow it because I treasure those beautiful emotions. When I think of my dead child, I am uplifted into peacefulness and spirituality.

When I wrote the lyric line “my lovely light, just not in sight,” I allowed my subconscious to channel those feelings.

Helping grieving people reminds me of my blessings.

Instead of bringing me down, nothing has ever lifted me up more than knowing I have made a difference for someone who is in terrible pain.

Sometimes, life holds challenges at every turn. There are many forms of grief and pain. It is appropriate that I am hurting as I wade through a divorce, watch my mother deteriorate with dementia and cope with eyesight issues.

At this moment, I am grieving other things in my life. That is why I have announced that I am still healing. I achieved clarity with my friends’ concerns. It was understandable for them to feel that way, because I even wrote on my blog that: “I absorbed their pain.”

But I realize that I carry only my own pain dealing with current challenges, which has been lightened as I help others.

The process of healing accelerates for me with the knowledge that I am capable of healing!

I celebrate that I’m no longer anguished over my son’s death anymore. I allow for tears and celebrate my ability to inspire others to heal.

For me, nothing could be healthier!

This is a picture from Jason’s last birthday, 4 months before he died.

I love seeing my big smile (this is from when I was 18), which I plan to never lose.

I continue to share my recent musical creations. Recently, I expanded upon one of the songs that will be part of my audio book. It is an arrangement of a guitar instrumental piece, which I named Farewell. It was recorded in 2010 and my story about it was named MY FAREWELL TO MUSIC.

The word “farewell” stirs up memories of a poignant goodbye. I’ve said before that I believe life is all about arrivals and departures.

A big thank you is due to my childhood friend, Steve de Mena, who is responsible for creating fabulous mixes of my songs on Protools, in addition to sharing and teaching me the program.

Click the blue link below to play my song:

FAREWELL-1/20/13 Guitar Instrumental

I enjoy reading other people’s blogs. One special blog that has been especially helpful for me is: Daily Divorce Meditations. The author, Dee Dee Wood recently commented on my blog, which really touched me. She wrote:

Judy… every time I re-read this story about the loss of your son… I just want to reach through the computer and hug you as hard as I can… D.

Today, when I was writing this post, I stopped for a moment to read her blog. It knocked me over because her words related perfectly to what I was writing! Here is a portion of what she wrote:

Being of service, being the light in someone else’s day, putting my own problems aside to share my strength, hope, experience with others, reminds me to be grateful for the day, and how much I have to give to those in need.

Sometimes I can be oblivious to what is really going on inside of me, until I have some type of revelation. Overwhelmed by too many commitments, struggling with issues regarding my self-esteem, worn, tired, straying from my spiritual path, it is as if my Higher Power suddenly throws someone directly in my way, who says the exact words I need to hear, or gives me exactly what I need in my life, to have a moment of clarity that brings my true world back into focus.

january-22nd

On my last post, I had a Facebook exchange with a woman named Carol. Our on-line conversation continued the next day. I share her words now (in brown).

Hi Carol, It was nice to hear from you. By the way, yesterday I mailed you a CD.

    OMG, YOU MAILED IT YESTERDAY? I AM LOOKING FOR IT, GIRL!     I am so excited about getting your CD.     My husband listened to some of your songs and he loved what he heard and wants more! LOL

That’s beautiful that your husband listened!

I love all your songs, but I need to understand how to read a blog. I don’t have much experience there, but I will learn. I love you, Judy. You will never know what you have opened my eyes up to. I have written songs since the age of 13. I stopped writing, since my son died. No, even before. I have tons of stuff I have written, just scared to show anybody. But you lit a fire underneath me.    

Don’t overwhelm yourself. Just remember, writing can start with a simple memory. I started my blog by reconnecting with a woman whom I helped with grief only two years after my son died. She continues to be very supportive of my writing.

You know, I have won awards for some of the writing…nothing that means anything. Just little things .

No award is a little thing! You have talent and it has been latent. Now those seeds can grow. I  lived for 30 years without my songs. I did rewrite lyrics for my son’s funeral to help myself get through it. But in 2010, I picked up my guitar at a very low point. My mom was ill and I felt completely alone in the world. Music healed all of my pain. I rediscovered my songs and then started writing new ones. I progressed so much in such a short time. But most of all, I discovered joy again. My songs erupted and I wrote a song named “The Unknown.” It expressed how unhappy I was with my marriage. Then I wrote a song to help me find my courage.

I never believed much in God, but decided that I was blessed by this gift. I am going to get through any challenge because music helps me! If I can help you, then God is allowing me to spread my blessing. I share to help others feel better and inspire hope. Carol, please know that your gift is waiting to be reopened and to shine. It never left and will blossom as you express and free yourself from pain!

I don’t know where to start…

Why don’t you start a blog? Just write and write – it’s kind of like a journal. You might also find other people reading your words and responding – it grows and grows!

Wow, this sounds like a great idea… but you’re going have to walk me through it.   I love you, Judy.

I love you too, Carol. I will gladly help you. There’s no way you can fail! I was just writing a story about why I am so involved with grieving people. I am perfectly fine with what I’m doing and if people find it sad, they can read something else!

All your stuff, is absolutely amazing.       I am divorced and am remarried.  I cheer you on to share the beauty that is in your heart with others.  You are a beautiful thing.

Thank you for believing in me. I actually believe someday I will reach a lot of people. For me, the destination is not as important as the journey. I am staying positive despite unbelievable challenges. I wasn’t meant to be exposed or find fame until the time is right. God continues to bless me with more knowledge and my voice has also improved since I didn’t sing for 30 years.

Leaving my husband was the only way I could do this; to have the courage. I believe I will even touch more people than just those who have experienced grief. There are a lot of divorced women who will be cheering me on!

You have had to overcome challenges that even I don’t know I could have done.

Thanks, Carol. I go back and forth between writing to you and writing my story. Writing to you is part of my story and crystallizes everything. It doesn’t bring me down when I can inspire you to rise up. That was what I was writing about!

Tonight, I had a friend help me in my new digs set up a microphone for recording. I have a lot of songs that need new vocals. Once I get my book done, I’ll be starting a second one with lots more songs!

Judy, I will never judge you, just encourage you, edify you and pray for you, because I know you would do the same for me. I have not scrolled through all my poems, all my songs, until I met you. You have actually inspired me to write again. My husband can’t believe it.

Then I thank you for adding to my beautiful story about why I love what I am doing. It’s all about love. I healed from my grief because of my love for my son and what he wanted for me. You will heal, Carol. It is so hard – but I see it!! I am going to go to bed now – but I have a smile on my face.

The best part about writing is that it is so healing. I waited 18 years, but if you can do it after six years – you can inspire even more people about healing!

Recent email message to a friend:

Sunday, January 22^nd

It was so nice of you to be concerned about me. I have not been emailing my friends as much, but I have been writing a lot for my blog. I am still in limbo as far as signing a divorce agreement.

Lately, I’ve been reaching out to other grieving people to offer comfort. A friend told me that it probably wasn’t good for me to do this because it was “bringing me down.” But the truth is that I am down and helping people gives me a lot of satisfaction.

I have not felt great physically. Today, I had a bad experience. I saw something black go into my vision – then it dissipated into threads and my vision was foggy in that eye. I went to Urgent Care and the ophthalmologist who examined me said it was a large new floater and there was retinal blood in the back of my eye. But my retinas were intact and eventually I would get used to this new floater, which I’ll add to my collection. Ironically, it looks like a music note!

My vision is so annoying and looks worse than before my cataract surgery. 50% of the vision in my left eye looks brown. I’m trying not to let it make me miserable, but it hasn’t been easy.

I can share that I have been doing wonderful things musically. I’ve created about five new arrangements in the last few months. Last week, I wrote a beautiful new song and I love it. I’ve also started taking voice lessons with a new teacher. She is wonderful and I hear so much improvement already!

So that is my life in a nutshell. I hope you are doing well. You know I often think of you and care about you very much.

Love, Judy

Ps. My mother continues to hang in there, but when I saw her yesterday, she did not look well. She had mild pneumonia and a urinary tract infection last week. On Saturday, I visited her but she would not open her eyes to look at me. I have done well accepting that she has left my life.

Tags:"sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, Caregiving, child's death, compassionate friends, composing, creativity, death, death of a child, dementia, floaters, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, healing and grief, healing from grief, helping others, hopefulness, inspiration, instrumental music, instrumentals, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mental-health, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, musical arrangements, musical inspiration, optimism and grief, original songs, songwriting, spirituality, uplifting music, writing
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YOU’RE MY ANGEL

January 19, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

My newest song emerged one week ago. I have never written, nor arranged a song this quickly. It gives me chills!

I finished the arrangement today and sang a vocal with my old mic. I could hear cars rumbling in the background! But because I feel so inspired, I don’t care about revealing something that isn’t a “final product.” I am also sharing an acoustic version of my song, where I simply sing and play my guitar.

Clicking the blue links plays audio:

ANGEL IN THE SKY ACOUSTIC

ANGEL IN THE SKY INSTRUMENTAL

LINK TO VIDEOS ON YOUTUBE

ANGEL IN THE SKY

My love for you grows over time

with every song and every rhyme

I dream about your sweet embrace

your sparkling eyes; your beautiful face

You are my angel in the sky, like a butterfly

you flew away and couldn’t stay

we had to say goodbye

love can never die

so you must know I miss you so

my angel in the sky

Your precious smile glows in my mind

you uplift; and are my gift

When I die; you’ll take my hand

my lovely light, just not in sight

You are my angel in the sky, like a butterfly

you flew away and couldn’t stay

we had to say goodbye

love can never die

so you must know I miss you so

my angel in the sky

My energy lately has been directed toward reaching out to comfort grieving mothers. I joined a Facebook group and have been writing messages of hope. I am certain that reading about all of the children who were “Angels,” inspired me to write my song.

Last night, I noticed that one mother was sharing songs and inspirational videos. I wrote a message to her that I had songs I could also share; I figured she was someone who could appreciate what I had to offer.

How beautiful that by offering her comfort, I was blessed with a response that lifted me up. Her words were like a soothing balm that eased my doubt and gave me back my dream.

My dialog with Carol started when I shared my song “Beside Me Always.” She announced to the group that she had listened to my song and her words are in brown.

A woman named Judy just gave me a link to her beautiful songs. I just listened to one and it was beautiful.   

Thank you, Carol! I find that music is something that has comforted me. My son died 20 years ago and I started to sing again in 2010. I compose music and it has helped me to heal from my grief. Your words mean a lot. I just wrote a new song this weekend and I am thinking you would like it. I named it Angel in the Sky. If you have an email, I’ll send it to you.

Thank you! I just listened to one of your songs on your blog. But there was no way I could share it. How come? It is beautiful. Do you have a link to YouTube?

I do have one live performance on YouTube, but I haven’t gotten around to putting anything else there.

I already found it and left a comment for you. I truly love your music. Oh my god, you are gifted. Your songs are so comforting. Can you send me the song you were talking about? Angel in the Sky?

It’s unfinished, but I already sent it to your email. I am not selling my music yet. I’ve concentrated on creating an audio book to tell my amazing story. I healed from grief when I allowed myself to sing again after 18 years. All of my music is from my heart and Jason (my angel) inspired many of my songs. Thank you for appreciating my music. If you have an address – I’ll mail you a CD! (Free, of course) 

It’s funny, but just last week both my sons insisted that I would become successful if I put videos on YouTube. I’m a bit shy about how I look performing, but I do love sharing my music.

My total focus is to help others heal as I have!

GIRL, PARDON THE CAPS, BUT YOUR SONS ARE RIGHT! I am going to check out my email. Love you, girl. Be back after I listen. Hope you’re still on here.

I am smiling because it is wonderful to offer hope and inspiration. I understand the hell of grief. It is an amputation of the soul and there are few words to describe it.

Sometimes, I wonder whether I can make ends meet by doing my music and writing. But I feel certain that I have been blessed with a gift to help others and I plan to continue doing it as long as I can. Feel free to share my music and words.

My music and book will be available in a few months. And then, I’ll plan on doing more promotion and YouTube stuff. Thank you again, Carol! 

Oh my god! I have tears running down my face. I just wish I could share it. My little sister needs to hear Angel in the Sky. She lost her son last year to Leukemia.

Also Judy, your vocals are fine!

Please post this song to my Facebook. I would buy your CD in a minute. Without the blink of an eye. My nose is all stopped up. But in a good way. Your voice is totally unique. You know how Adele’s voice is unique? Yours is the same way.

Now I am crying. I am so insecure about my singing voice. Thank you!

Judy, I have lost 9 people in the last six years: My son, my dad (four months after my son died), two friends, my mom, my aunt, grand mom and my nephew. God and music have saved my life.

Carol, you have had a lot to deal with. I am sorry. All of those losses are hard and that is a lot in 6 years. Your father dying 4 months after your son is heartbreaking!

I wasn’t religious, but when music came to me my life was filled with joy. I’ve decided that god blessed me and I am very spiritual now. I don’t care if I die tomorrow. I believe my writing and songs will live on.

Let me listen to all of it….it soothes my soul.

I usually write a new song every other month. My passion is having my songs arranged, but I am certain that what I spend on my music will come back to me. It makes me happy and after living with sadness for so many years, I feel I deserve it!

My 16-year-old son tells me to be realistic; that I won’t be able to support myself with music and writing. I just keep telling him that I will succeed. For me, success is about just touching one person; that is enough for me. You made my night, Carol.

Judy, if I wanted to sponsor you, or help you, how would I do it?  I am just a middle class person, living paycheck to paycheck, but I believe in you.  I believe in your music and your heart. How could I help?  I would love to send at least $20 a month to just help. I want to see your music on the store shelves.   

Oh, Carol, thank you for your kindness. Your words are all I need to help me continue.

I have faith and what you’ve said is worth more than money. I’m inspired to keep going knowing I’ve touched you.

This picture was taken when I was visiting my parents. I could not have imagined then that 25 years later I would be living in my childhood home, which is on the right side of this walkway.

Tags:acoustic guitar, angel in the sky, child's death, compassionate friends, composing, creativity, death, death of a child, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, inspiration, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Music, original songs, performing, precious smile, singing, songwriting, sweet embrace
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YOU FLEW AWAY

January 14, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

This past weekend I wrote a new song. It will be named “Angel in the Sky.”

My new song has caused me to be quite weepy. Lately, I cry easily and my emotional state has been affected by thinking of Tersia, my new friend in the blogosphere and her dying daughter.

I have no judgment about the tears that birthed this special creation. The process of composing a song is like nothing else and I look forward to sharing it soon.

For several months, I have immersed myself in grief. I read other peoples’ sad words and then I write optimistic messages to them. A few weeks ago, I wrote these words on one of my posts: “I absorbed their pain.”

There was no question that my heart was aching when I wrote that. Was I really helping other people with my optimism or bringing myself back into my former sad world?

I’ve written many times that the amputation of my soul was a permanent condition. And I’ve also said that grief is not recoverable.

Such a contradiction to announce that I have healed!

Last week, I delved into this inner conflict during my hypnotherapy session. I decided that I wasn’t actually absorbing other peoples’ pain. The circumstances of others simply triggered my own grief and sadness. I was drawn to it.

So in order to be more consistent, from now on I am going to say that, “I’m still healing,” instead of saying, “I have healed.”

Grief is a process. It will follow me for the rest of my life.

“When I Close The Door”

I wrote a song named “The Door,” which I have not yet shared. For me, going through a door represents entering, as well as leaving.

My former voice teacher, Peaches Chrenko worked with me for over two years. Peaches moved out-of-state at the same time that I separated and moved. When that door closed, I missed the haven where I once shared my passionate love for music and songwriting. I longed for our laughter and felt sadness closing in on me.

Finally, I decided it was time for me to open a new door. For over a year, I saved the name of a woman whose voice mesmerized me. I knew immediately from the moment I heard her sing that I wanted to learn from her someday.

I have now had three lessons with Kimberly Haynes. She is an inspiring and beautiful person, as well as a wonderful teacher.

I have not recorded any new vocals for five months. When I do begin recording, my voice has improved once again. Over the course of my musical journey, my voice completely changed. I didn’t even know I had a voice after not using it for thirty years!

I would love to share a few exciting concepts that I have already learned from Kimberly.

1. While singing, breathing really shouldn’t be the focus. It is more important to maintain the feeling of staying inflated by not blowing out the air. I learned that I could sing resonant and super high notes without using any air at all.

2. Although vocalizing comes out of the mouth, the sound is not good when it’s blown outside of the mouth. It is the chamber in the back of the vocal chords that creates a beautiful sound. Inspiration and a feeling of ah (and awe) are helpful to achieve the proper placement. Vowels should be general and not strongly pronounced

3. The two components to the voice are: red voice and blue voice. Red voice has the fullness of the vocal chords and a “meatier” sound. I have never used my red voice. Blue voice is breathy and has a lot air because it uses a higher ratio of air to vocal chords.

The goal is to achieve a seamless transition between those two voices, and to master them for effects and a full sound.

This picture was taken shortly before Jason died on his fifth birthday.

E.mo.tion.al (adjective) inspired by emotion, affected by emotion, expressing emotion, stirring emotions

From the time I began this blog, I have openly shared my musical rediscovery, a journey that is still unfolding. I actually became proficient at audio editing by listening to recordings from my voice lessons and creating clips for my blog.

A few weeks ago, I began deleting old clips because people are busy and I was doubtful that anyone ever listened to any of them. But then, I changed my mind. They document my journey in a unique way and I’ve enjoyed sharing them.

Therefore, below are audio clips from my voice lessons with my new teacher, Kimberly. On the very last clip, I became extremely emotional during our lesson.

My blossoming friendship with Kimberly is very touching. I am grateful that I opened a new door in my life.

My passion for music and songwriting continues.

–

Clicking the blue links plays the audio:

LESSON KIMBERLY BLOG EXCERPT 12-23-12

LESSON KIMBERLY BLOG EXCERPT A 1-5-13

LESSON KIMBERLY BLOG EXCERPT B 1-5-13

LESSON KIMBERLY BLOG EXCERPT A 1-13-13

LESSON KIMBERLY BLOG EXCERPT B 1-13-13

Tags:child's death, composing, creativity, death, death of a child, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, Kimberly Haynes, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Music, original songs, singer, singing, singing lessons, songwriting, vocal coaching, vocal concepts, voice lessons
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YOU’LL TOUCH SO MANY OTHERS

January 9, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

Jason’s baby book. My first-born child died at the age of 5.

Jason Unger is sunshine in our lives. Admittedly those first months and year were the most difficult times I’ve ever faced, but my love for our beautiful boy gives me happiness I’ve never known. Jason is a sweet, delicate sensitive boy – he’s like a flower you never want to let go of and yet you only want to experience being around him because he brings so much joy. Because of Jason I know the world will be brighter.

I know, because it’s that way for me.

My blog post title is a line of lyrics from my song “Never Gone Away.” I have been very affected knowing that a mother and daughter are close to being separated by death. My song is dedicated to them and I will write more soon.-

I do believe there is nothing more meaningful than leaving something behind that touches other peoples’ lives. It is especially poignant when it happens without dying, too.

This February, it will be three years since I began writing this blog. I plan to release my audio book soon that tells the story about how I healed from my grief through rediscovering my music.

Creating my book was a huge undertaking and I hope that my songs and stories will touch and comfort many people. I also plan to create a second audio book that will be a continuation of my story. I have begun a new phase in my journey while coping with separation and divorce after 31 years of marriage.

Lately, I haven’t written much about myself personally. But I do love writing. I wait for inspiration to hit me and I sift through ordinary moments looking for things that I find touching.

Sometimes, it’s as simple as gleaning joy from seeing my two teenage children adjusting to our new living situation. Both of them were very sad to move from the home where they grew up in.

Yesterday, when I was taking a shower the water went from burning hot to icy cold several times. I screamed and was not in a good mood when I came out. When I muttered under my breath, my teenage son immediately told me that no complaining was allowed in our new digs. I wonder where he heard that?

Then, he began to lecture me in a serious voice and said that his sister had taught him the “proper technique.” He explained (as if I were a dumb child) that all I needed to do was first turn the cold-water knob slightly and add the hot water to it.

His words were, “Mom, I’ve had perfectly fine showers and if you would just listen to me all would be fine.”

I worked hard to keep every muscle on my face in check, but a smile began to form. Inside I was screaming the word, “Hallelujah!”

He had actually listened to his sister and was complimenting her. Finally, my two children were in agreement and getting along! I was also happy to know that both of them had accepted our crappy shower.

One of the harder aspects of my separation has been dealing with so many changes. Most of the changes are for the better. There are many things about my former life that I do not miss. I do not miss the blaring television, the dog yapping and the parrot screeching; though I do miss the sweet kisses from that Conure, with whom I used to shower several times a week.

When I separated from my husband, I also separated from my oldest son. My housekeeper of 23 years, Rosa, was left without a job.

My oldest son, who is 22, has gone through a great deal of grief losing his grandfather and dealing with our divorce. I know he misses his sister and me, and because Rosa was like his other mother, he misses her too. My son has been a wonderful role model to his younger brother and they see each other on the weekends. I find myself getting quite teary whenever my oldest son expresses his love and concern for me, which he does quite often.

Rosa is very close to all of my children. She cared for them from infancy on; she was there on the day I brought each one home from the hospital. Our parting of ways was inevitable and I am grateful that the transition went very smoothly. But I have been lonely without having Rosa there to talk to. She truly understood about my reasons for leaving and I’ve missed seeing her on a daily basis. One night a week, we reunite. It’s very special for both of us. Thankfully, she has adjusted and her new life has been going well.

Rosa began working for me shortly before my second son was born (he is in her lap). She primarily took care of him and was not with me when Jason died, because she was visiting Mexico at the time.

“Three special women in my life”

I have been blessed by loving three very special Latina women in my life. I mentioned Rosa.

The second one would be Miriam, my mother’s companion. Miriam continues to keep my mother thriving while in a nursing home. She spends six days a week with my mother and has been such a blessing to our family.

The third special woman I have loved is named Lupe.

There are times when I can look into my past and feel like I am a time traveler. Some moments are so crystal clear, that I can feel the impact even though many years have passed.

Long ago, I never expected I’d need a housekeeper. But when my first child was born with a serious congenital heart defect, I was not equipped to cope with his illness. Just remembering his infancy gives me chills. Jason’s defect was called “Transposition of the Great Vessels.”

I have shared many items and pictures on this blog and I am going to share more. At this juncture, I’ll share some images that are not flattering. But they do tell my story. Because I gained over one hundred pounds during my pregnancy, I was very overweight at that time.

In this picture, Jason’s scar is clearly visible on his chest. He had open heart surgery at 2 and ½ months of age.

In this picture, Jason’s scar is clearly visible on his chest. He had his first open heart surgery at 2½ months of age.

Lupe was a young girl who came into my life a few weeks after Jason was born. The memory of meeting and hiring her is still quite vivid for me.

Jason was constantly crying. Lupe picked him up and he became quiet. Although she spoke not a word of English, she handled Jason like a pro.

I hired her on the spot. I did not speak Spanish, but somehow Lupe and I managed to communicate. Gradually she learned English from me and became fluent. Later on, the same thing also happened with Rosa and I.

I wrote briefly about Lupe on my post named: JASON MEANT “HEALER”

This morning, I was editing a song for my audio book with headphones on. I cocked my head, because I thought I heard an instrument I hadn’t noticed before in the mix.

Then I laughed, because it was the musical tone from my cell phone ringing nearby. I missed the call and didn’t recognize the number, but I decided to call back.

A woman answered and she said, “Judy, it’s Lupe, do you remember me?” My voice jumped an octave as I told her I most certainly did. I was so glad I had called back!

For half an hour we were laughing and crying; sharing about our lives. The last time we had spoken was perhaps a year after Jason’s death.

That meant we hadn’t spoken in almost twenty years.

It turned out that Lupe’s son had helped her to find me on the Internet. My phone number was on my illustration website, which I had only recently updated a week ago. Before that, the phone number wouldn’t have worked.

Lupe chuckled and said, “Judy, my family has asked me why I’ve saved pictures of Jason and your family for all these years – why I didn’t throw them in the trash. But I told them that your family was my family back then! They know everything, because I’ve talked about Jason many, many times. Remember how he wouldn’t eat?”

Of course, I remembered.

In this picture, Jason is giving out Halloween candy.

Lupe and I continued to reminisce. I told her how amazed I was that she figured out so many creative ways to feed him. Jason was extremely small and when he died at the age of five he only weighed 33 pounds.

As we talked, I noticed there were tears pouring out from my eyes. They rolled and puddled upon my chest. Lupe told me she had found my blog and cried while reading my story about Jason.

I never imagined what my future held; that the young girl who cared for my sick cardiac child would be calling me all these years later.

Then Lupe said that it was important for me to know that Jason had definitely affected her life. I choked on my tears when she said, “Judy, there was something so special about Jason and I will never forget him.”

This phone call was indeed a gift. Only the day before, I had called a friend whose daughter died three months after Jason. I wanted to wish her a Happy New Year and share that I had moved. My friend thanked me for my call and said that I was the only one who remembered.

Now I was receiving my own blessing. I couldn’t believe it. My dead child, who had only lived five years, had made an impact on another person.

I savored the phone call and eventually it was time for me to go. Before hanging up, Lupe said she’d email me a picture of her family. I let her know I would do the same. It turned out that Lupe’s children were close in age to my children. She had maintained her marriage and I was happy for her.

I remembered how she was such a frightened young girl when she started working for me. At that time, she was twenty years old. One day, she told me that an abusive boyfriend had knocked out all her front teeth. She was beaten up many times before she left her country.

Now, I was especially glad to hear how her life turned out.

A few hours later I received Lupe’s email, which included a message and a beautiful family portrait.

I cried and cried. It was because grief surfaced about the end of my marriage when I read her words.

Grief amputated my soul. Grief was excruciating and torturous. My marriage suffered.

I spent the rest of my day going through Jason’s box to search for pictures of Lupe.

As I explored, so many memories came back to me. Not all of them were sad. I laughed aloud when I saw the black and white photos where Lupe as a joke had switched Jason’s outfit with another infant girl she was also watching. My dear friend, Joni, had come for a visit and Lupe insisted we could go out for dinner and come back while she watched our babies. When we came back, it took us a few minutes to realize the gender differences!

In Jason’s baby-book, I came across something I wrote under a section called “mother’s message.” My words described Jason as a beautiful flower.

It was so beautiful that I started crying again. I knew tears were good – better out than in.

Healing from my grief never meant that I couldn’t cry remembering him.

My son is an angel and I will continue to sing for him.

On January 8, 2013, Lupe wrote:

Hello Judy,

This is my family. I would love to see a photo of your family, as well. I am so happy to hear from you. I apologize for all the years that have passed without me contacting you, but believe me, you and your family always crossed my mind. You know how much I love all of you.

Judy, you were truly a blessing from God that I needed at the time, and I still cannot thank you enough. I remember how sweet you and Michael used to treat each other and I learned a lot from you two. That is the reason that my family is so strong up until today. It hurts me to know that you and Michael are going through rough times but I understand. There are so many memories of us that I remember as if it were yesterday.

I love you, Judy. I can’t wait to hear from you again.

Love, Lupe

Dearest Lupe,

I was so touched by your beautiful phone call and email. Of course, I didn’t forget you! You have no idea how much it meant to me – to know how Jason touched your life. Yesterday, I realized that I didn’t fully tell you how much you have meant to me, also.

I was such an inexperienced first-time mother when you came to work for me. I learned incredible things from you and was grateful for the comfort you gave Jason. He loved you dearly and depended upon you. We were both connected to him and I could understand why you would feel like he was your first child.

The experience of Jason being unable to eat and your ability to feed him will be forever burned into my mind. It was an unending task and I could not have done it alone. My mother shared that with me, too, and I miss her very much.

When the time came for you to move on in your life – it was difficult for us to part. But you were supposed to leave when you did - it was better that you didn’t experience the grief in our home when Jason died. It was especially sad for the grandparents; you cannot imagine.

The fact that you are married with a beautiful family makes me so happy. For you to give credit to my husband and I is very beautiful. As I cope with my divorce, I try to have a perspective that all of those years were not wasted and unhappy. There were parts that were good enough to touch you, for example. That is meaningful and inspiring; it makes me cry.

Just as you moved on to a new life when it was time – I am doing that now. Sometimes, our journey takes us to places we never expected to go; such is mine. I carry memories of Jason with me. You are there, too, Lupe. I will never forget you.

Love, Judy

Tags:child's death, compassionate friends, congenital heart defect, death, death of a child, Friendship, friendship and loss, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, inspiration, loss, memories, motherhood
Posted in Grief Stories | 2 Comments »

HOW CAN I BELIEVE?

January 7, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

I love illustrating butterflies and this is an assortment I’ve named “Fantasy Butterflies”

I share here an instrumental of a very special song, which can be heard by clicking the blue link below:

MORE THAN YOU KNOW INSTRUMENTAL

My post title comes from the lyrics to my song “More Than You Know.” The full line is, “How can I believe when the warmth of you did leave?” It actually refers to my ability to go on living after seeing my five-year-old son dead. That image haunted me for years; picturing his open eyes and blackened lips. His body was ice cold and I held onto him and didn’t want to let go!

Not too long ago, I wrote about Relinda. She is a grieving widow and her writing has moved me very much. More about her and her unsparing words are on my post entitled: YOU HAVE NO HOPE.

Today, another widow left a comment on Relinda’s blog:

Dear Relinda,

I have been reading through your blog, so much of what you’ve said could have come from my hand. My husband left our life one year, four months and four days ago, but I’m not keeping track.

This particular blog about the “vacation” really struck me more than the others. This life I find myself in isn’t comfortable, it has no warmth, no appeal, it isn’t mine and I want to go back home. But home isn’t there anymore, it’s an empty lot – the house is gone and only the memories of it remain.  Like you I am so tired of all the bullshit lines we feed ourselves – truth be told the only way any of this could get better, would be if I had a time machine and went back to when my life was mine. I hope someday that maybe those of us that just exist will feel a little life once again.

Karen

I want to share Relinda’s post and then I want to respond. Relinda’s post title is a link back to her blog.

Vacationing in Hell

This is the longest vacation I have ever experienced. It began the day the doctors said there was nothing more they could do. It continues years later. I always thought of vacationing as an escape from the monotonous realities of everyday life. Vacationing in hell is much different. It is a place where you accept the realities and disappointments that come with living, embrace them wholeheartedly and recognize that it is a vacation from which you will never return home until the day you die. Welcome to hell.

Astonishingly, my house looks the same if you overlook the absence of laughter and the immaculate kitchen. That is the first thing you notice upon arrival to hell—the silence. It is so loud that when I enter a room, I can hear my heart pounding inside my head. Ironic that silence is actually the loudest noise in the universe. Sometimes I can hear echoes of laughter from my real life. It is very faint. There was so much laughter in this place before that I suppose it is inevitable that some imprint seeps through the walls.

There are not fires and brimstone as depicted in sermons. There are the usual disappointments, but new ones surface each day. Disappointments such as realizing you will never again know the simple joy of sharing a banana split with your best friend in the world. Disappointments such as knowing that you will never again experience the fun of dancing in the rain with someone you love. Disappointments such as knowing that every trip you make will be alone. Knowing that any accomplishment you reach will never be celebrated is one of the harshest disappointments.

I want to return from my vacation in hell, but it was a one-way ticket. “Life is what we make it.” If I had fucking known that, I would have molded it differently. I would still be whole. I would not have buried you. I would not dread waking each morning.

“Time heals all wounds.” Bullshit. Some wounds cannot be healed, especially while you are vacationing in hell. “Prayer fixes everything,” really? Because it did not work so well for me. I think we pull cute little quotes such as these out of our asses while under the illusion that they make people feel better. They do not.

So, here I am, sending you a postcard from hell. The weather is lovely this time of year. All I really want is to go home though. I want a ticket home. Perhaps there is some type of lottery in which one can win a ticket home. If only someone would send me home. I cannot get there myself. This vacation blows.

©Relinda R.

Dear Karen and Relinda,

You will not hear me say, “Time heals.” I have said that hearts can heal and it happens unconsciously. Even joy is possible, because that happened for me.

That is not the same thing as expecting that time will heal us. I do believe that time lends some anesthesia to the gut-wrenching pain, but for those who succumb to their grief it is too late. Grief certainly wrecks lives and destroys a person’s health over time.

Healing from grief is torturous hard work. Many people don’t believe they will heal and I was one of those people. Healing isn’t about fixing anything so that it goes back to how it was. Those scars are forever. And nothing heals when it festers either. In my fourth year of bereavement I wrote: How can my heart ever heal when it continues to bleed? The answer was that it couldn’t!

Take your postcard from Hell, Relinda and put it somewhere. It will be a postcard to remind you of the place where you never want to go back to. Your own words unconsciously gave your post a perfect title. You see; a vacation is a place to visit. One does not associate a vacation with living somewhere.

That is true. You are not really living.

You cannot go home either. There is no home for you to go back to.

That is the sad nature of grief. We grieve for the person we lost that we loved. Then we grieve for our former life and the innocent, naïve person we were before grief slaughtered our existence.

Therefore, your post title was a perfect description of where you are right now.

I do not know about your personal grief or anyone else’s. I share my optimism because with grief there is so little. We live in a world where grieving is supposed to quickly end; we’re told to just “get on with our life.” Amazingly, there is a belief that after one year a person should be “over it.” Those platitudes such as “time heals,” usually aren’t coming from someone who has suffered a loss of a magnitude such as yours.

It has been three years for you. I can share what I’ve observed through my connections with many bereaved people. I’m talking about people who seriously wanted to die.

The second through fifth years are quite horrible. I don’t usually like to go to a place of honesty about how many years I suffered with grief. But I still remember when another bereaved mother told me that it took seven years for her to live without extreme agony.

That was absolutely true for me, as well.

I think the reason the second year and those that follow are so hard is that the reality has truly begun to sink in. The first year is all about coping with the horror. By now though, it has become apparent that the horror is permanent and goes on forever. That is quite impossible to grasp.

How do you cope with the hell? You just do the best you can, and the two words I often used to help myself were: hang on. Surrounding yourself with people who understand is important. Expressing your pain is also helpful and you do that very well.

I am sorry for the horror you are living with. I am sorry for anyone entering this vacation in hell.

I am waiting for you to write the post with the title “Moving into my new home.” You get to leave the horror and move to a place that is quite different from where you began. I do hear some hopefulness with your words, “I want a ticket home.”

Your ticket will come. One day, it will arrive. Of course, many people succumb to grief. But you write with such clarity, so I see you as someone who will make it. You’re never going back but you are going to somewhere that won’t be hell.

Trust me.

Recently, I wrote about a widower named Joe. Part 1 is on my post:

I’LL LIVE WITHIN MY BROKEN HEART.

JOE’S GRIEF JOURNAL – PART 2

I begin Part 2 with Joe’s reply to another widow’s message on an Internet grief form. His words are in brown:

I miss my husband’s company, his big frame, his hairy belly I would love to touch and the warmth his body put off in the bed; the kisses on the forehead as he headed to bed. Mostly, I miss the feeling of comfort when I could snuggle up to his back and feel safe.

I miss that big bushy beard and the way it felt between my fingers. The hugs that I thought would never end but improve even more as we got older. I miss his snoring. I also miss his rough cut up scarred hands so big yet so gentle.

January 12, 2011 Joe wrote:

I understand that longing. I don’t want to sound salacious, but sometimes I just miss my wife’s body, the feel of her and the physical closeness. I feel terribly touch deprived since she died. It hurts as bad as my heart some days.

April 7, 2011

I’ve lost my lifetime mate. I have been altered on a cellular level. I have a cancer that can’t be seen. It’s still there, however. It is just as real as the kind that one can see under a microscope. It’s the daily leaching of my heart energy, the daily uphill struggle to take the next step, the daily difficulty of functioning with the burden of being in a totally foreign condition where I’ve never been before: alone.

I am not in denial, I don’t believe in pretending to have a positive attitude. I believe in being honest with myself. That’s not easy all the time. I look forward to a time of feeling something other than sadness and loneliness and depression.

April 30, 2011

My doctor told me yesterday that I am living in a fantasy world, just because I said that I want my wife back. I know that I have to go on and live a new life without her. I just am not ready to do so.

People who haven’t been married and truly bonded just don’t understand that the feeling really is like a part of me has died, too. While some may say that’s not a healthy way to feel, all I can say is that it’s real for me.  I want to feel better, to feel peace again. I have periods of time when I seem to be doing pretty well. Then, out of nowhere something triggers me and I can barely function.   

I will never feel the old “normal” again and that tears me out of the frame some days.

June 13, 2011

I’ve been feeling a soft kind of sadness somewhere between my chest and throat. When I finally inquired of it, it is about thinking that if I had paid more attention to my wife’s symptoms I might have intervened months before she got so sick that she had a heart attack.

It’s a kind of self-flagellation thinking. It’s a part of the way I wish something were different even if I have to blame myself for how things turned out.

This is another teary phase that will last a few days and then pass. I’m not concerned. I’ve become accustomed to the ache in my sternum.

June 13, 2011

Dear Joe,

Your writing always touches me. Only a week ago you offered comfort to someone else on the forum who was suffering. I have often felt that by helping others with their grief, I have helped myself, too. Perhaps you didn’t even realize that as you offered comfort.

Your awareness and honesty as you write about your grief is very moving. Even though you might feel what you have said is self-flagellation, you are just processing whatever wishes you have about changing the outcome of your wife’s tragic death. I used to feel that way when my son died after heart surgery. I had to make a lot of decisions about which type of heart valve to use and even wondered if a different surgeon could have changed the outcome.

Expressing all of your feelings is helpful to heal. I love that you understand that with your last sentence knowing your tears would pass.

There’s only one thing I want to tell you, though. Don’t believe that you will always be accustomed to the ache in your sternum. I want you to know that someday the ache will fade, not completely, but enough to find joy in life again. Your expression of feeling through writing and love for your wife will heal you and others someday, too. I am certain of that.

Keep writing.

Judy

June 16, 2011

I’ve been saying my heart is broken for two and a half years.

Monday morning it quit on me. I had a heart attack. I was flown to a hospital and got a stent inserted in the offending artery. Doctors think I’ll be able to return to full activity in a few weeks. Man, that attack really hurt.

While my physical heart seems to be healing my metaphorical heart remains broken. I’m not stuck in grief all day as I once was, but I still drive into a hole in the world with regularity in which her absence is the essence of my whole experience.

I don’t think that will ever change. I chase her in my dreams, but she remains just out of reach. I miss her in this world but there are no changing facts. She’s dead.

One good thing came from my heart attack. During the helicopter ride, I was able to let go and allow myself to die. I always thought I would release myself to death given the chance but a part of my mind doubted I had the courage to do that. At least now I know I have the balls to die. I know I can release this life if given the chance.

Although this post is long, I want to share Joe’s story about how he met his wife, Beth. It is very moving and adds a lot to his words about grief:

  I turned fourteen in July of 1959. Fourteen was when puberty was just hitting its full stride in me, unlike today when kids seem to grow up so fast.   It was coat weather already in early October. The day was sunny, but winter was a breath away.

I was playing basketball with my friends.   We were all interested in girls and the topic of that mysterious gender dominated the conversation. None of us knew too much, weren’t experienced with girls beyond fumbling exploration, and didn’t have a clue about emotions. Although we knew there was a connection between our gonads and the opposite sex, we weren’t sure what the real deal was.

  I had kissed a girl once. She lived next door and I kissed her as she was taking out the garbage. I didn’t feel anything and wondered what the big deal was. I had touched the pubescent bumps on the chest of a girl named Becky, too. But that experience left me flat as well. Like I said, the opposite sex was a mystery.   Late that afternoon, I was with my friends when we all went to Eighth Street where this new girl lived.   It was dusk when we arrived at Beth’s house. My friend boldly knocked on the door and a girl came out on the stoop; a girl like none I’d ever seen before. She had black hair, dark horn rimmed glasses, a red sweater and charcoal slacks over penny loafers. I still remember feeling like I was going to swoon.  

Beth was a member of the Student Council, part of the Latin Club, active in our schools social calendar and a straight A student. He said everyone liked her, even the teachers. Seeing her, knowing she was what we referred to back then as a “good girl”, and knowing I was a cigarette smoking, school skipping, just skating by grade wise half-assed punk I couldn’t imagine there was anything reciprocal possible from this vision I was seeing. I just stared, dumb struck by her beauty and the sound of her voice.

She smiled easily, laughed quickly and was smart and articulate; just the kind of girl who was way out of my league.   I don’t know how long we stood there. Time seemed totally irrelevant. I was transfixed and at the same time broken-hearted. I was totally smitten by a girl way out of my reach. For the first time I sensed that the connection between my maleness and the female of the species was visceral and real. My heart ached with unnamed emotions and my pulse raced from an overload of hormones. I wanted to leap with joy and cry in agony because I felt like I was completely in love with the perfect girl who was absolutely and forever unattainable.

  When the talking was over, Beth had gone inside to her parents beckoning. I walked home, stopped at a small corner store and bought a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes, a spice pie and some Orange Crush soda. Between my hormones and the sugar and nicotine I was higher than a kite all the way to my house.   I barely slept that night. Every time I closed my eyes I saw that girl, the face and the clothes and the sound of her…I didn’t know what it all meant, but I knew I felt stuff inside of me that was entirely different from anything I’d ever felt before. I was swirling with confusion and hope and despair.   

The next day I went to school and as I stood at my locker, one of my friends came up to me.   ”You son-of-a-bitch,” he swore at me.   I was flummoxed. “What the hell did I do?” I asked, not understanding why my friend was angry with me.   He sighed. “Beth has your initials pinned to her sweater,” he said.  

I almost fainted. I suddenly knew what “weak in the knees” meant.   ”No she doesn’t,” I answered him disbelievingly. I thought he was pulling some kind of cruel joke, making fun of me because he could see that I was totally taken with the new girl.    “You better believe it,” he said and as soon as I had my books he led me down the hall to where Beth stood at her locker. When she turned to smile at me I could see “JB” in brass letters pinned to her chest.

  I think I may have lost consciousness for a moment. I don’t remember what happened next. All I know is what began in 1959 continued to 2008. We were bonded in a relationship that took us from pubescence to old age. That was the day it all began for us. I can still picture her on the steps of her house and I can still see what she wore. I can still remember the intensity of that moment, the moment when the mystery of the opposite sex deepened and my life really began in earnest. I loved her then beyond my ability to describe. I miss her today in a way I have no words to express.

And, I still have the brass initials that she wore and kept in her jewelry box all of these years.

April 4, 2012

It’s been over three years now and I am beginning to feel a sense of healing. When I remember my wife now the memory is warmer, filled with a sense of love that the pain overshadowed for a long time.

  I am fully in support of each person taking as long as it takes…not to be bullied into compromising their grief and feelings of despair. I am here to say that even if years pass, so too, eventually, does the terrible feelings of loss.   

I will never be the same person I was before my wife died, but I’m becoming okay with that. I am more than ever convinced that by feeling everything that arises in me I will eventually see that energy move and change into something else. Despair becomes melancholy, suicidal thoughts become manageable sadness, and loneliness becomes a strange contentedness with my own company.

May 23, 2012

My wife has been gone for three and one half years.

I am no longer suffering the way I was. Sure, I miss her still, think about her, but I’m no longer driven by my sadness.   Additionally, I had another piece to my agenda. I promised myself that no matter how lonely I got I would not bring someone into my life just to fill the empty space.

Honestly, that was as hard as following my feelings into their darkness.   I think I have held to my integrity, kept my promise to myself, and I have remained alone. Until a few weeks ago, that is. I met someone in quite innocent circumstances and to my surprise I actually felt something toward her. Confused, excited and acting like an adolescent, I approached her and confessed what I was feeling. She’s been a part of my life for a short while now and I like her presence a lot.

I’m glad I waited. Even if this new relationship falls apart I can still learn a lot about my ability to feel love again…I’ve no guilt about loving again.   I am the last person who thought I’d have any happiness in a relationship again. I didn’t believe the people who encouraged me.

I thought I was the poster boy for grief and being alone for the rest of my life.   I might still end up alone, but I’m aware I’m capable of feeling good stuff again. Thank you all who have been here with me during these last three years. It’s been a bitch, but maybe my life has turned a corner.

I hope someone will find encouragement in this writing.

Tags:child's death, compassionate friends, death, death after a long marriage, death of a child, death of a spouse, Friendship, grief, grief and optimism, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", grief Friendship, GRIEF RELATED, healing from grief, hope, hopelessness, inspiration, loss, loss of a husband, loss of a spouse, loss of a wife, love, lyric development, maintaining hope, Music, optimism, original songs, relationships, sadness, songwriting, widow, widower, writing
Posted in Grief Stories | Leave a Comment »

ALL I COULD FEEL WAS PAIN

January 6, 2013

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My post title comes from my lyrics to “So Real.” Those words describe what I felt waking up in the morning when I was deeply grieving. At this moment, I feel pain from across the world in South Africa.

I continue to share on my blog updates about a mother and her dying daughter.

The mother’s words are unsparing. Some deaths are quiet and peaceful. Her daughter’s death throes are not.

I am very sad for this loving and devoted mother. She has borne her daughter’s suffering from infancy on. Vicky’s life was filled with extreme torment due to her genetic disease and botched surgeries.

When I was involved with grief support groups, my heart broke for those who agonized while watching their child suffer before death. But my heart also broke for those who lost their child without any inkling ahead of time.

Is there really a “good death?” I often think that the suffering is far worse for those left behind than the person who dies.

God, when my time comes please grant me a good death.

Tersia wrote: “Lead me to the quiet waters of peace.” The post title below is a link to her blog.

Quiet waters of peace

Vic is very restless and agitated. Hospice says that at this stage they normally sedate the patients to make the passing easier. It would be a wonderful solution. Vic’s mind is mostly crystal clear and busier than ever. She continuously asks for photos to be taken, not necessarily of herself but of the boys, her friends and family. Last night I actually said to her, “Sweetie, you cannot take your cell phone to heaven with you.”

“Oh…” she said. “Why not? I think I will…” We laughed.

In her desperate attempts to cling to life she is trying to capture images on her phone…I do know that she is imbedding the images on her heart and she will take the images of her loved ones with her.

Last night was very difficult. The Pethidine makes her hyper. She fights sleep at night! Vic is scared she will close her eyes and never open them again.

Vic clung to Danie’s hands when he came to say goodnight. “Don’t leave me Daddy! Please don’t leave me!!! I am so scared!” Poor Danie was totally distraught!

“I am so tired,” Vic cries and seconds later she will try to get out of bed, so she can stay awake!

In the early hours of the morning, I was exhausted when I eventually got inpatient with Vic and told her to get into bed. She looked at me and said “I sometimes think you love me to death but other times I think you hate me…”

I know she is confused at times. I will not allow these words to haunt me later. She “sees” people. She babbles non-stop.

The weight is falling off her. Her trembling fingers are bony, almost skeleton like. Her eyes are sunken and reflect her pain and anguish. My poor baby is starving to death! She has absolutely no appetite. I don’t know when last she was hungry or able to eat.

Jared asked me today why I don’t sedate Vic. I explained to him that she refuses to be sedated. “I think it will be better for Mom to sleep all the time now, Oumie. It is too hard for her now and she is too scared…Ask Sr. Siza to give her some sedation…”

Oh Lord, how do I make this easier for my family? How do I spare the boys the pain of seeing their mother dying bit by bit? Do I send them to their father and have them hate me for it or do I subject them to the horror of what’s happening?

I wish Vic were in a hospital where the decisions weren’t mine. But I promised Vic “no more hospitals.” I will never go back on my word.

I am babbling.

“Sometimes the pain’s too strong to bear…and life gets so hard you just don’t care. You feel so alone you just sit and cry…every second you wish you could die.”

My comment to Tersia:

Dear Tersia,

I don’t even know what to write to you. You are in the depths of hell dealing with the ugliness of death. You carry the weight of the world upon your shoulders and now you can barely breathe. You are dying inside along with your daughter. You are taking on Vic’s pain; you are so worried about her sons and everyone else around her. It is too much! I wish I could think of something to help you. Let the hospice team help you now; relinquish being in charge and let go of taking on responsibility for what is happening. There is no control. Like a car that is about to crash – careening toward impact; you want to brace yourself. Tersia, take a deep breath and close your eyes. Peace is ahead.

Love, Judy

Their last Christmas together.

© 2013 by Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com. Tersia Burger and http://www.tersiaburger.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Tags:Caregiving, child's death, death, death of a child, dying, end of life, Friendship, grief, Grief and Bereavement, GRIEF RELATED, Hospice, impending death, inspiration, loss, loss of a child, mother daughter relationship, motherhood, palliative Care, terminal illness, terminally ill, writing
Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments »

THE MEMORIES ARE FOREVER

January 5, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

I do remember drawing this picture when I was a young girl. After my father died, I found a lot of my childhood artwork.

My post title is a line of lyrics from my song “Saying Goodbye,” which is completely appropriate for a mother and daughter soon to be separated by death.

I have never reblogged before and this is all new for me. But I am absolutely immersed in the real-life drama unfolding across the world.

As I wait for updates from Tersia on her blog, I continue to read by email dozens of blog comments written to her and Vicky. The outpouring of love and support takes my breath away.

I believe that I am drawn to all of this because it takes me outside of my own life. Right now, as I navigate the beginnings of separation and divorce, I am emotionally deadened. Zombieland is a familiar place for me; it allowed me to survive the death of my son two decades ago.

When I absorb other peoples’ pain, suddenly my own life becomes a haven for deep appreciation. My own circumstances seem trivial when I know what is happening for a mother and daughter in South Africa.

I wish I weren’t in Zombieland right now, but that is far preferable to the hell of grief. Tersia has been in anticipatory hell, but has not fully entered the horrific part that awaits her. What she is doing is clinging desperately to her daughter on a life raft as it approaches a thundering waterfall.

She does imagine the free-fall down the cascading cliff. But it is unimaginable. As she falls down into the thundering depths, she will find sustenance with the memory of clinging to the raft with her beloved daughter.

I pray her memories will soften the fall.

I share now streamlined excerpts from Tersia’s blog (with her permission). The blog titles are links back to Tersia’s blog.

A picture of Vicky and her sons when she was healthier.

A picture of Vicky with her sons when she was healthier.

Vicky with her two sons

Valley of Death

January 3, 2013

Today was a special day.

Yesterday Vic asked me to contact her minister. We all sat in Vic’s room whilst her minister read Psalm 23 and prayed for Vic who was walking through the “valley of death.” She prayed for Vic to find peace and acceptance of her situation.

It was so special.

For the first time in a long time, I was grateful for Vic’s lingering death. I am grateful that Jared had the opportunity to tell her that she is a legend and that she will always live on in so many people’s minds and hearts. That Stepping Stone Hospice is her legacy….

Vicky with her minister

Dying isn’t a science. There is no methodical process of coming to terms with death. The reality of what is busy happening to Vic is frightening and overwhelming. Earlier this week, when I gave one of the boys permission to go out, Vic said, “See Mommy, this is why I cannot die. I don’t know if you will be strict enough with the boys…”

Vic is desperately clinging to life. Vic is afraid of losing control of her bodily functions and becoming a burden to us. Vic is afraid of the act of dying.

The rest of us are scared because we want her suffering to end. We know we will experience terrible guilt afterwards… Even as I am typing I KNOW I will second-guess everything I did for Vic and every decision I ever made regarding her medical care. This is just the way it is…

Close friends visited today. The visit was exhausting for Vic and yet she did not want her friends to leave. Every time they said, “I must go…” Vic pouted and said, “Just stay a little longer…”

The weight is just falling off Vic. She managed to keep in a mug of diet “Cup of Soup”. Small mercies!

Lelani picked up the new morphine script from Dr. Sue. She made imprints of the boys’ hands for Vic… She massaged Vic’s little feet. Jon-Daniel and I swam and Jared went with his girlfriend and her parents to a day resort. Danie picked up the script from the pharmacy and washed his own motorbike. (First time in 15 years…. he always has it done!)

A normal day in the life of a family walking through the valley of death…I don’t want to forget any part of it.

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