dementia | MY JOURNEY'S INSIGHT

Posts Tagged ‘dementia’

YOU WERE THERE – PART 3

May 10, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

Click the blue link below to hear my song:

These blue links are to other stories about this song:

YOU WERE THERE – PART 1

YOU WERE THERE – PART 2

YOU WERE THERE

All my life, every day; you were there when I’d need you

all the time, I just knew; you’d be there

and you’d see me through

I’ve always known, I’m not alone . . .

You were so strong; you’d pick me up when I’d fall down

so I can see all the strength you gave me

Although I try, it’s hard to say goodbye

to someone who’s loved me all of my life

and when I’m sad, because you’re not there

I’ll still see your love everywhere

Everything that I did you’d applaud; you were right there watching me

as I grew, sharing joy and my heartache, too

I always knew, that I had you . . .

Now I’m so strong; I picked you up when you fell down

I’ve learned to see just how strong I could be

Although I try, it’s hard to say goodbye

to someone who’s loved me all of my life

and when I’m sad, because you’re not there

I’ll still see your love everywhere

When you are gone, I’ll say a prayer

and I’ll remember how you were there

This picture of my mother and I was taken outside the coop where I am now living.

This picture of my mother and I was taken in the patio of the coop where I am now living. I see my old bicycle in the background.

My father saved a lot of my childhood artwork. I remembered drawing many of these pictures.

This picture is of my mother when she was young. It looks a little strange due to a photographer’s poor retouching. But my mother still looks very beautiful.

I took many pictures of my mother and I holding hands two years ago. I wanted them so I could create a song cover for “You Were There.” Sadly, my mother has had a terrible nail fungus for two years and her hands do not look like this any more.

For several months I was having more and more problems with my eyes. My eyesight consisted of dancing and annoying areas of shadows, fog and blurriness. I was still able to read, work and drive; I was grateful for that. But then I experienced pain; I felt like there were feathers and webs moving inside both my eyes. It became hard for me to keep them open. I played tennis once a week, but was frustrated and felt a lump in my throat as I kept missing easy shots. Perhaps I would take a break from it; I hated the feeling of wanting to cry and smiling for friends.

Because my eyes bothered me so much, going outside in the sunlight and being with people was hard for me. It was usually easier in those situations to close my eyes. I felt best when I was alone in my apartment; I retreated into my own world. I heard music and it took me to beautiful places instead.

Over the past week, I had followed an eye drop regimen to treat what an optometrist labeled “dryness and inflammation.” In one more week, I had the “first available” appointment with my ophthalmologist. I was not optimistic that my problem would improve.

I was angry at my circumstances, while at the same time having extreme determination to accept my fate. But it was quite difficult.

I had a lot of illustrations to create. As I worked, I concentrated and wore powerful glasses to help me see details. I was relieved that I could still illustrate.

Late at night, I allowed myself to edit the vocals that I continued to record. Mother’s Day was right around the corner and I was facing the one-year anniversary of my father’s death. For those reasons, I concentrated on two songs; one was for my mother and the other for my father.

Memories of their love had me very connected to both songs. I found it beautiful how I was able to channel my emotions into singing.

Ever since my father died, I became closer to my two older brothers. Both of them lived nearby. It was comforting knowing that they cared about me.

But sadly, my two brothers were not communicating with each other. I was grateful to have both of them, but sad about their rift and my fractured family.

Every Thursday, I had lunch with my middle brother, my mother, my nephew and my mother’s companion, Miriam.

On Saturdays, I met my older brother and sister-in-law for lunch with Miriam and my mother. Sometimes, a grandchild joined us.

My brother, Howard, is on my left and Norman is on my right. This was taken 13 years ago at my 40th birthday party.

It was Thursday, and I dashed out the door to pick up Miriam and my mother at the nursing home. As I drove, I enjoyed listening to the new vocals that I had been concentrating on all week. I had only finished assembling revised vocal lines at 1 a.m. I wanted to make sure that I hadn’t made any mistakes putting them together when it was so late at night.

But everything sounded great. I always heard things that I wanted to fix, but had to let go of it. I didn’t have time now to fiddle with every song when I had so many to work on. Editing a vocal line probably required at least ten hours for me.

As I listened to my songs on the freeway, my heart was dancing. A few tears escaped and lightly streamed down my cheeks.

I realized that I was glad to be seeing my mother. I couldn’t believe that she was still on this earth. How lucky I was to be able to have lunch with her! I had looked for a Mother’s Day card to give her and my heart ached searching for a card that I knew she couldn’t read. But Miriam would read it aloud to her and display it on her nightstand at the nursing home.

Sadly, my mother’s dementia continued to advance. She became thinner because her memory of chewing and swallowing had faded. Pureed food became necessary, and gelatin had to be added to any liquids.

But she clearly lived for these lunch outings. On good days, she smiled broadly. However, most of time now she was very quiet. When she did try to talk, her words made no sense. Often during these lunches, everyone simply talked as if she wasn’t there. I wondered what she could process and if she was aware of what was going on around her.

Something was definitely keeping her going.

Miriam was waiting for me in the parking lot of the nursing home as I drove up. She pushed my mother’s wheelchair next to my car. I noticed how my mother’s body was in a contorted position and she looked skeletal. In order to get into my car, my mother needed to stand; it was a herculean effort for her.

After Miriam strapped her in, I leaned across my car so I could kiss my mother. There was no doubt that she knew it was me. Whenever I drew close, her eyes beamed with love.

It was clear that my mother was quite exhausted from getting into my car. She began to cough and her spasms were deep; she was rattling with congestion. I reminded myself to call the charge nurse later and check to see if she was receiving breathing treatments.

We arrived at our usual restaurant, and I took a seat. My brother and nephew were waiting for us. I glanced around to look for a certain waitress. In my purse, I had a CD for her. A few weeks earlier, I had told her about my music on my blog. The following week, she warmly hugged me and told me that she had enjoyed reading my stories and listening to my songs. I was touched.

It was always helpful for me to connect with other people by sharing. It gave me a sense of purpose and fueled my journey.

It was interesting though that my middle brother had never heard any of my music. I was hesitant to share a CD with him – I decided it was probably because I didn’t want to impose upon his time. I knew he considered my music and writing a “hobby.”

As I sat looking at my mother across from me, my thoughts drifted. I decided that this was probably my last Mother’s Day with her. It just didn’t seem possible for her to continue this way.

Our lunch went by quickly. My eyes hurt and I closed them whenever possible. I sang in my mind and it relaxed me. I was also preparing myself for the recording session I had in two hours.

Whenever I sang, I was uplifted. I loved connecting with my vocal cords; the sensation was amazing and completely new for me. Singing brought me joy; I even connected with god. Life was great because I had music.

My mother’s cough seemed worse than usual, and it was time to go. I said goodbye to the wonderful people working at the restaurant and hugged my brother and nephew.

Because of my mother’s fatigue, she was unable to stand up in order to get into my car. Miriam ended up lifting her out of her wheelchair like a rag doll. My mother grunted as she collapsed into the front seat.

On a whim, I asked Miriam to take a few pictures of my mother sitting next to me in my car. It didn’t concern me that I had not spent one iota of time on my appearance. I only wished I had thought of it earlier, before my mother became so tired.

As I drove back to the nursing home, I was excited to share my new vocal for “You Were There” with my mother and Miriam. I plugged my iPod into my car’s audio system. For over ten years, my old mini-van did not have a working radio. Now that I was leasing a new car, I loved listening to music and as a result, I really enjoyed driving.

The notes of “You Were There” began to fill my car and all of my sadness dissipated. My heart was bursting with joy.

I looked over at my mother and her eyes were closed. Then I turned around to look at Miriam in the backseat. Miriam was mouthing the words to my song. I could see her eyes were glistening in the sunlight.

We were at a stoplight and I felt compelled to lean close to my mother so I could whisper in her ear. I said, “This song is for you mom. Every word is absolutely true!” I was surprised when she lightly nodded.

A moment later, we arrived at the nursing home. Miriam jumped out and I popped the trunk so she could take out my mother’s portable wheelchair.

My song was almost over. It softly ended with violin strings playing the last note. I gently unbuckled my mother’s seatbelt and she opened her eyes.

“I loved seeing you for lunch, mom.” Then I asked her, “Did you like my song?”

Her lips softly moved. Her words were clear and soft. I was stunned. I felt waves of emotion sweep through me.

Miriam pushed my mother’s wheelchair through the gate and they disappeared.

Like sweet notes of wind chimes, what my mother had clearly spoken aloud continued to reverberate through my mind.

Over and over, I heard her whispered words.

“I like it. It’s beautiful.”

© 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:"sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, creativity, dementia, guitar, I picked you up, inspiration, loss, love for a mother, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, Mother's Day tribute, mother's illness, Mother's love, Music, original songs, singing, songwriting, tribute to my mother, You Were There
Posted in Uncategorized | 5 Comments »

I AM THE SANDWICH – PART 2

February 17, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

Seeing what I wrote three years ago reminds me that my former life was definitely a ‘hero sandwich.” My current life is less complicated and I am thankful that I have music and writing to soothe myself.

Below is a link to:

I AM THE SANDWICH – PART 1

My life completely turned around when I began my rediscovery of music and writing. Today, I received a message from WordPress congratulating me on the third anniversary of my blog. On my first blog anniversary, I was so enamored about my journey that I created a special post filled with pictures. Here is a link to it: ABOUT MY STORY

On this third year, I had completely forgotten about it!

I truly am a member of the sandwich generation. The year when both my parents lived with me was definitely the most challenging time I experienced as a sandwich. During that time seven years ago, my mother was ill and I also had three children that required a great deal of my attention.

At this moment, I am responsible for two teenagers. My father died eight months ago and my elderly mother is in a nursing home. There are constant challenges for me as I wade through divorce after 31 years of marriage. I am squeezed so much that occasionally it is unbearable.

I also realize that I have a different take on things. Perhaps it was because I experienced the death of my child that I have less fear to follow my convictions. I’m certain that the process of seeing my parents’ decline also brought me to a place of courage. It enabled me to end my marriage.

Two years ago, my mother fell and broke her hip; I was told she needed surgery to repair it. I refused to allow her to have that surgery for many reasons. A year earlier, I had listened to doctors who insisted that my mother have shoulder surgery after a fall. As a result of that surgery, my mother had complications and ended up on a respirator for two months. It was a miracle that she survived; she had an immune disorder and was very fragile. Her hands were always tied because she was an uncooperative patient.

Refusing hip repair surgery was a gut-wrenching decision to make. I was told she probably wouldn’t survive the weekend, and she was placed on hospice. I was very thankful that she was not in pain.

Well, not only did my mother survive, she was even able to walk again! Her hip fracture healed. Unfortunately, her dementia continued to advance and she can no longer converse. I am grateful she is comfortable; she smiles and recognizes people whom she loves.

My mother thrives because my brothers and I pay for her to have a companion at the nursing home where she is. Her companion’s name is Miriam. I have written about Miriam many times on my blog. She is very special to me.

“No Hospitalization”

After my mother recovered from her hip fracture, my father and I were in agreement about creating a “no hospitalization” order for both him and my mother. He was adamant that neither of them would ever suffer in a hospital again.

For my mother, it meant she would never again face the nightmare of restraints to prevent her from pulling out tubes. For my father, it gave him great relief. He was furious about the “so called” non-invasive procedures that had caused him agonizing pain; doctors had extended his life in a way he considered to be torture.

On the morning of my father’s 87th birthday last May, he was unable to be awakened. Only a week before, he actually told me that his birthday wish was to be dead. I followed my father’s instructions and did not allow his nursing home to transport him to a hospital.

I didn’t realize that my father’s wish was such an aberration. It was very clear that the nursing home preferred to send my father to a hospital to die.

My goal was to keep him as comfortable as possible in his bed at the nursing home until his death. It was a huge challenge because there was great resistance to providing him with adequate pain medication. I wondered why it had to be so difficult.

My father suffered a lot the year before his death.

My father suffered greatly before his death.

“My heart pounded as I waited”

I was shopping and loading my car up with groceries when Miriam called me. Her voice was filled with terror when she said, “Judy, the nursing home just called 911!”

I quickly hung up and told her I’d call her back. I immediately called the charge nurse at her facility and was placed on hold to wait for more information. Questions swirled through my mind – why hadn’t I been notified sooner? What had happened to my mother’s “no hospitalization” order? My heart pounded as I waited.

Only the day before, my mother and I had gone out to lunch and she seemed fine. As I waited, I pictured the charge nurse running to stop the paramedics from transporting my mom to a hospital.

It actually happened. The paramedics were instructed not to transport my mother just as they were getting ready to take her to an ambulance.

It turned out that my mother had a violent coughing spell. It caused her to vomit a small amount. Her vital signs dropped after that, although she was fine a few moments later. But the charge nurse was new; she had already called 911 because she panicked.

It turned out that my mother’s “no hospitalization” order was a surprise to many of the staff there.

I had no idea it was so rare. For me, it was a no-brainer. Hospitals were torture chambers for both my parents. Even my mother-in-law had begged me to help her get out of a hospital shortly before her death.

The charge nurse came back on the phone to reassure me that she had stopped the paramedics. I grilled her about why I hadn’t been notified of a problem sooner. I was upset and tried to understand, but it wasn’t easy.

I was still sitting in a parking lot with groceries in my car. I decided to drive to her facility. As I pulled out of the parking lot, Miriam sent me a message. She said the paramedics had left; my mother seemed fine and was sleeping.

I ended up driving home and wasn’t sure what I’d do after that. I was exhausted and had a lot of groceries to put away; all of the ice cream had already melted. In only a few seconds, I went from enjoying my day to feeling quite stressed.

This was a perfect story about my life as a sandwich. I attempted to use humor to dispel my aggravation because I was relieved that my mother was okay. Later in the day while I was in the shower, I received a voicemail message from the head nursing supervisor. She told me she was very sorry and it wouldn’t happen again.

My mother no longer has her hair colored; she is too agitated to allow it.

“The Next Day”

My story might have been over at this point. But it is not. The next day, I took my mother out to lunch again with Miriam. My mother looked fine and I celebrated that she was still alive and not in pain.

But Miriam needed a lot of reassurance from me. She encountered many opinions from the staff at the nursing home. She had no idea how to respond to what she had heard and was quite worried.

It upset me so much that I felt the need to write.

This is what “no hospitalization” means to me:

It means that I don’t want my mother to needlessly suffer. But her ailments can still be treated. It is not the same as a “do not treat” order.

It does not mean that I want my mother to die.

It does not mean that I believe her life is unimportant.

I simply don’t want her life extended in a way where she would suffer. Especially with dementia, there is no purpose for her to ever be intubated again. There is no hospitalization if she has a stroke or heart attack.

If she broke her arm, I would probably allow for treatment at a hospital. The nursing home would discuss this with me first. Currently, my mother receives monthly gamma-globulin infusions that extend her life.

When this happened, Miriam listened to a lot of ignorant statements from the nursing home staff. She told me they discussed the situation aloud in front of her.

Here was what she heard:

“If Shirley has a no hospitalization order, why does her daughter complain to us when her mother has mouth sores or red eyes?”

“If Shirley has a no hospitalization order, why does she receive gamma-globulin infusions? What is the point?”

“If Shirley has a no hospitalization order, why does her family provide a companion?

Thankfully, I have a blog where I can freely express myself.

I had courage when my mom broke her hip. Now I have courage to follow what I believe in. I am shocked that having this order is considered something rare and “outside the box.”

There are those who believe in spending countless dollars to extend the suffering of terminally ill patients. I am proud of my willingness to go against medical professionals who believe they know what is best for my mother. I am so sorry for elderly people who do not have an advocate!

I have chosen my path and even if no one at my mother’s nursing home understands my reasoning – I stand by it.

I love my mother and celebrate her quality of life.

This picture was taken the day after 911 was called.

© 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", Advocacy, Aging Parents, broken hip without surgery, Caregiving, dementia, elderly directives, end of life decision, father's illness, inspiration, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, no hospitalization order, nursing homes, refusing to go to a hospital
Posted in Hip fracture-no surgery | 5 Comments »

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
Posted in Hypnotherapy | 2 Comments »

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
Posted in Uncategorized | 3 Comments »

I WAS SO SAD

December 13, 2012

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

I share now something musical that represents my willingness to work on older love songs again. When I listen to the happy melody of a song I wrote when I was 19, my heart dances. I share below a new instrumental and updated arrangement for one of my favorite songs “You Are My Wings.” I plan to sing a new vocal for it soon. A big thank you to Steve de Mena for his excellent mix of George’s amazing arrangement.

Clicking the blue link below plays my song:

YOU ARE MY WINGS INSTRUMENTAL

“Songwriting saved me”

At this time in my life, there are few words to describe the euphoria in my soul when I am listening to my musical creations.

I’ve mentioned how I sometimes hear a voice in my mind that channels lyrics and stories for me. It grows louder and louder until I am compelled to listen. If it’s words, I must write them down. If it’s a melody, I’ll play my guitar or sing.

Creating a song is almost like a birth. It swells inside of me, until it breaks free. I see each and every one of my songs as a unique entity and like a child, each one has it’s own personality. Just as a baby grows, so do my songs. Sometimes I’ll arrange them in different ways, and then they are like multiple births!

All of my songs were seeds. It is at this beautiful time in my life that I am growing and developing them.

Recently, I wrote about how my grief was like a forest wildfire. Out of the blackened devastation, a new forest began to grow again. Then I mentioned my awareness that there were certain wildflowers that only grow as a result of a fire; that was my high school biology coming back to me.

When I was younger, I smiled continuously.

There was a reason that I wrote that. Originally, I thought that I was one of those flowers, but then I had an epiphany. My songs are those wildflowers!

It turned out that the grief that once wrecked my life, gave me a gift to access my heart in a very special way.

Grief allowed songs to blossom that might never have been born otherwise.

And believe it or not, now I’ve decided that this concept applies to my separation and divorce. I am grieving my marriage and former life. If a fire was my metaphor for grief, it made sense that I pictured fiery imagery to describe my current feelings. Recently, I’ve written about journeying through a burnt landscape and dealing with a fire-breathing dragon.

Therefore, the “fire of grief” is the fuel that allows me to compose.

My divine song creations inspire and heal me with their beauty. I eagerly share them because I love to help and inspire others.

Well, the final word is that my Previa is not worth fixing. It has been many years since I’ve had a new car. I know this sounds silly, but I am mourning the death of my minivan. It was the first and only new car I ever purchased in my life. I bought it the same year my daughter was born, and they’re both 19 years old. My Previa carries many memories for me and I plan to write more about it.

A painting of grapes I did at age 10.

A painting of grapes I did in my forties.

Unfortunately, last week I bit off most of my fingernails. It was not a good sign for me. I had been so proud of growing them when I first began healing. Before that, I was a nail-biter all of my life.

For such a long time, I was so sad. I carried the world upon my shoulders and did not ask for help. But I have changed a lot. I am leaning on friends and family. At this time in my life, I am fortunate to have my two older brothers looking out for me. My oldest brother is negotiating the best lease deal possible for me on a Honda Civic. My middle brother has lent me a car until I make a decision. My parents would be so proud of them!

I’ve continued attending hypnotherapy sessions. When I see my hypnotherapist Connie, I am always passionate and enthusiastic as I share with her my latest musical creations. Yet when I speak about other aspects of my life, sometimes I find myself weeping.

I have been frustrated how I began my journey feeling joyful and light, only to gain my weight back. The heaviness that eclipsed my joy actually began well over a year ago. It led up to gathering the courage to end my marriage. Connie was supportive, but could only do so much.

Hypnosis only works when a person wants to change. I have not felt ready to diet or exercise more, even though it would certainly help me if I did.

On Saturday morning, I began our recent session by telling Connie how my eyesight was really bothering me. Connie was always compassionate as she listened.

All of my other stressors were worse because my eyes always hurt and felt tired since my cataract surgeries. It was as if I were wearing uncomfortable contact lenses that I couldn’t remove. I had considered going back to see my ophthalmologist, but didn’t really see any solution. At my final appointment, I was told to just continue putting in artificial tears, and so far that hadn’t made any difference.

I also felt frustrated that my close-up vision was so poor. Glasses simply did not allow for the intricate details that my younger eyes were once able to see.

I continued with more self-pity. I am so human!

It was time for me to do “discovery work” while under hypnosis, which would allow me gather information from my subconscious. I was definitely ready to discover anything that would help me feel better.

I relaxed and settled into a soft reclining chair before our hypnosis began. The light from outside filtered through a window and illuminated the room. I loved examining her beautiful garden when I’d walk by, and now the flowers outside sparkled in the sunlight. Connie’s warmth usually brought me to tears; I missed my mother so much and it felt so nice to be cared about. She covered me with a soft blanket, and gently adjusted it. It was such a safe place for me to be. My eyes closed as I drifted off into a hypnotic trance.

Connie asked me to find a place that felt safe and comforting. As I had many times before, I imagined I was in a forest.

I loved hiking in forests when I was younger.

It easily popped into my mind, because only recently I had written about how my life was like a beautiful forest. But then it had burned to the ground many years ago.

It turned out that fire was my metaphor for grief.

My forest grew back and I had deep appreciation for the new growth. I arose out of the ashes and pictured myself as a flower that only bloomed because of a raging fire. It gave me strength and purpose.

Then I heard Connie’s voice and she gently asked me to describe my surroundings. I tried to picture it, but could not. Even though I concentrated, I still drew a blank. Where was I?

It was confusing to me that I wasn’t able to describe where I was. After a moment, I looked around and said to her, “Okay, I am not in a forest anymore!”

Suddenly, it was amazing how the imagery became vivid. I began to describe my vision.

I told her I was in a desert.

This painting cropped from a salad package illustration of mine, reminded me of my love for mountains and shadows.

As a child, I would stare outside the window for hours as we drove on a family vacation to desert destinations. I loved looking at the colors of the desert. The warm creases of the sculpted mountains with contrasting blue shadows always intrigued me; I held the images in my mind so I could paint them later on.

I liked the idea that I was in new surroundings. I had started with a forest and ended up somewhere else. That was a parallel to my life. A forest is packed with growth and a desert is sparse; hence I had definitely downsized.

It occurred to me that there was no longer evidence of a fire, either.

Even though a desert landscape was often barren, I told Connie how I always found deserts to be beautiful. Deserts held amazing vistas in every direction I looked. And the colors of the sky were always breathtaking.

As I described my vision, I noticed that I was appreciating the distance. I was looking toward the mountains, instead of the small footpath in front of me. I said, “I am not looking closely at anything. I feel more alive looking toward the horizon; it is so expansive and beautiful.”

I was able to make a meaningful connection, because there was a way that I could apply this to my life.

I said carefully, “Perhaps it is time for me to stop focusing so closely at everything. If I did that in this desert, I would be looking at the spiny plants and sand, instead of appreciating the entire landscape.”

I continued. “When I was in the forest, I marveled at the details. I did not look too far ahead. As a young child, I was lost once in a forest. I kept looking down and didn’t keep track of where I was going. Now that I’m older, I feel like I could appreciate a sweeping landscape because that vision allows me to contemplate a bigger picture. Tiny details take me away from that.”

My thoughts were still thinking about ways to stop focusing on everything so closely, when it was time for me to awaken from hypnosis. Connie counted slowly to ten and instructed me to awaken.

A crayon rendition I made as a young child of a beautiful desert.I reminded how I loved reptiles.

A crayon rendition I made as a young child of a beautiful desert.
It reminds me how I loved reptiles.

Our session yielded tremendous clarity for me. Not looking too closely, was completely relevant to my current situation following cataract surgery. I decided my disappointment with my eyesight could be reversed if I appreciated the excellent acuity I now had for distance instead.

Also, the problems related to my separation and divorce were fairly temporary. If I was able to look farther ahead, rather than focusing on all the smaller issues, I was certain I’d feel better.

It was a few days after that hypnotherapy session, when I realized how much that session really helped me. I share some anecdotes about my daily life.

On Monday, I had a consultation with a cardiologist to go over the results from my holter monitor. While waiting to be seen, I stared at an illustration of a heart that was on the wall. I had created several illustrations of hearts early in my art career. The poster had the word “Heart” in large letters. I love word plays and began to notice all the applicable words in my life that fit into the word heart. I found: art, hear, ear, and he. The word “he” didn’t really fit in, so with irony, I tossed it from my list.

My cardiologist wore a turban and was a handsome young man. He made comfortable eye contact with me, and carefully listened as I described my palpitations to him. When I finished, he calmly told me he was not concerned about my extra heartbeats and medication usually made this type of condition worse.

He asked me about my level of exercise. I said I planned to go back to playing tennis soon. The fact that I played tennis really impressed him and as a result, he said a stress test was unnecessary.

But then as I was leaving, he told me he wanted to order an ultrasound echocardiogram in order to completely reassure me. I would get an appointment for that soon.

The next day, I returned to the tennis court where I used to play a weekly doubles game before my move and cataract surgeries. It had been at least two months since I’d seen my usual gang of women. Since I’d moved, it was no longer close by.

I didn’t mind the drive though, because it was an opportunity for me to sing aloud in my car for half an hour. I missed singing so much and especially my voice teacher, Peaches Chrenko. A month ago, Peaches had moved out-of-state. I knew Peaches would be proud to know I was practicing, since it was something I rarely did. As I drove, I didn’t care one bit if anyone saw what I was doing.

I parked near the tennis court, and was still singing as I grabbed my tennis bag. As I walked toward the court, I grinned with the memory of how the cardiologist laughed when I told him I smashed tennis balls. Everyone on the court was afraid of me!

My friend, Vera, who owned the tennis court, chatted with me during our warm up. She asked me about my eye surgery, and I mentioned how my eyes always felt dry and tired.

But it was interesting how they hurt less since my hypnotherapy session. That morning, I wore a new contact lens in one eye. Its purpose was to eliminate my mono vision and help me see the tennis ball better. I wasn’t sure if I was wearing it. I assumed it would hurt, because the day I was fitted with it, my eye really bothered me even more.

It turned out that many of my assumptions were wrong. I had also anticipated that I wouldn’t play well. I told myself that I was so out of shape, the other woman would wish they had a better player in the game.

I hit many good shots during that game, and ended up winning two sets out of three.

As I drove home, I was singing again. But this time it was with more joy.

Vera’s words kept replaying. She said to me, “Judy, my mother had cataract surgery and went back so many times complaining about how her eyes bothered her. And you know what? Her pain finally went away. It took about eight months and it’s only been two months for you. Don’t worry, it will get better!”

It never occurred to me to allow myself to consider that my eyes would heal. I assumed I would suffer for the rest of my life. That was just like grief, too!

How meaningful it was for me to understand the benefits of looking farther ahead. It wasn’t about not living in the present versus the future. It was about losing perspective and letting details upset my balance.

I came home just in time. My mother was visiting for lunch with her caregiver/companion Miriam.

Miriam and I caught up on things. Miriam also told me how much she loved my coop/apartment. She was suffering in her own marriage and wistfully looked at my bedroom. My bed had a new brightly colored comforter. I gave myself permission to buy it.

I had not purchased a new comforter in a long time. My old bedspread before it was at least fifteen years old.

“I love those colors,” Miriam said. She continued and added, “Judy, I dream about having a bedroom like this, it’s just perfect.”

I knew what she meant. It was one of the best parts of my new life.

After our lunch, I played my new song aloud for my mother and Miriam. The new arrangement was gorgeous and I put my heart into singing it. It was good practice because soon I planned to record a vocal for it.

My mother was pleasant and sweetly glowed with a radiant smile the entire time I was with her. I let myself bathe in her smile. I did not focus upon her dementia and the sad fact that she could not converse with me anymore.

For just a moment, I imagined I was looking into the distance.

I took a deep breath and savored her presence because I knew that one day I’d miss her smile very much.

A picture of the way I want to remember my mother

This picture is the way I want to remember my mother.

After Miriam and my mother left, I planned to rest. I went to check my email first.

There were so many wonderful surprises there.

It turned out that Tersia decided to dedicate a post with the lyrics to my song “Set You Free.” Many people commented about it, too. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Someone even complimented me on my singing voice.

My life was so meaningful right now. But I felt so much sorrow for Tersia. There were no words.

Below is Tersia’s post with my song:

Clicking the blue title below, is a link to Tersia’s blog:

SET YOU FREE

By tersiaburger

Below, I am sharing some messages from an Internet grief forum:

On Dec 10, 2012, Judy wrote:

Dear Sammi, Thank you so much for commenting about my story. So often I feel like I am irritating. I don’t want to upset people who are suffering with their loss and can’t handle hearing about hope.

I remember when I was suffering with my child’s death, I was always angry. I didn’t want someone telling me that time would heal. I just didn’t believe it and certainly felt like my pain was too horrible to overcome. Also, I felt like I loved my child more than anyone could.

That’s why I continue to share. I share how sad I was, because it reminds me of my progress. The torment of grief is horrific, but you will emerge. It is just a different life.

Love, Judy

From: Sammi

Date: December 10, 2012

Subject: [grief support]

Judy I do not find you irritating. I view you as someone who knows what I am going through. I appreciate your thoughts and experiences. I am having a very hard time right now. I just went through Thanksgiving, and now the Christmas holidays then New Years. There are days that all I do is cry in spurts all day.

I was touched when I looked at your beautiful baby boy’s picture. He jumped off the computer with the brilliance if his smile. My son was much older, but still too young. He also was always smiling. I miss that with every beat of my heart.

Thank you Judy for sharing your journey. I appreciate it.

From: Sheryl

Date: December 10, 2012

Subject: [grief support]

Judy, I am always moved and learn from your posts. I just don’t write on here often so please don’t feel like you are irritating us. There are probably lots of people like me who are soaking it in quietly.

I like reading what you write to help me when I talk to others who have experienced a loss. Keep writing and let us know when your book is published!

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2012. 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", Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, creativity, Daily Life, death, death of a child, dementia, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, loss, lovesong, lyric development, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, Ordinary Life, original songs, separation, singing, songwriting, writing
Posted in Healing and Hope | 3 Comments »

WHEN I FIND PEACEFULNESS

November 2, 2012

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

This old photo from my skinny days as a teenager reminds me that I’m still willing to dive into things. I remember how standing on that diving board was scary, but I still jumped!

“I withdraw and suddenly I feel you surround me”

There was no question that I had withdrawn. I didn’t feel like writing, because I couldn’t write anything positive or share my true feelings. I stopped singing. When I occasionally sang and played my guitar, my children told me it disturbed them.

Sometimes late at night, my guitar beckoned me. I softly fingerpicked beautiful notes and experimented, searching to find a progression that would lead me to musical heaven. I kept playing the same few chords over and over. It was the beginning of a new song, but it didn’t progress.

I calmly went through my third eye surgery. On Monday, the cortical chip was removed. This time, I had little memory of the surgery. At my prior cataract surgery, I chose to have zero anesthesia and suffered with a massive headache when I left. My surgeon remembered and told me he wouldn’t allow that again. As I left the hospital he said, “I gave you enough medication to take down a horse.” I stumbled home clutching Miriam’s arm. Miriam was my mother’s companion and I could always count on her. She was like a sister now.

When I came home after my eye procedure, I was so touched to receive an edible fruit basket from the wonderful moms in my “Special Mom’s group.”

Within only a day, I could tell that my eye was much better. For a week, I had a headache and It felt as if my eye was being squeezed. The surgeon told me that my cornea was swollen due to the little piece of cataract (cortical chip) that was left behind. He felt it best not to wait to see if it would be absorbed.

The day after the removal, when I saw my surgeon he told me that all swelling was gone. I could finally move forward after three eye surgeries.

If I turn around from the desk where my computer is, this is what the inside of my coop looks like behind me.

I directed most of my energy toward solving issues related to “my new abode.” There were many things I needed to do and I tackled one thing at a time. It was very important for me to prepare myself for a possible art assignment.

I was determined to somehow get back to finishing my audio book; I was so close to finalizing it! Most of all, I missed working on new song vocals and arrangements. Because music was an IV for my soul, I felt myself withering inside.

The day after my surgery was over, I called George to finish working on the arrangement for my song “Retreat.”

This post carries titles and subtitles from my song “Retreat.” I recently updated my instrumental arrangement for that song and it can be heard by clicking the blue link below.

This link is for the original story about my song, as well as the vocal arrangement:

#274 RETREAT – PART 2

I eat now at the very same table in the exact room where this picture was taken. I definitely feel my parents’ love.

I hated feeling negative and unhealthy. My eating was not under control. I wasn’t allowed to swim or play tennis until all my eye surgeries were over. Although I missed my weekly tennis games, I truly did not feel like exercising or even seeing friends.

During my recent eye procedure, a nurse told me that my irregular heartbeat had worsened since my prior surgery. I believed her. Despite my attempts to calm myself, the pounding returned. It plagued me most at night and in the early morning. The sensation was so uncomfortable that I felt even more anxious.

My primary doctor gave me a referral to a cardiologist; the soonest appointment was in two weeks. I was determined not to allow stress to damage my health. What really aggravated me was that obviously I wasn’t able to prevent it.

Most of my stress related to my pain about the dragon.

This picture is of my mother on the same walkway where I’ve taken many pictures at my old coop.

“I long for you and miss you so”

Last week, my mother visited the coop. It was only a few days after I unpacked, and my mother’s companion, Miriam, brought her over for lunch.

Two years ago, my mother cried if I mentioned taking her back to see her former house. She had lived there from the time it was built in 1960 until she moved in with me in 2008. Both my parents lived with me for a year until they entered assisted living. When I was growing up, my mother’s life revolved around her husband and children. She took great pride in her garden and was an avid cook. Every day, she read the newspaper and certain comics. I did the same and together we clipped the same coupons to take on our weekly shopping outings.

I certainly understood why my mother might cry to be reminded of her former independent life. But that was when she still had the awareness that she had deteriorated. Now her dementia had progressed to the point where she was too childlike to even mourn her former life. She wore a diaper and many lunches were cut short because of toileting issues.

Despite that, I did wonder how she would feel. My intuition told me she wouldn’t be sad. I even took comfort in knowing that she wouldn’t understand why I had moved into the coop. Her dementia had even spared her from any emotional turmoil related to my divorce.

Miriam called me to say she was parking. Our plan was that together we would lift my mother and her wheelchair up the three steps into my patio. As Miriam approached, I could see my mother was beaming. Her excitement was apparent and she was definitely aware of her surroundings.

As soon as we were inside I said, “Mom, can you believe this place is clean now? Dad never let me clean it out while he was still alive!”

I always tried to remind my mother that my father was gone. She often mentioned him and did not seem to grasp that he had died. I never knew what she understood, but I spoke to her respectfully and imagined she could grasp a shred of conversation.

The day my mother visited, so did my dearest friend and former housekeeper, Rosa. For many years, Rosa told me she was so worried about how I would deal with losing my mother – she knew that I was very close to my mom. In this picture, Rosa is so happy that my mother recognized her. On the table, are many of the photographs I’ve shared on my blog.

My absolute favorite moment was when I pushed her wheelchair into farthest back bedroom. That room was my former bedroom until I moved out when I got married. For the last three decades, it was called the junk room. My father eventually locked it and did not allow anyone to open the door.

I took a picture of my mother and it captured the moment. Her mouth gaped open with surprise, bordering on shock. Now the room was no longer filled from floor to ceiling with junk; it had polished hardwood floors and new paint. It was definitely not a junk room anymore and had become my teenage daughter’s room.

My mother did not stop smiling for the entire visit.

I wanted to celebrate my mother’s visit. I wished I were able to relax and celebrate, but as soon as she and Miriam left I went back to the business of problem solving and sorting through my “to do” lists.

Below I am sharing more old photos. These photos are of my parents while on their honeymoon in Yosemite. What made them even more special were the sweet comments they both wrote on the back of many of the photos.

This is the cover to a booklet of honeymoon photos of my parents. The writing on the right side says, “After I wrote the remarks; Lee went through and added.” Reading their adorable repartee gave me such a smile.

It’s hard to imagine my mother complaining of a bad hair day!

In this picture, my father is feeding a deer. My mother wrote on another similar picture, “I caught the dear.”

My mother wrote those exact words above, but this is my father’s writing below hers. His joke was that he was talking about my mother instead of the bear.

My middle brother said to me the other day, “Jude, I’m so glad you like living at the coop. I couldn’t imagine going back to live there. I know we grew up there, but it’s really old and there isn’t much space. It’s not a great area, either.”

Of course, he was right about it being old and not very large. I had no illusions that it would be easy to move into my former childhood home. I was going to write a detailed “Good/Bad List,” but decided it would be boring to read. I am also tired of all the lists I have been dealing with lately.

I could honestly write that the most difficult adjustment for me has been taking a shower. There is very little room to move in comparison to the shower at my former house where I could actually step out of the water. The reason that’s noticeable for me is because sometimes the water becomes ice cold or burning hot in the coop. I am wedged into a tiny space where I cannot escape and screaming is not good for my singing voice. I am sympathetic to my childrens’ complaints about it, but have told them that we share the water in this building with other units; there isn’t much that can be done about it!

In this picture, my mom is standing at the same window where my computer faces right now.

THE DRAGON

This was written ten weeks ago:

I hated the dragon and wanted to escape. There was no mistaking his entry because it always caused me pain. The creature roared and fire shot from his nostrils. The interior of the home where I lived was filled with tinder. With the dragon’s arrival, embers burned everywhere and I choked from the thick haze of smoke. I put out the smoldering areas to prevent fire from engulfing everything I had. The realization came that it was important to get out before the flames consumed me.

I was not afraid of the dragon; I just avoided him whenever possible. I knew he was wounded and in tremendous pain. Although I was sympathetic, I wished I never saw him again. Tears squeezed my eyes shut, which was a relief because I did not want to see so much pain.

Ten weeks later:

I was grateful I had finally escaped and fled to new and peaceful surroundings. But still there were certain times when I returned to his lair. Each and every time was draining and stressful. The dragon was even more furious and blamed me for all the ashes.

A long time ago, things were different before my lover became a dragon. When he began to change, I accepted and understood. I did not believe I deserved anything else and felt safe because the dragon was tame. He protected me, but my loneliness and isolation became oppressive over time.

I had found peacefulness, but often felt his presence in my new surroundings. Unfortunately, I brought much of my armor with me. It was difficult to free myself because I was now a prisoner to my sadness.

I cried because although he had become a dragon to me, I knew he still had a heart beating inside. It was horrible for me to see his wounds. He was bleeding, even though he pretended he was fine.

But then I realized that I was bleeding and pretending I was fine.

RETREAT

Retreat is where I go when I am sad

All my tears let me know

I long for you and miss you so

Retreat is my escape from the world

I withdraw and suddenly

I feel you surround me

At those times, I’d wish you were near

and then, you’d appear

but you were only in my mind

only in my mind

you were only in my mind

Retreat is how a song

can soothe my soul

A melody fills my heart

reminding me we’re not apart

Retreat is when I find peacefulness

My music has begun

to be my true companion

At those times, I’d wish you were near

and then, you’d appear

but you were only in my mind

only in my mind

you were only in my mind

only in my mind

Tags:Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, coping with divorce, creativity, dementia, divorce, divorce after long marriage, divorce and separation, Friendship, gray divorce, impending divorce, inspiration, loss, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, moving with divorce, Music, Ordinary Life, original songs, separation, singing, songwriting, writing
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I’M READY TO LIVE ON MY OWN

October 15, 2012

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

Today, my older brother and his wife helped me move most of my belongings into the coop apartment where I plan to officially live starting in another week.

I am standing on that same walkway in this picture from when I was 8 years old.

“The tunnel”

The light at the opening to my tunnel was blinding me. I had closed my eyes because they hurt. I finally stopped crying and gently wiped away my tears.

I was lying on the ground. I kept repeating three words over and over again. They were: temporary, adjust and accept.

I had cried over my frustration of not being able to move. But then I realized that I had stopped moving not because I was stuck, but because it was simply not time for me to exit.

I had sprinted to the opening so rapidly, far too soon. This was the time to rest and gather my strength. I understood now.

I felt empty because the music that had accompanied me had stopped; it was so quiet. I listened carefully for my inner voice, but it was also silent. As I rested, I began to feel stronger. I decided that I didn’t need to hear anything. I maintained faith that the silence would end soon.

One day, my world would be filled with more songs than I could ever imagine. Gorgeous new melodies would accompany me through my life.

I love the memories a photo can inspire. I know as I looked over that wall at the Grand Canyon – I was imagining I could fly over it. I can’t believe I ever had hair long enough for pigtails!

“You deserve to be happy”

It was Saturday, the day before my birthday and three days since my eye surgery. For several days I didn’t feel well. The queasiness finally subsided, but I was disappointed that I had lost control of my eating once my appetite returned.

I hated the way my eye felt. There was a funny sensation near my lower eyelid. It was as if my eye had a loose piece of jello in it. The blurry area caused me to keep my eye half-closed. I wished I knew how long it would take for the cortical chip to be absorbed. I was grateful that the dimness was starting to lift, but the lump was definitely annoying.

My next appointment with the surgeon wasn’t for another week. Staying positive was a huge challenge for me, and I didn’t feel like smiling much.

I looked in the mirror and could see I wasn’t at my best. My hair was wildly sticking out and my gray roots were annoying. How I hated dealing with those roots every three weeks! I just told myself that I had to let go of caring about my appearance during this trying time in my life.

In the morning, I was glad I had an appointment with my hypnotherapist, Connie. Before I drove, I put on dark glasses like the ones my aunt used to always wear.

Connie had remembered my birthday. My smile returned when I read her sweet birthday card. It had a picture of a bird soaring on the front. She wrote a personal message to me and my favorite line was, “You deserve to be happy.” I certainly agreed with that!

I didn’t know what Connie could help me with; I had so many things going on in my life.

I told Connie how much I had missed having voice lessons with Peaches for the last three weeks. Much of the time during those lessons, Peaches and I laughed hysterically and that laughter sustained my soul. I realized how much I needed it after going three weeks without it. Peaches had cancelled our lessons and didn’t give me a reason, so I was concerned. But she finally called me and we had a lesson in the afternoon. When I saw her, I hoped to find out what was going on.

I was not allowed to lift anything for two weeks after my eye surgery. Most of the time, I was working on audio editing for my book. It was tedious.

My ear was so critical when listening to audio stories and music that I wasn’t enjoying listening anymore. No wonder the joyful feeling had stopped. I felt empty.

There were no major revelations for me during hypnosis. I felt stressed and forced myself to let go so I could escape into the calmness and peace. As I drifted off, I thought about what it meant to let go.

Letting go was something I was living with every moment of my day.

I was letting go of possessions I didn’t need, letting go of my old lifestyle and routine, letting go of worrying about my husband’s needs, letting go of missing my parents, letting go of my former eyesight, letting go of memories that brought me sadness – it was an unrelenting and constant process for me.

However, all that “letting go” did not allow anything to enter in.

That was why I was empty!

My mother is posing at the entrance to the carport of the coop. I love her outfit.

“Sharing my new life”

A few moments after I came home, my mother and her companion, Miriam, joined me for lunch. Miriam offered to color my hair for me, which I appreciated very much. As she dabbed hair color over my gray roots, we caught up on things. My mother sat next to me in her wheelchair and I was grateful to see her.

My mother certainly loved me and I was soaked up her radiant smile as she examined my face. Before my hair color was even applied, she said, “Your hair looks beautiful.” I wanted to cry when she said that!

I wasn’t sure whether my mother comprehended what was going on in my life. She would often say words that made no sense and I usually nodded and pretended I understood. She didn’t seem to notice that there were boxes everywhere.

When my parents lived with me, I knew it was sad for them to be reminded of their former life. My father hardly maintained the coop apartment, and he would sort through a tiny box for hours, oblivious to being surrounded by mountains of trash.

I had mentioned to my mother on a few occasions that we could go back to the coop and take things she might want. There were clothes and many items she had left there after she became ill. I thought perhaps she missed the old neighborhood where she had lived for so many years.

But her eyes became clouded and sad when I suggested it. It was clear that she did not want to think about how much her life had changed.

My mother could not go back.

The apartment remained practically untouched through the five years while my parents lived with me to the time they both entered skilled nursing. A granddaughter lived there for a few years, and she lived amidst the clutter. My father was adamant that she not move a single thing.

Whenever I visited that cluttered coop, it was as if time had been frozen. Since my father hated to throw anything away, the dining room table was cluttered with items of daily life: coins, stamps, receipts, and endless papers. I could easily picture my mother cooking in the kitchen. All of her knickknacks and recipes were still on the counter.

In a week, I would be sleeping in my parents’ bed, in their old bedroom.

I wondered now how it would be for my mother to see her old apartment. It had taken ten dumpsters to dispose of my father’s trash due to his hoarding obsession. It now had refinished hardwood floors, which I had discovered under the old carpet a few weeks earlier. She would hardly recognize it.

But she would certainly remember the dining room with the black and white linoleum tiles I had grown up with.

I found this picture of our family dog, Teddy. It displays the black and white floor perfectly!

In a few weeks after I was situated, I planned to invite Miriam and my mother over. My mother’s dementia had advanced considerably this past year, and I wondered if seeing the old apartment would still make her sad.

I hoped I wasn’t being selfish and that she would be ok seeing it. The truth was that I really wanted to share my new life with her.

This photo is from a Super 8 movie. I was able to take a snapshot when it was converted to a DVD. My mother is holding me as an infant after coming home from the hospital. My older brother, Norm, is behind her.

“Bye, bye Peaches”

I went to my voice lesson and was overflowing with things to share with Peaches. I had finished recording a vocal for my newest song “My Dream,” and was very pleased with it. I had two other songs I was working on that required more vocal takes and I wanted her input.

There wasn’t enough time to even do music with all the catching up between us. I anticipated that Peaches was going to give me some heavy news.

Peaches told me she was leaving the area and starting a new life also. Once again, it was interesting for me how many parallels our lives had. She was going through a door into a new life just as I was.

I was happy and hopeful that she would have a better life. But at the same time, I was having trouble accepting that I wouldn’t be working with her in the same way anymore.

This required more letting go for me.

I left our lesson and my emptiness became larger.

The book I found in my nightstand that my mother gave me in 1987.

“Remembering my mother”

It was evening now. I wasn’t sure what to do. My eye was bothering me and I didn’t want to do any more work on my computer.

I needed to spend more time packing, but couldn’t to anything that required exertion. Other than my bedroom dresser and a few kitchen areas, there really wasn’t much left for me to do.

Then I remembered my nightstand. It was filled with many books, and it had been a long time since I’d read anything. With my poor eyesight and preference for music, I wondered if I would read again.

But many of those books were special, and I planned to save them anyway. WIth a box nearby, I opened my nightstand and emptied the books onto the floor. There were many I could discard, and I considered that I might read some of those special books again. With my new life and a quiet bedroom, it was intriguing to consider.

There was a tiny book. I opened it and gasped. There was an inscription on it from my mother to me and it was for my birthday. This was no coincidence. There was definitely a reason for me to find this book.

I began to read it. I heard my mother’s voice and felt my father beside me. My emptiness began to fill up with their love.

My mother had given me the book in 1987, which was the year Jason was born. She must have known I needed courage to face dealing with his heart defect. I wondered if she could have imagined that I would be reading this book so many years later while going through a divorce.

Every year on my birthday, she would admonish me weeks ahead of time that it was very important for us to go shopping so she could get me something special for my birthday. The year before, I was sad when I thought of that, so I went out and bought some new earrings for myself.

In my mind, I pretended that she had given them to me.

As I read the book and tears streamed down my cheeks, I decided she had given me the best birthday present ever this year.

A picture of me with Norm when we were younger. He is seven years older than I am.

“My actual birthday”

Every week, my brother and his wife joined me, my mom and Miriam for lunch at a restaurant nearby to my mother’s nursing facility. Before my father died, he had loved seeing us and now it was a special ritual with my mother. For many years, I saw my brother, Norm, and his wife, Jo, only a few times a year – even though we lived in the same city. Now I was seeing them weekly and we had also become much closer with my father’s death.

My brother listened every week to my travails. Having gone through a divorce many years before, he kept telling me from experience that I needed to get out of my home as quickly as possible. He insisted that sleeping in the same bedroom with my husband was toxic.

Another picture from a family vacation. My other brother, Howard, is on the left side.

The week before he said to me, “How about on your birthday? Jo and I can get you moved in and we can do it in one day. We will help get you there!”

I accepted their offer. My plan was to use professional movers a week later. They would bring over the heavier pieces of furniture, my teenagers’ beds and the refrigerator.

It was Sunday. Norm and Jo first took me to lunch to celebrate my birthday, and my youngest son joined us. My son decided on his own that he wanted to come along and help.

After our lunch it was time to get to work.

My oldest son had already moved many boxes for me a few days before my eye surgery. My entire art studio was there, waiting for me to unpack it, but I had no idea where I would put everything. The black and white dining room floor was covered with boxes.

I was not allowed to lift anything, and I sprinted after my brother and pointed to the boxes and items we would take with us. Their car filled up quickly with my clothes and because my van had plenty of room, I decided to bring additional boxes from my closet. I could not discard any of those items even if I seldom looked at them. There was a box of seashells and then there was a box that held items related to Jason. I could put those items in the storage area near my parking space at the coop.

I drove my minivan and Norm and Jo drove their car. We parked in the carport and they began unloading the boxes and clothes.

I told my youngest son to bring certain boxes over to the storage unit. He hesitated and told me he didn’t want to carry one of the boxes. He said, “Mom, it’s just too sad for me to carry the box that is about Jason.”

I let him know I understood. He asked me what was inside, and I told him it was filled with items that held memories of Jason. He paused and reconsidered; then he went to pick it up. I lifted the lid and showed him Jason’s lunch box, tiny underwear, and ceramic hand print. My son was a large boy of 15 and he marveled at how small Jason was.

He stood up and wrapped his arms around me to give me a big hug.

In the upper right corner it says, “Fix ding on the wall.” My son accidentally marked the new paint on his wall while trying to move his game chair around. His video game system is his obsession and he’s excited to figure out where to put it.

“I was still able to smile after all”

It had been a long day, even though I hadn’t lifted anything! I was too tired to have them help me unpack any boxes. For some reason, the weather had become hot again. We all collapsed.

All four of us sat in the dining room. I was so appreciative of what Norm and Jo had done for me. My brother and I reminisced about the life we had once lived in that coop. Jo became teary and mentioned that it felt unbelievable not to see my parents living there anymore.

My youngest son was enthused about his new room. He asked me for a pen and paper so he could draw a design for his room. When I saw his drawing, I was impressed and asked him if I could share it on my blog. I was surprised when he said I could.

As we were leaving, my son took a few pictures for me. I decided that turning 53 wasn’t so bad.

I was still able to smile after all.

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Tags:Aging Parents, Caregiving, coping with divorce, dementia, divorce after a long marriage, facing divorce after a long marriage, Friendship, gray divorce, Hypnotherapy, impending divorce, inspiration, letting go, loss, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, moving with divorce, separation, voice lessons
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HOW SPECIAL YOU WERE

October 5, 2012

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

The tunnel was dark and filled with stifling heat. Most of the timed I was soaked in sweat. Still, I moved forward with determination and accepted all pain. No matter how discouraged I was, I reminded myself that with each step I was getting closer to the end.

My music accompanied me in the darkness and buoyed me; it was my magical elixir. I felt peaceful because all of my songs spoke to me with their wisdom. When I suddenly saw a pinhole of light, I began to step up my pace in order to reach the end. I was relieved because this time it did not flicker away as it had a month ago.

As the light grew brighter, I felt myself begin to smile. My soul stirred with wonderment and happiness again. An autumn breeze cooled me and my heart felt light. In the past, seasonal change brought a familiar ache, but this time I was filled with promise and peacefulness. The brightness ahead of me became more intense, so I closed my eyes and pictured myself exiting the tunnel. My arms were outstretched and I was singing as I emerged. It was so glorious that there were no other words I could find to describe that moment.

It was eighteen years since I had last moved. My art studio held many areas for me to sort through. I dreaded the process of packing, and I found many excuses to put it off.

I had thought I would never paint again, but only the day before I corresponded with an art director regarding a new project. My art career still had a pulse! Although I preferred working digitally, there were times where I still painted. Once my cataract surgeries were over, I would need new close-up glasses. But my optimism about being an artist returned and I was certain I would be able to paint again.

Initially, it was excruciatingly difficult to tear myself away from working on my audio book and songs. I was so close to finishing everything. But packing was the only way I would be able to move forward so I could exit the tunnel I was in. Finally, I had to accept that I would not finish my book before moving.

If I received the large art assignment, finalizing and finishing my book would be even further delayed. I decided there was a reason for this. The right time to publish and promote my book would happen, even if it were later than I wanted. I was steadfast and certain that my journey would lead me to a time when I would emerge from obscurity and my life would take a completely different turn. The part that I looked forward to the most was helping many people with my comforting music and words.

Yesterday when I began packing up my studio, it was hot. I sweated and carried heavy boxes into the living room. My hands were blackened from going through so many dusty items. But then I discovered something I hadn’t expected. It turned out that what I had dreaded was soothing. It felt really good to clean drawers out and throw useless items away!

I was purging.

Truthfully, I was a little anxious about whether I would be able to find things later on when I needed them. I also had no idea where I would put everything. I was going from a large house into a small two-bedroom apartment without much closet space.

I planned to make the living room where I was moving into my art studio/computer area. I could easily live without a couch and television; my two children would make their bedrooms into their own living spaces. For sure, it would be challenging sharing one bathroom with my two teenagers. I created a third bedroom the same way my parents did when I was young; I had a wall built that divided the living room. As a result, my studio would be fairly small.=

A beautiful picture of my parents went they were first married.a

I started by emptying two, large file cabinets. I sorted through piles of photo reference, organized printed samples into folders, tossed away cardboard shipping supplies (I sent everything digitally now), and put an amazing array of small items into boxes. Although it was tedious at times, I listened to my music as I worked. The time passed and I was inspired by how productive I was.

As I packed, I relived so many memories. It wasn’t hard to let go of my identity as an artist, because I far preferred my music and writing. But it was hard to let go of ellipse guides, large pads of marker paper, and many items I knew I’d probably never use again. With every item I examined, I remembered the painting related to it. Although it was difficult at first, after awhile it became easier and I began to feel lighter. I planned to give many of the items to students who would appreciate my donations.

The next day I took a break. I had begun to feel the seasonal change and longed to breathe some fresh air. I hadn’t gone outdoors much during this past sweltering summer. On a whim, I decided to do something special for my mother and her companion, Miriam. I wanted to take them to a restaurant named “Inn of the Seventh Ray.” I had never been there, but heard that it was delightful and situated in a canyon.

I called Miriam to let her know I was in the parking lot and she met me there. After helping my mother from her wheelchair into my minivan, Miriam gently inserted hearing aids into my mother’s ears. My mother beamed with joy and babbled to me in the front seat.

As I drove, Miriam and I caught up on things. I was grateful to have Miriam to talk to and was glad she was now my close friend. I shared with her that I felt like I would soon be emerging from my tunnel. My second cataract surgery was in only one more week. I told her I had found out the day before that my new eye measurements showed I didn’t have an astigmatism. I was elated because I would not have to pay the additional $1,000 fee now. But I was concerned during my pre-op appointment when the nurse commented that I had a strange heartbeat. As he listened with his stethoscope, I felt my heart flutter and did not like the feeling at all.

My irregular heartbeat was first discovered five months earlier when my father was dying and before I announced to my husband that I wanted to divorce. I was told that the extra beat was in rhythm and not considered dangerous.

Still, I had hoped it went away. The nurse suggested that after my surgery I address the condition with my doctor.

As I left the nursing home, I put on my latest song arrangement to share with Miriam and my mother. Music was my magical elixir and gave me so much pleasure. Earlier in the week, I had worked on an older song – it was one that I had written when I was 19 for my husband before we were married.

I listened to my song’s lilting melody and a feeling of nostalgia overwhelmed me. I remembered how I felt when I wrote it at the age of 19. My songs held so many lessons for me.

At that time, my feelings were so pure and innocent; I was unsure about whether my love would endure. I was married prior to my big wedding at the age of 20. My own parents were married for 61 years, and I was dedicated and committed to being married. My marriage weathered many challenges over a period of 31 years.

I wondered why I had chosen to work on that particular song. I had no answer except that this song made me feel young again. For such a long time, I had avoided singing love songs. But now, I planned to improve all of my older songs and I looked forward to creating new arrangements for many of them.

Working on my music was like breathing for me. My husband never understood the joy I received from my music. He was rightfully worried about my lack of income, and did not see much future in music as a possible second career for me. I was actually relieved now that I had freed him of those expenses.

This past week, George was especially kind to me. We had worked together now for two years and he told me that he often found himself humming the melodies to many of my songs.

We worked on my song “What You’ve Meant To Me.” First, we refined the original arrangement with some spectacular improvements, and then we created an instrumental by adding the melody line. I looked forward to singing a new vocal for it, because my voice had improved a lot since the year before when I last sang it.

Clicking the first blue link below will play the instrumental version:

The link below is to another story about this song:

WHAT YOU’VE MEANT TO ME

This beautiful song will be included in my second book. Even though I haven’t even finished my first book, I am already excited about my next project!

Finding these old photos after my father died, has given me great joy. It is amazing to see my mother this way – I love it!

The drive was beautiful as we drove through a shady canyon. My car gently swayed as I followed the curves; my mother was quiet while Miriam and I continued to talk. Miriam mentioned that a close friend of hers was also suffering with the end of her marriage and she said, “I hope you don’t mind that I lent your CD to my friend. We listened to it together and she said that after hearing your music, she felt much better. She asked me if she could keep it for a while, so please make me another copy when you have time.”

I smiled and told Miriam I was honored. This was the third time over the past week where I had heard such nice words about my music being soothing. I was especially touched when a good friend thanked me for helping her through a horrible migraine. Her exact words were, “Judy, my head was exploding but I just kept hearing your song, Hang On. It became my mantra until the headache passed!”

When we arrived at the restaurant, Miriam gasped with delight. My mother’s wheelchair bumped over a cobblestone path and her eyes were sparkling with delight. Our table was perfect, overlooking a shady and peaceful canyon. There were several trickling fountains, and the cascading water sounded almost musical. Our meal was delicious and delectable as we savored the experience.

I noticed how my mother was radiant and aware of my presence even if she couldn’t converse because of her dementia. Although she had little language, several times during our outing she was able to thank me clearly. That made it even more wonderful for me. I was so glad that I had made time to do this for my mother. I imagined myself singing the lyrics to her of “How special you were in my life, in my music.”

At the gift shop where we had out lunch, I snapped these photos.

When we were leaving, I mentioned to Miriam that in the morning I had looked on Craigslist for boxes; there was a listing, which was on our way home. They were of good quality and $30 was an excellent deal. If I were lucky, the boxes would still be available. I called and was relieved to hear that I could still get them. The woman on the phone gave me directions to her apartment.

When I arrived at a big apartment complex, I wasn’t sure which building was the correct one. I called back; the woman on the phone told me she had just moved in and wasn’t sure how to describe which building she was in. Finally, I found it. Thankfully, my mother looked relaxed and Miriam waited in the car with her. I bounded up the stairs, found the apartment and knocked on the door.

The woman who answered had an exotic accent and was quite beautiful. I noticed she had a young son who was resting on a couch. The flat boxes were stacked near the front door. She said she would help me carry them to my car.

As we gathered handfuls of boxes, I opened up to her. I told her that I would be living on my own for the first time in my life after ending my marriage of 31 years. In the several trips back and forth to my car she shared with me, too. I found out that she was also going through a divorce.

I shared that I had weathered a lot in my marriage. I explained that my writing and music had given me clarity and joy. She seemed interested in the book I told her I was working on. I explained that it was about my music healing me from my grief. When I mentioned I had lost a child she said, “I can’t imagine how you could live through that.” It turned out that her young son was five-years-old, which was the same age that Jason was when he died. Tomorrow would mark the 20th anniversary of his death.

It took some squeezing and adjusting, but everything was able to be stacked in my minivan. I thanked this young woman and then I impulsively hugged her. I thought about the idea that those boxes could tell an interesting story.

I planned to share them with my husband when I was finished with them. He had a lot of things to pack in his garage. The fact that I had paid for them with my own money even felt good.

I could hear her voice as I drove my mother and Miriam back to the nursing facility. This woman whom I had only spent ten minutes with touched me greatly.

She had said to me with complete earnestness, “I had a big house and now that I’m in this small apartment, I am so happy. You are going to love it once you have moved into your own place. Trust me.”

I sure did.

Tags:Aging Parents, Art and Illustration, Caregiving, child's death, composing, creativity, dementia, divorce after a long marriage, Friendship, gray divorce, inspiration, lovesong, lyric development, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, moving with divorce, Music, Ordinary Life, original songs, seasonal change, separation, singing, songwriting
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I’LL SAY A PRAYER

September 26, 2012

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

Clicking on the blue link below will play an instrumental version of my newest song, which I’ve named My Dream:

Despite my seeing with one eye, I carried on over the past week. I attended a funeral for a good friend’s father. My friend, Marge, was so thoughtful and arranged to have someone drive me. The woman whom I spent the day with was someone I already knew. Her company was delightful and it was very meaningful for me to gain insight from her. She had gone through two divorces.

Before the graveside ceremony, I took a walk to find Jason’s grave. In only ten days, it would be twenty years since my son died.

I remembered how I could not find his grave the last time I was there. This time, there wasn’t a fallen tree covering it. Still, I walked and walked and knew I’d be close to it when I reached an area with other childrens’ graves. For ten minutes, I walked in circles up and down a hill. Just when I was about to give up, I found it.

My heart skipped a beat to see Jason’s familiar gravestone. I noticed how the grass arround it was overgrown; I dusted the stone off so I could read his name. For several minutes, I closed my eyes and allowed the sunshine to warm me. I imagined I could remember his voice and strained to feel his presence.

There wasn’t any pain, only peacefulness, as I carefully walked back to rejoin the funeral service I had come to attend.

I was very close with my mom throughout my life.

I was dreading the phone appointment from the Social Security office. I had called two weeks earlier to inquire about my mother receiving a death benefit due to my father’s passing. The person on the phone wanted to speak to my mother and told me to bring her into a Social Security office. I explained how difficult that would be because she had severe dementia and was in a nursing home. I decided instead to set up a phone appointment. I would bring her to my house and give it a shot – maybe she would miraculously answer some simple questions.

My mother was on Medi-Cal, and thankfully her nursing home cost was covered. The amount of the death benefit would pay for less than one week of her companion’s care, which my brothers and I paid for.

Miriam is unbelievably loving to my mother. She loves me too, and relieves me of so much.

I was so blessed to have such a wonderful companion for my mother. Her name was Miriam. Miriam brought my mother to my home a few minutes before the expected phone call. My mother looked relaxed and beamed at me with love, although she was gaunt and appeared tired.

I spoke very slowly and carefully as I explained to my mother that we would be receiving an important phone call. I let her know she would need to answer some simple questions. I wished I were a better actress so none of this would have been necessary. That way I could have pretended to be my mother on the phone and saved a lot of trouble. But six months earlier, I had tried to switch her Social Security bank account over the phone. The agent I spoke with caught on quickly and told me my voice was “too young” to be my mother. I was such a horrible liar!

A perfect opportunity for me to share a photo of myself when I was 10. I was about to perform in a play and my role required me to cry. I was told that I was very convincing.

I was direct and watched my mom’s expression as I tried to explain the reason for the phone call. It hardly seemed worth it. I surprised myself when I said, “Mom, dad died four months ago.”

She looked startled and replied emphatically, “Let’s wait. I know he’s coming and will be here soon.” She tried to stand up from her wheelchair as she said, “I need to go to see him.”

A beautiful picture of my parents, before they were married. They were married for 61 years before my dad died this past May.

At that moment, the phone rang and I was surprised when the lady said that it would be fine to only speak with me. I answered all of her questions. Then I asked her, “Don’t you need to speak with my mother? She’s right here. I thought that was the reason for this appointment.”

She was very empathetic and told me that it wasn’t necessary. But she said she could certainly say hello. My mother was watching me intently, so I decided to let her say hello. This lady from Social Security was so caring that I began to get quite choked up.

As I held the phone to my mother’s ear, her hearing aid began whistling. I couldn’t hear what the lady asked her, but my mother answered with, “Well, whoever you are – you’re young like I wish I were!”

I hung up the phone and reached over to squeeze Miriam’s hand. We were both laughing.

With relief that this was over, we all ate lunch together. As Miriam ate a salad, she also fed my mother carefully. My mother was now on a pureed diet due to the results of the “swallow test” she had been given the week before.

Being with Miriam was so comforting during this time in my life. Every day was fraught with turmoil, and my poor eyesight didn’t help. Miriam understood my pain so well as she struggled in her own life. She made me appreciate my circumstances because my children were older than hers and I had more financial resources.

Earlier that week, I shared my newest song with Miriam. She said that when she listened to it, she felt so peaceful and that it helped her. We began to talk about our dreams.

Miriam was very close with her father. Although he lived thousands of miles away and she hadn’t seen him in a long time, they spoke every day.

She said, “Whenever my father has hugged me, I always felt something amazing. His hug is warm and comforting; special in a way I cannot describe. I am safe. I have never, ever had that feeling with anyone else. I dream that someday I could discover that feeling again.”

I understood.

“My Life Became Clear”

In the waiting room, I closed my eyes and allowed the instrumental music of my most recent song composition to uplift my soul. I could listen to it over and over and each time the chords sailed in the chorus, my heart felt like bursting.

When she called my name, I had to strain to be sure because I was still listening to my music. I grinned, because I often felt like a teenager with my IPod glued to my ears. If she only knew how soothing my music was for me!

The optometrist had an Irish last name – Murphy. She had clear blue eyes and asked me how I was; I wasn’t sure how to answer her question. I told her, “I am in a living hell right now because I have only one eye that can see. And my eye that does see is so strong that I cannot read anything with it.”

“Well, we’ll address that today,” she said confidently.

She thoroughly examined both my eyes. When she was finished she said, “Your eye that was operated on sees perfectly,” and then she added, “It will only get better, too, because it’s still healing.”

Then she shared that she had also had cataract surgery while in her fifties. I thought I was such an aberration, but I kept hearing it wasn’t as unusual as I thought. She said, “I wasn’t as nearsighted as you are, but I have loved the results from my cataract surgeries.”

It turned out that the whole purpose of this appointment was to decide how strongly to correct my remaining eye. It was an opportunity for me to have choices by wearing a soft contact lens to simulate the correction I would be having in two weeks.

I was floored when she said, “By the way, I hardly see an astigmatism. By next week, it might be completely gone. You must be sure not to wear a lens though, for five days before the appointment for those measurements.”

That meant five days of hell again, of seeing with only one eye. But I reminded myself that I had gotten through 13 days already, and those five days would take me to the finish line.

Then she added, “Your surgeon was smart to redo these measurements. Doing things this way, has allowed you to try out several mono-vision options. And by the way, you were really smart to have not worn your hard lens before coming to this appointment!”

I asked her, “Will I be charged for today’s visit?”

She replied, “Normally, you would and I was going to check with my supervisor about it. But, there’s no need. You will not be charged for this at all.”

Now I was really glad that I had waited to send my complaint letter!

I planned to send it so I could avoid the $1,000 extra charge for that astigmatism correction, which I hadn’t been told about initially. If this eye had been my first eye, I felt I would have suffered far less because I could have worn my glasses. I also anticipated I would be charged for contact lenses that would only be worn a week. Being a warrior had wasted a lot of energy and was another lesson for me.

The optometrist came back with a soft contact lens and placed it on my eyeball. I blinked and felt dizzy for a moment. My world came back into focus! I began to cry, but wiped the tears quickly so she would only think it was because of the lens.

Before I left, she made another appointment for me to return in a few days. She wanted me to try another lens correction that would give me increased close up vision. Then she introduced me to a kind older man who instructed me on the proper handling of soft contact lenses.

As I drove home, I was in awe again at how beautiful it was to be able to see with two eyes. I was completely choked with emotion.

It was then when I clearly heard my father’s voice.

He was chuckling and he enthusiastically boomed, “You see what a wonderful eye surgeon you have – I told you! It was a good thing you used him!”

I was so glad my father was smiling from up above – instead of worrying about me. I drove and cried softly as I felt him hugging me.

I celebrated having two eyes with eyesight, even though it would only be until the weekend. I came home to find a check in the mailbox that I had been waiting for. My smile became bigger when I received a call asking me if I could play tennis on Friday morning. I had missed it so much and it would probably be a month before I was able to play again. My day was just getting better and better.

It was the Yarzeit or Jewish anniversary of Jason’s death day. I put out a memorial candle for him.

I decided to attend services at my temple; this was something that I did so infrequently that I could count only a few occasions where I had gone into temple in the last 25 years. I sat with a good friend and she held my hand. Being able to see made such a difference. On the following day, my temple had invited me to share my music for one hour. How wonderful it would be to have my eyesight for that!

My gratitude for my life was overflowing. I cried tears of joy as I stood up to say a memorial prayer.

EXCHANGES WITH A GRIEF FORM: (My words are in blue)

I’m so sad for you, Judy, and crying as I’m typing this. Life is so cruel.

Please don’t be sad or cry for me. I am moving forward in my life now as I leave my sad marriage.

My father’s recent death freed me. I feel his love guiding me to make this change in my life. I am so enthused and joyful about sharing my healing music and my message.

I share my sad writing because it feels shallow to tell others “you will heal someday.” First, I need to express how I lived through that god-awful life-wrecking pain – and then I can share how I’ve come out of the tunnel. I’m in a different tunnel now. It requires courage and I feel inspired about where I’m going.

Thank you for your message. Even though life is cruel, there is beauty to be found if you search for it.

Love, Judy

I wrote the message below as part of a continuing dialog with a woman who recently lost her son.

Thank you for your kind words. It amazes me that you have been so compassionate and helpful to everyone on this forum, while struggling with your own agonizing grief.

I’m glad you shared that your son was an optometrist. I will carry that thought with me as you try to cope with his senseless death.

Your words about grief bring it all back for me, too. You are living through the endless replaying of your son’s life and death. I described it as “the opera of my son’s life and death.” Only someone who has gone through that truly understands the torture of it.

It would be a good time for you to find a grief companion. I know it takes effort, but you need to find someone who is currently going through this. Not a family member, of course. If you had someone else to stay close to with your feelings – you would have a hand to hold that will ease your suffering. There are people out there that are going through this as I write to you. It’s not enough to write to this forum. You must attend a support group and look to find someone you can partner with.

Remember this – because I believe that will help you more than anything. It will take pressure off of your son and husband. You can call and scream and take baby steps back into the living with someone going through this, too.

You will know when you are ready.

On Oct. 6 of this year, it will officially be 20 years since my son died. As the season is beginning to change, I celebrate once again how much I have healed. I will always carry the amputation of my soul inside of me but I am peaceful. My life holds promise and I am grateful for the gift my son gave me, which inspires me to help others.

Love, Judy

Your story is my story, the only difference being, your son was 5 and mine was 34. The sadness is overwhelming and the pain never-ending.

The reason I keep writing to this group after twenty years of grief is to inspire hope. Of course, you know how it went with losing your mother so young – I am certain that was horrible. Eventually, you adjusted. But this is different. It is beyond horrible!

The sadness is overwhelming and you will always carry the memory of this pain. But the pain will end. It will – I promise. Please hold onto that.

Grief is about crying, screaming and crawling. You carry on while the world goes on around you. I used to cry in my car whenever I drove anywhere. I would wipe away my tears and no one knew. This went on for years and years. I hated to wake up in the morning and wished I were dead.

But when the pain ends – you find yourself in a different place. It is a place of strength and appreciation. Perhaps when our life ends, the mystery will be solved and we will see our dead loved ones again. Until then, we are still alive and need to find a way to get through this. That is what they would want for us.

I am not a religious person, but I am going to pray for you. Even if the tiniest increment of your pain diminishes – it will be cause for celebration. Allow it and do not feel guilty!

Keep writing about your grief. Your own words will remind you someday of your progress.

Love, Judy

I took this picture before leaving the cemetery. The image spoke to me. It was about seeing new growth on an older tree.

Tags:Music, Friendship, Aging Parents, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, grief, Caregiving, mother's illness, mother, death, dementia, loss, original songs, composing, performing, guitar, mother daughter relationship, compassionate friends, death of a child, cemetary, child's death, inspiration, graveside, having hope, courage, cataract surgery, my dream, gravestone, cataract options, dealing with the loss of a long marriage, social security office
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MY LIFE BECAME CLEAR – PART 2

September 7, 2012

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

Special thanks and appreciation is due for my good friend, Steve de Mena. He magically mixes all of my songs using ProTools. I am so fortunate to have the benefit of his unbelievable expertise.

Clicking the blue links plays audio clips.

The links below are recordings of my voice lessons discussing recent music with Peaches Chrenko.

PEACHES LESSON 8/27/12 – about My Dream

PEACHES LESSON A – 9/4/12 about My Dream

PEACHES LESSON B – 9/4/12 about My Dream

Link to my first story about this song:

#264 MY LIFE BECAME CLEAR – PART 1

CLEAR

Not long ago I was a child, then a young girl,

now I’m even older

A woman so wise, I realize

Life went by quickly, I blinked my eyes

When I grew up, I became sad

Life beat me down; I felt broken

Though it may seem a little extreme

I turned my life around, to follow my dream

I carried on; I lived with heartache

I was so numb; I wasn’t awake

It all changed, I let go of fear

beautiful music I could hear

I opened my eyes, life became clear

As I grow old, I’ll keep my smile

All of my tears gave me compassion

I was asleep; my pain was so deep

I turned my life around; with joy I now weep

I carried on, inside I wept

I cried for the losses I could not accept

It all changed, I let go of fear

beautiful music I could hear

I opened my eyes, life became clear

When my life ends, I won’t be afraid

I’m grateful for the gift I was given

I celebrate, it’s never too late

I turned my life around, got up off the ground

happiness I found

No reason to wait

This is one of the last pictures I have of my father. It was taken three days before he died. It is blurry and from my niece’s cellphone. It perfectly displays my father’s love toward my mother despite his suffering and her dementia.

A picture of my mother with her companion, Miriam. This was taken two years ago and she appears to me to be much sharper and alert. Dementia has ravaged her.

I remember when I was perhaps six or seven years old I could look up from my pillow and see the ceiling. I would connect the dots and sometimes I even imagined I saw images as I examined the random textures. Then one day, everything became blurry. By the time I was eleven, an eye doctor pronounced my near-sightedness to be so extreme that without glasses I was considered “legally blind.” I have a prescription of 1400 diopters and I rarely meet people with one larger than 1,000. Later on, I learned that the term “legally blind” only applied if one’s eyes were not considered correctable.

So at the age of eleven, I was given a choice. I could try an experimental regimen of eye drops and bifocal glasses or wear hard contact lenses. My parents decided to allow me to wear contacts. At that young age, I was an aberration and all the children in my elementary school were fascinated to know that I had “a piece of glass in my eye.” Everyone always wondered if my lenses could move behind my eye.

When I had my first cataract surgery last week, almost immediately I could see everything sharply in the distance. What especially amazed me was how large objects were around me. I kept reaching to touch things that appeared to be closer than before.

When I went for my post-op appointment the next day, my ophthalmologist explained that I was now seeing the world with a normal eye. He explained that a nearsighted eye was elongated; there was even a term for what he described, which I don’t remember. The gist was that my repaired eye saw everything 40% larger than my other eye.

That discrepancy left me dizzy and confused. My eyes were not working together and it would be three weeks before my next surgery. I also no longer had the advantage of having bifocal contact lenses. Only a few months earlier, I had gotten new contact llenses and each one was $250. Now I would need to have reading glasses handy. I had become just like my mother, who used to carry her reading glasses around her neck. Otherwise, I couldn’t see my own fingernails or read numbers on my cellphone.

Certainly, I was not about to complain or feel discouraged. I focused my entire aura upon acceptance and gratefulness that I had a treatable condition and these procedures would lead to improvement.

My mother is younger than I am now in this picture. The background has not changed at all within their old coop.

I tried to take it easy and began to miss the therapy of my occasional women’s doubles tennis game. For over 25 years I usually played twice a week. A good friend went shopping with me a few days after my surgery and helped lift the larger items into my cart. My children brought everything into the house.

It wasn’t easy for me to relinquish things.

My life with my “soon to be ex-husband” held challenges. Although things were civil, sometimes my breath was squeezed out of me, as I felt grief over the present circumstances. There was often an ominous undercurrent with his presence. Only the day before, as a joke I thought I could name my blog post “Sleeping with the Enemy.” I prayed that would not happen. The most awkward part was that for decades we never used our names and called each other “honey” instead. Every time he addressed me that way, my heart jumped with pain.

I knew I had to move, but I did not want to overwhelm myself with stress. I planned to give myself a few months because I felt it would be better for my children that way.

I needed to go shopping. I hadn’t been outside much for days and the two refrigerators in our home were both empty. My family required a lot of food. On top of that, I had invited my mother for lunch and I wanted to buy her something she loved, a kosher hot dog. I drove to my usual place, Costco.

In the near future, my mother would probably be put on a diet of pureed food. She disliked it and often didn’t eat much as a result. I wanted her to have some quality and pleasure in her life, yet at the same time there were now health concerns. Only a few weeks before, she had been treated for pneumonia. A pulmonologist wanted to order a swallow test because there were concerns that she was aspirating her food and that was causing her to have a severe cough.

This was a dilemma for me. For her to have the swallow test was possibly traumatic. I thought that perhaps I should just allow for pureed food and skip the test. I decided to allow for the swallow test and felt stress surrounding making this decision.

I looked forward to my mother’s visit for lunch. Her companion, Miriam, was now my close friend. Miriam was very sympathetic to my situation, as she was dealing with something similar in her own life.

As I pushed my cart toward my car, I began to feel sorry for myself. I realized that I had overdid it; my cart was hard to push and packed as it usually was. A large package of paper towels fell to the ground, and an older man reached down to pick it up for me. I almost cried as I thanked him for helping me. Before I put things it my car, I paused and took a picture of the shopping cart.

I told myself that I would only carry in the perishable items. Unfortunately, it was too hot in my garage to leave the two, large watermelons in my car. I brought most everything into my house and considered it my exercise. Instead of tennis, I was carrying lots of groceries! I would ask Miriam or one of my children to help me with the rest.

My phone rang. It was Miriam and she informed me that she and my mother would not be joining me for lunch. My mom was ill and coughing terribly. She also had a fever.

I finished putting the last item into the refrigerator and called the nursing home. They told me that blood tests had been ordered for my mother, but she refused to allow any blood to be drawn. She tried to bite the technician. With dementia, everything was so much harder!

I sat alone and ate a small slice of pizza, which was something I normally avoided. I noticed that I could hardly taste it.

I went into my bedroom and lay in my bed. I could hear my most recent song composition “My Dream” in my mind. I closed my eyes and softly hummed to myself. Within seconds, my music was soothing my aching heart. I opened my eyes and looked up at the ceiling; I realized that with my “new” eye it was clear and sharp.

It looked so close that I reached my arm up imagining I could touch it.

I am with my mother in this picture taken over 25 years ago.

I love this picture, where I’m wearing a bikini. I guess I could consider that “my dream,” too!

Message from a friend (My words are in blue):

I am so proud of you. I really admire your strength. I’ll keep praying for you. I wish I had your courage. I talked to an attorney several months ago and she wanted $15,000 up front for a retainer. My husband and I haven’t been intimate in about 5 years. I don’t even feel like we’re married. I get more affection from the 2 dogs.

You’re right. It’s hard sleeping in the same bed with someone who’s distant from you. If I want to eat out or go to the movies, I have to go with a girlfriend or my kids.

Honestly, you might want to sell your house – take half that equity and leave. You could buy a small condo and live a new life, too.

I am hoping to inspire people to have courage. I have no idea what my future will be, but staying in a sad situation is hopeless. I deserve better and so do you.

Thanks for the inspiration, Judy. I’ll be 60 years old next year, but feel like 80 today!

Our thoughts actually can be reframed. Instead of telling yourself you feel like 80, try telling yourself you feel like 40. Do nice things for yourself and watch how you will feel much younger. You could live many more years. No reason to waste your life because of fear. The unknown can’t be worse than the known.

Love, Judy

My friend, Susan, sent me this beautiful card. I am blessed to have many wonderful friends.

Excerpt from card:

“What you have been going through would challenge the strongest of people. Both dealing with an impending divorce, plus your dear father’s passing is a double whammy. Yet your strength and resilience is truly remarkable. Instead of shutting down in deep despair, your creativity flourishes with new songs such as With Me.”

In this picture, I was probably about three years old. I still can remember the feeling of being held. That feeling keeps me going.

Tags:"sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, beautiful music, Caregiving, composing, courage to change, creativity, dementia, facing divorce after a long marriage, guitar, impending divorce, inspiration, living together while separated, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, original songs, singing, songwriting, voice lessons
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I CARRIED ON

August 25, 2012

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

I look worried in this picture taken from my preschool days. God knows what I had to be worried about that young!

Clicking on the blue link below plays a new guitar instrumental piece, which I composed last week:

I wished I could write about the feelings. I coped as best I could, but often felt overwhelmed. It did not help that I could not see very well. The therapy of music became less so, because I began to focus on minor flaws within my song arrangements. When I listened to my recent song creations, I was amazed because I wondered how I was able to create anything while under so much stress.

For three weeks, I wore glasses that only minimally corrected my vision. Finally, three days ago I was allowed to wear my contact lenses again. Being able to see again dazzled me, and I even became dizzy at first. In only another week, I would have my first cataract surgery.

Sadly, I realized that in order to cope I had returned to Zombieland. I had sworn I would never go back there, but now I was in familiar territory. There was no way to get any tears to come out. Despite feelings of intense sadness where pressure on my chest would squeeze, not a single tear would form. Instead, the pool of tears would gather in my throat. Then I’d feel pressure that forced them back inside. I would gasp, take a deep breath and remind myself that everything would be okay.

It certainly seemed like there was far too much pressure. I felt pressure from things related to my father’s death, pressure around my sick mother, pressure from my children and pressure related to moving and divorcing.

But most of the pressure was what I put upon myself.

There was an absence of pleasure, even when listening to my music. It relaxed and soothed me, but nothing really felt pleasurable. Food certainly was a comfort, but the resulting weight gain tortured me. It was harder and harder to smile. It occurred to me that perhaps I was deeply depressed.

Then I made a connection. Depressed sounded like pressed and reminded me of pressure. I surrendered, and accepted that perhaps I needed to change something in order to feel better. I knew that writing usually helped me. I plodded through my days as I waited for inspiration that would allow me to write something meaningful.

Finally, I heard the mysterious voice that often spoke to me in my mind. Occasionally, I thought it was God or the pure love given to me by my parents. I truly believed that it was “Judy of the Future,” but it didn’t matter. The voice was always wise and helpful.

A picture from my childhood with my two older brothers – they are closer to me now that my father died and my mother has faded.

“My Dream”

I want to share my dialog with my inner voice. The inner voice is in italics.

I noticed that lately I’m very critical of my vocals and song arrangements. I love what I’m doing, but I do hate focusing on flaws.

What about fixing your music do you hate? The process? The time? Why does it upset you?

I am afraid that even with my best corrections, it won’t matter. My music and book will not sell well enough for me to support myself. I am losing time by continuing to work on it so hard.

Would you say the improvements you’ve made to your stories and songs are noticeable or not?

It is actually very apparent.

Is it possible that the ability to fix is a gift, and that is the reason you have improved so quickly? Did you ever imagine that you would be the singer for your songs?

No – never in a million years.

Perhaps, the ability to hear mistakes and correct them is a blessing for you.

You’re right. It is the reason I’ve improved. And I continue to learn and learn.

What is the pressure about?

I want to move farther along in my journey. I want to get to the castle, which is always in my vision. My current life is filled with pain and the castle represents something that is peaceful. I wish I could flash forward to a time when the pain was all behind me.

Do you really wish for that? If you could give up this year of your life to be one year older and beyond the “pain” – would you want that?

No. I do not want to give up one minute of my life. I wish instead to live for today and not think about a destination anymore. I can never get this time back once it’s gone. I love what I am doing, and removing the pressure will help me. Please tell me how to take away the pressure.

Only you can take away the pressure. If you prefer to feel peaceful then tell me: What does peaceful represent to you?

I want to live in a place where I do not feel criticized; where my self-worth isn’t constantly questioned. I want to be in a place where I feel valuable. I know I will help many other people by being an inspiration.

Why do you have to journey to a castle to feel that way? Perhaps the most critical person in your life is not who you imagine. What if you stopped being so critical of yourself? What if you stopped questioning your self-worth?

That is true. I must be gentle and forgive myself for ending my marriage. I haven’t been reveling in my courage. The truth is, I have moved on – even though I am physically still in the same place. I understand now.

Remember the antidote to your pain is your dream.

The voice quieted. I played my guitar softly and beautiful chords began to appear. I went into my closet to record a new song. I decided to name it “My Dream.” The lyrics will form when they come to me, though my music speaks for me without words.

This past week would have been my parents’ 62nd anniversary. My mother’s lack of awareness due to her advancing dementia has turned out to be a blessing in some ways. She is not suffering with heartache over my father’s death or feeling pain around her childrens’ struggles. The card above was written only four years ago, and so much changed so quickly with my mother’s dementia.

I have many, many new pictures to add to my blog after cleaning out my childhood apartment. I am going to continue to share them.

I definitely feel it’s better that my mother is not aware of what is going on with me. This picture was taken 20 years ago

I could think of many puns around this, but have less humor than usual these days.

These family vacation images evoke so many feelings. This picture sums up how I always felt chubby. I am serious because I am searching to catch a lizard. I used to tease my dad that he needed a bra.

My mother was always very close to my children. When she visits, it is often sad for them now.

I love my hairstyle in this picture from my Junior High graduation.

Seeing myself in a choir gown brings back many beautiful memories.

Message from a grief forum:

I am having such a horrible time. My life is no longer recognizable. The last few days have been so horrendously bad. I go from crying to walking through the day like a zombie. I try to be strong for my family but the foundation is cracking. I wish I could understand this. I wish I knew why my son isn’t in this world any more. He should not be in the cemetery. I just know that I will not be able to do this. The pain is horrible and the memories of what was and what would have been wash over me like acid and I ache. I ache and ache. I don’t want to go back to work. I don’t want to hear people tell me how sorry they are, when what they are really saying is: thank God it wasn’t me. If I didn’t have my husband and other son, I would want to die.

My reply:

In some ways, death would be easier.

I experienced a severe burn on my arm last year. I told everyone that it hardly hurt in comparison to grief over the loss of my child. There is no adequate description of the AGONY. I felt the same way – my children were my only reason to go on living.

It is horrible and unlike other people saying they are sorry and thankful it’s not them, I am sorry and wish it weren’t so – because I remember it all so clearly. And that is after 20 years, too!

But you will get through it. And someday you will feel better. Right now that seems incomprehensible, so just hang on. And keep writing. And crying. And cursing. And doing whatever you can to cope. Even when you feel like it isn’t possible.

Love, Judy

This picture is of my first-born son, Jason. It was hard for me to grasp at that time how serious his congenital heart defect was. He lived five years. The mother above lost her son in an instant. Sudden loss is so difficult for many, many reasons.

Tags:"sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, cataract surgery, child's death, composing, creativity, death, death of a child, dementia, first cataract, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, high school memories, inspiration, intense sadness, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, original songs
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WHERE I’M GOING

July 28, 2012

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

My mother’s 87th birthday is on Sunday. I marvel at her ability to smile in spite of her challenges. She is my inspiration.

I tried to live in the present, but it was only in a physical sense. I often felt overwhelmed. My mind continually dreamed about the future – to a time when my present challenges would be behind me. But while I was dreaming, memories and reminders of my former life often shocked me out of my reverie. Who was I? Where was I going? Would I really be OK?

But doubt was always replaced by the vision of my castle. The barren landscape behind me encompassed miles and miles. My castle was much closer now and no longer in the distance; yet I could see that the terrain ahead of me was very steep. Perhaps there wasn’t nearly as much distance to cover, but it required the ability to climb.

As I moved forward, my body slowed and it felt as if I were almost crawling instead of walking. The heaviness within me made it quite difficult to move. Although I was determined, I felt terrible pain and wondered what it would take for me to find my strength to get there.

I realized that determination wasn’t enough.

I know I have a better castle painting somewhere and will replace this one. But my parable definitely called for an illustration.

I told my hypnotherapist, Connie that I wasn’t feeling well physically and emotionally; I was eating far too much. Hypnosis offered me an opportunity to do what was known as “discovery work,” and I was ready.

I entered a deep hypnotic trance, and felt my body relax. In the distance, I heard Connie’s voice asking me to find an image that represented my pain. Without hesitation I replied, “A knife.” Then she asked me to describe my knife.

I said, “It has a black handle and a serrated blade. I feel it stabbing me in my stomach and eviscerating my gut.” With those words, I could almost feel the stomach pain that often gripped me; cramps that took my breath away and caused me to double over in agony. I was pleased that I had found a way to describe my pain so clearly.

Then she said, Now, I’d like you to find another image. Can you find an image that could counter this knife and alleviate your pain?”

I floated into the peaceful recesses of my mind and searched for something that would comfort and protect me. I heard music playing softly, but after many minutes there wasn’t a single image I could visualize.

I said to Connie, “I can’t seem to find anything to stop that knife.” The thought occurred to me that I was choosing to feel pain and didn’t want it to stop. But then I said, “Wait – I feel something. But it isn’t an image. I’m feeling a breeze. It’s just like in my song “Beside Me Always” – it’s wrapping around me and protecting me. The breeze represents the love I remember from when I was a child. It also reminds me of the love from my child, Jason.”

Connie wanted me to have my comforting image speak to the knife. She said, “ Ask the knife why it is here.”

In my calmness, I looked for an answer and it did not come easily. I said hesitantly, “The knife will not tell me. It says it has always been with me. It is there to remind me about pain and loss.”

Even while in a hypnotic trance, I understood what my words meant. I was grieving, and pain was familiar.

It was very clear that the knife was simply not going to go away.

Connie said, “Can you let your comforting image protect you and help ease your pain?”

A sad realization came over me, as I answered, “My comforting breeze is really not effective; I picked an image that cannot really help me! The knife just cuts right through the air. The breeze is just that – it is empty air.”

Tears began to roll swiftly down my cheeks. The breeze was my parents’ love, and Jason’s love. Why wasn’t their love strong enough to counter the pain my knife was inflicting upon me? Did I want to suffer?

I spoke again choosing my words carefully. “Maybe my parents’ love cannot help me because it doesn’t feel unconditional. I grew up with many strong beliefs. Divorcing represents my failure to be committed to the ideal of marriage.”

My tears began to pour as I said, “Although she would still love me, I can feel my mother’s disappointment.”

And then I added, “Jason loves me, but I am hurting his papa!”

In the darkness of hypnosis, I felt emotional pain choking my every breath. With my honest admission, I had released so much. My father’s love began to envelop me. He knew of my decision before he died. Remembering his acceptance of it, infused me with strength.

I drifted back into peacefulness as I heard Connie counting slowly. I awakened and blinked; my eyelashes were wet and I was drained.

Connie explained that I obviously had a lot of resistance to letting go of my pain. I knew she was right.

I wondered when I would stop punishing myself.

I found many new pictures of Jason in my parents’ coop.

A beautiful picture of my mother with Jason.

My admission of marital unhappiness began a year ago. I wrote a song, which I titled “The Unknown.” It was something I was ready to face. If my song were named “The Known,” it would have been a far sadder song. The known was empty and lonely, and my future looked bleak.

Writing my blog, and rediscovering my songs certainly led me to a place of joy. But overnight, I woke up to discover that I was in a place desolate of affection, connection and contact. What I could not fathom was how I had accepted it for so long. With that realization, my joy began to fade. I was determined that I was not going back to Zombieland, and coped with my circumstances by immersing myself in writing and music to help me. It most certainly did.

In the past, I had watched both my brothers move back in with my parents while they went through their divorces. I always knew that if I ever had a problem, my parents would certainly take me back in. I hoped they would support my decision, even if they were disappointed because I had initiated it.

So there was great irony when it dawned on me – that I could live in my parents’ coop apartment until I decided my future plans.

My youngest son had recently been accepted into a new school that was only a few blocks from the coop. He could walk there and it would be an excellent location for us to live. He would stay with me while attending school and be with my husband on the weekends. My daughter planned to live with me and attend a community college nearby. My oldest son would stay with my husband.

Jason is standing near my parents’ bed. I have so many memories of visiting my parents with my children. I will be sleeping in the bed that is next to Jason in the picture above.

After my hypnotherapy session, my stomach issues eased up. No longer keeping a secret from my husband about my marital unhappiness was a relief. At times, it was awkward for us to be sleeping in the same bed, but less so for me. That was because I had lived inside my mind for a year; now he and I were at least communicating as we discussed our future plans.

Preparing the apartment to be livable required money and attention. My husband was willing to help me and we were together in the empty apartment on several occasions. There was a pervasive sadness, as both of us recounted memories of being there together when my parents were healthy and vital. I appreciated that he helped me; he fixed the air conditioner and installed a kitchen light fixture. I also planned to help him in any way I could and was both relieved and grateful that our separation was amicable.

This is a drawing I made of Jerusalem when I was 13. My oldest son, who is 21, just returned from a ten-day trip to Israel. He had a wonderful time and it eased some of his grief over his grandfather’s death.

After filling eight dumpsters due to my father’s hoarding, I was left with many boxes of memorabilia. Reminders of my childhood brought my father back to me. I felt him with me as I chuckled over priceless piles of artwork and writing he had saved.

I celebrated my mother’s birthday at a party held by her nursing home. Most of the time now, she was completely unaware of everything going on around her. But even with her advancing dementia, she still smiled with love for me whenever I put my face close to hers.

My parents have always been there for me and continue to be. I am also fortunate that my two older brothers have been supportive. Living in the apartment where I grew up is such an interesting prospect. There is no question that I feel the presence of both my parents there.

It will probably be several months before I am settled. My plan is to slowly fix it up and prepare myself to move. I have a lot of things that are hard to let go of. For example, I cannot bring my art studio furniture with me and no longer plan to paint anymore.

In this picture I am saying, “WOW!” I always loved receiving a new box of crayons for my birthday. As a child – and as an artist, there was nothing more exciting for me than that. I couldn’t wait to try out all the colors!

My parents were married 61 years and with my dad’s illness and my mother’s dementia – their closeness faded away. It was such a sad process to watch. Finding memorabilia from the past was helpful for me. I decided that it was better to focus on the beautiful aspects of their marriage, rather than on the sadder ending.

I am also doing that with my own marriage. The memory of love is something that I never want to lose.

I will end this post by sharing some touching cards my father wrote to my mother, as well as photos of my parents when they were younger.

I was embarrassed to see my father’s words “boobie-doll.” But then, I remember him calling my mother that so endearingly.

I love his words “I will pay to stick a diamond in your ring.”

This card sounds a lot like my brother when it came to tax season! My father was probably helping him at that time.

Dearest, 35 years seems so short! I could go another 35 years. But if I die tomorrow, I will die happy, because you have given me a fulfilled life. But enough talk of dying. Let’s go on another vacation – just you and me on a honeymoon.
Your number 1 booster, Lee

This is the original page from an old photo album. The photos were marred by yellowed tape and scanning improved them significantly. The captions were priceless!

I love my mother’s “pigtails” in this picture.

My mother and her sister – I love my mother’s shy expression in this picture.

I treasure this picture of my father. He was such an energetic man throughout his life. My mother used to tell me he always ran instead of walked. I hated to see how deeply he suffered when he could not move from his wheelchair toward the end of his life.

This is one of my favorite pictures of my mother when she was young.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2010. 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", Aging Parents, Caregiving, dementia, divorce, divorce after long marriage, grief, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, loss, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, Ordinary Life, original songs, separation
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MY JOURNEY'S INSIGHT

Posts Tagged ‘dementia’

YOU WERE THERE – PART 3

I AM THE SANDWICH – PART 2

WHEN I FIND PEACEFULNESS

I’M READY TO LIVE ON MY OWN

HOW SPECIAL YOU WERE

MY LIFE BECAME CLEAR – PART 2

WHERE I’M GOING

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