Hypnotherapy | MY JOURNEY'S INSIGHT

Posts Tagged ‘Hypnotherapy’

SO LITTLE WAS REQUIRED

February 4, 2013

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 »

IT FEELS SO DARK, THE SKY IS GRAY – PART 2

January 31, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

I’ve had my share of hurdles in life. Sometimes, I wonder why challenges continue to nip at my heels; it’s been one thing after another for years. But I have always prided myself for coping well and maintaining a positive attitude.

Two weeks ago, something unexpected was thrown at me. It was insidious that it happened just as I was feeling better about life in general.

Navigating living separately from my husband after 31 years of marriage was already enough for me to deal with. But as I sat eating my lunch on a lovely Saturday, I experienced a strange sensation in my left eye and watched an inky black blob snake across my field of vision. It curled into many interesting shapes until it became a shower of tiny black dots. After that, the visual field in that eye became gray.

I drove myself to Urgent Care right away.

Two years ago, I experienced a severe burn on my arm. My father died last May. I’ve had three cataract surgeries in the last six months. My mother continues to deteriorate with her dementia.

None of those challenges depressed me like this one. This one knocked me to the ground.

I found myself lying there, and it was very hard to get up.

I was distraught because my left eye annoyed me every second of my day. It felt like gray gossamer webs were inside my eye. My brain screamed loudly, “You cannot see and this is intolerable!”

Three ophthalmologists examined me since my “incident.” What happened was that the vitreous gel in my eye shrunk and pulled away from the eye wall. It did not tear my retina (for which I am thankful), but there was blood involved. I was told that this was a normal part of the aging process and I would adjust to my large new floater. The blurriness was a result of the blood that would eventually be reabsorbed.

I was calm at all of my appointments except the third one. That day, I saw the eye surgeon who performed my cataract surgeries. I cried to him. He probably felt he was comforting me when he said my condition would eventually improve. But he said that I wouldn’t notice improvement for months and it would take a year before the grayness and blurriness diminished.

I put on sunglasses and cried as I drove home. My eye surgeon had made many optimistic statements, which I wanted to hold onto.

My condition was normal.

I didn’t need eye surgery for a retinal detachment.

Eventually, things would improve.

But at that moment, my vision was cloudy, so I wanted to close my eyes. I dreamed I’d awaken with decent eyesight. I couldn’t stop crying. Suddenly, I had entered a new tunnel of grief.

I plodded through each day and suffered more than I had in a long time. I wasn’t sure how I could overcome this!

I decided to write something that would utilize tenants from hypnotherapy. It was about ways that I could look at my situation. I began with simple sentences that I heard in my mind. I thought of ways I could reshuffle the words in order to help myself feel better.

My blurry gray vision.

I hate it! It hurts to open both my eyes and look at the world. I can’t stop crying. I want to curl up and go back to sleep. I pray I’ll wake up and it will be better.

Can I live with

my blurry gray vision?

My answer is, “NO! I cannot live with this.” But, I have no choice about it and nothing can change it. Yet, it is so annoying and distracting. It screams over every other thought in my brain. Why do I have to live with this? I have too many questions, and none of them are helpful.

How

can I live with

my blurry gray vision?

I have no idea how I can function with this. I am struggling. I want to cry and complain, but since I hate to do that – it’s best that I hide from the world. Too much patience is required for this. I want the time to pass so I can see again.

I wonder

how I can live with

my blurry gray vision.

There are many people in the world who have adjusted to a loss of eyesight – my own mother has macular degeneration. If they could adjust, then I could also. How fortunate I am that I have a condition that is likely to heal and improve.

A photo with my father, taken when I was 15. He died eight months ago.

All my self-talk wasn’t helping and I was still miserable. I listened for my inner voice. When I heard that voice, I received quite a lecture.

My inner voice told me this:

You keep telling grieving people to “hold on to hope” and “hang on.” Listen to your own words about how it will get better someday.

Your misery is a reminder that you did not have adequate empathy.

Healing from grief detached you from the suffering. Therefore, this is a lesson for you.

When someone is suffering, knowing that the pain might get better some day scarcely alleviates the agony in the moment.

Remember when you wrote that healing is about acceptance and change?

That is exactly what you need to do! The aging process is about accepting that our bodies will never be young again.

Stop looking at the gray and find color in a different way. Close your eyes if you have to!

Below is my correspondence on a grief forum that took place several weeks before my eye injury. My words are in bold.

Message on a grief forum:

What if you aren’t feeling God around you at all? I am very angry with him and have many questions. I ask my questions out loud all the time. Well, I yell them.

My faith is shattered.

I think it is fairly impossible to find faith when everything you believed in has been shattered. The death of your beloved son is senseless and tragic. Allow yourself to feel all of your feelings. Express them. Yell and scream; cry and question. Don’t let anyone tell you it is wrong!

Denying those feelings leads to numbness. You are moving forward in your grief now. This is part of it. You may never find your faith again. But you wrote shattered – not gone. One day you might decide to pick up the pieces. When and only when you are ready.

Thanks, Judy. This process is getting harder not easier…. the more time, the more pain. It hurts to breathe. I lost my Mother when I was 18 and was devastated…. but this loss has crushed my soul.

I think there is a horrible realization that comes after the first year. Perhaps it has come to you already.

We live in a world where people think you can get on with your life and get over grief quickly. It is impossible to do this with the loss of a child. I have connected with many bereaved parents. My take is that the first year is a horror with all the “firsts” – the first Mother’s Day – the first Birthday – every holiday is torture.

Then comes the second year – it isn’t better. That is when the horrible realization comes. It is worse – not better. How is that possible? It continues into the third year and on and on. The years go by. One day that horrible realization turns into the sad fact that there is no going back. Acceptance still seems impossible and our child never ages. Each milestone hurts, especially when friends the age our child was grow up. I would think “he would be graduating this year, or driving, or going on his first date.”

I was told 7 years until the agony subsided. It is hard to hang on. Surround yourself with people who understand. Allow yourself any moment of peace or comfort. I have always said that my survival of grief was my greatest achievement in life. I don’t know that many people survive this kind of loss intact. Your soul is amputated, crushed and mutilated. You are still bleeding.

One day the bleeding will stop. Just keep reminding yourself that your son is holding you close and wanting you to survive this. Don’t believe that by finding comfort and moments of peace, you are forgetting him. Do whatever you can to survive and feel better.

I am certain you will emerge into sunshine. Grief is different for everyone and perhaps it won’t take 7 years. For me, the process of healing started slowly before that, but I wasn’t willing to acknowledge it. Look for signs of healing and you will see them. But now it is too soon.

Love, Judy

Tags:compassionate friends, death, death of a child, discouraged, eye issues, eyesight and aging, floaters, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, having hope, healing, healing and grief, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, loss, optimism, Ordinary Life, retinal blood, separation, writing
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YOU FLEW AWAY

January 14, 2013

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

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

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

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

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

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

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

Such a contradiction to announce that I have healed!

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

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

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

“When I Close The Door”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My passion for music and songwriting continues.

–

Clicking the blue links plays the audio:

LESSON KIMBERLY BLOG EXCERPT 12-23-12

LESSON KIMBERLY BLOG EXCERPT A 1-5-13

LESSON KIMBERLY BLOG EXCERPT B 1-5-13

LESSON KIMBERLY BLOG EXCERPT A 1-13-13

LESSON KIMBERLY BLOG EXCERPT B 1-13-13

© 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:child's death, composing, creativity, death, death of a child, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, Kimberly Haynes, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Music, original songs, singer, singing, singing lessons, songwriting, vocal coaching, vocal concepts, voice lessons
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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 »

HOW CAN MY HEART EVER HEAL?

December 10, 2012

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

Recently, I shared how I have been deeply affected reading a blog about a mother named Tersia who is caring for her terminally ill daughter, Vicky.

Because I subscribe to her blog, I receive by email other people’s comments. They continue to pour in and the expressions of love and support take my breath away. Recently, I mailed Tersia and Vicky a CD of my music and words. I honestly was shocked when Tersia found the time to respond and took me up on my offer to share it with her.

Tersia is an excellent writer and conveys a lot with only a few words. Here are some recent excerpts of her heartfelt words:

Vic’s Final Journey

Now it is only a matter of time. Vic’s organs are slowly shutting down. My child is gently being eased into death.

The entire day it echoed through my mind “we cannot stop this. It is happening”

Vic is calm and serene.

“Next year my mom and I are going to Italy” she told Sue today.

“Then I can die…”

“We will find a way my love” Sue said…

“It is closer than she realizes,” Sue said to me at her car.

“Do I tell her?” I asked.

“No, her body will…” Sue said.

I cannot bear the thought of living without Vic.

I am too tired to write anything that makes sense. I just need to record today. I never want to forget today.

I want to remember how I felt when I lay with my child this afternoon. I want to remember her tears when she spoke to her sister. I want to remember the smell of her vomit. Maybe it will make it easier to accept later on.

On December 10, 2012, Judy wrote:

Dearest Tersia,

I’ve read all of those beautiful comments to you and still don’t know what to write myself. I am bursting with sadness for the hell you and Vic are going through.

It reminds me of when I wrote my song “Set You Free.” I’ve written many songs that have helped me, but this one is very special. I’m attaching it by email, because the package with my CD’s will take a while to arrive.

I love both of you from across the world. Your spirits shine right through cyberspace.

Love, Judy

Dear Judy

You are truly an angel. Thank you. I cried when I listened to the words of your touching song. You have a beautiful, soothing voice, and it was balm to my soul.

Thank you for the package. Words fail me.

Love, Tersia

Clicking the blue link below plays my song “Set You Free”

Vicky’s son carrying his mother

Dearest Tersia,

Your words meant so much to me! I am awed that you were even able to find a moment to listen. And on top of that, you took the time to write to me and that is unbelievable!

When you enter the darkness of grief, keep remembering the words to my song. A clock is ticking loudly. I remember that sound. I heard it before my son died and later on my father.

In some ways, the shadow of death is a curse. It brings suffering. But there is also an upside, which I know you are deeply appreciative of. Before you enter the darkness of grief, you have an opportunity to say goodbye.

I pray Vicky’s pain will end soon and I can feel the shining light of love from across the world. It is glowing and holding you both, as the time grows closer.

I wish you never had to bear this pain. No mother should ever bury a child.

And children should never have to bury their beloved mother who died without growing old. (I was choked with tears when I read how Vic went to the orthodontist with her son despite being so sick.) I don’t know all of your family, but certainly her siblings are bearing this pain, as well. I am so sorry!

Vicky’s essence will always remain with you. Letting go is so, so hard.

And you already know you must set her free, Tersia.

Love, Judy

On Dec 9, 2012, Brenda wrote:

Judy, does the pain ever really end? I don’t think so, but I find myself at a point so low right now that I am driving my family away. I spent the day trying to be the “great mom” I was before and it was so hard. It seems everyone else is unhappy when I am miserable, so I pretend to be ok. At this point, I’d rather have them happy than not have them at all

I cried when I heard your song. As you said, we just have to hang on. It does help me to express my pain through music, poetry, prose, stories…any healing is better than none. It is just so wrong that a wonderful child was taken from a caring mother for no reason, when there are people who are left here making people suffer. Why are they left here and we and our kids pay the price? It just all seems so unjust and beyond comprehension to me.

Brenda

Brenda,

I do believe life is precious and no one knows how long he or she will live. My son’s life was short with only five years. When I am dead and gone, it would be a shame if I gave up my life because of grief for my child. We don’t even know what happens with death. Perhaps, your son is watching you from above and is absolutely fine.

The part of life that I have the hardest time accepting is suffering. Death is better than intense suffering.

Because no one knows, we just assume our child will outlive us and it goes against the laws of nature when a child dies. But many things happen, and there is no control. That is part of nature, too.

I know too well about pain. You have every reason to be angry. I wrote a poem called “The Ache in My Heart.” It was written four years into my bereavement, at a time when I had little hope of ever feeling better. The last line of my poem was, “How can my heart ever heal – when it continues to bleed?”

I began to heal when I changed my thought process. I had to actually believe that healing was possible.

Do not assume your grief journey ends here. If you do, you will remain stuck. I wish you could find ways to be gentle with yourself and remind yourself that healing is possible.

I am so sorry for what you have gone and are going through. When I read your message about how you spent the day trying to be a good mom – I was thinking, “How about being good to yourself?” You said you were pretending to be happy in order not to upset your family; I have done that, too.

Even now, sometimes I pull out my hair trying to deal with two teenagers in this small apartment. Separation and divorce are another form of grief and I am hanging on until things get easier. I use the term “hanging on” quite often to describe how I coped with intense grief. It still helps me with my current situation.

With songwriting I cannot pretend. Singing allows me to share my true feelings. Music healed me of so much pain!

“Thoughts equal feelings”

Brenda, what has really helped me is an excellent tenant from hypnotherapy. The statement is: “Thoughts equal feelings.”

What we tell ourselves definitely affects how we feel!

An example is that when you tell yourself that you don’t think the pain will ever end – that is just not helpful for you!

You reinforce that by looking for ways that the pain continues stabbing you.

Another way of looking at the pain is in reverse by thinking instead, “I wonder when my pain will end?”

Imagine how it might feel to have freedom from your pain. Suddenly, you might see yourself looking more for signs that you are healing.

They are there if you look for them!

This is such a simple concept and can directly improve how you feel. I use the power of positive thinking to cope continuously with life.

I will never forget my son, and I grieved for many years. But my suffering did not bring my son back to me!

For such a long time, I felt closer to my son with my sadness. I believed that if I allowed myself happiness he was farther away. Guilt is a terrible thing.

Stop worrying about your family and their happiness. I did that for decades and stayed in an empty marriage with a man who ignored me. When you take care of yourself, you will bring much more into the world and ultimately, to your loved ones.

Do not depend on others to fill your space. That leads you to disappointment and anger. Anger is an impediment to healing. That’s why I suggested love as an antidote. Find reasons to forgive and do it in your son’s memory with all the love in your heart. This will allow you to leave disappointment behind.

Do continue to cry and talk about your son. Keep writing. And stay close to other grieving people who understand. I am farther along in my journey and my purpose is to give you hope. You will find that when you hold hands and help other people grieving as you are, the pain will diminish. You will discover how much farther you can go toward healing.

I would love to share another song with you – about the pain. It’s called “So Real.” It always makes me cry. I wrote it for my son, but cry singing it because I’ve lost my mother to dementia over the past few years.

Love, Judy

Clicking the blue link below, leads to my song “So Real” and more words about grief:

IT ALL SEEMED SO REAL

My coop’s walkway 50 years ago.

Not everything has been easy, but I’m still smiling.

Tags:"sandwich generation", butterflies, butterfly, child's death, compassionate friends, composing, death, death of a child, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, healing, healing from grief, hope, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, loss, lyric development, motherhood, Music, original songs, pain of grief, singing, songwriting
Posted in Healing and Hope | Leave a Comment »

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.

aa-
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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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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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I NEED TO SET YOU FREE

May 23, 2012

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

CLICK THE BLUE LINKS BELOW TO HEAR MY ORIGINAL SONG THAT I PLAN TO PLAY AT MY FATHER’S FUNERAL:

–

“It’s hard to let go”

Sometimes I ask myself, “What does my journey’s insight really mean?” Of course, that brings the memory of my father telling me how my blog’s title was grammatically incorrect. My father told me that only people can have insight, and journeys are not people. I like that memory; because I know it is the beginning of the many ways I will remember my father.

For me, it is about sharing every bit of insight I find as I navigate my life’s journey. I believe it was the process of opening up that ultimately healed me. Containing feelings is very unhealthy; but I do acknowledge that sometimes it is necessary.

In order to help myself cope better, I am opening up to intimately share how it feels to watch my father die. I am not alone with this process, because it is universal. All of us are going to die some day. Much of our culture’s approach to death baffles me. We are kinder to our pets than to our elderly.

A few days before my father’s birthday, I asked him what he wished for. He said to me clearly, “You’re not going to like my answer, but I wish I were dead.” I let him know that although I indeed did not like it, I understood.

And so it was on my father’s birthday, that he received his wish when he was unable to be awakened. It was even a little mysterious that so many of the staff at my father’s nursing home found his demise baffling. He did not behave differently the days before his final birthday. On that morning, he simply snored and could not be roused.

I was asked (despite my father’s no hospitalization order) if I wanted a 911 call to be made. Without an invasive approach, I would not know what had actually happened. I preferred for my father to die peacefully; whether he had a stroke or sepsis was unimportant.

My father’s wish might have come true, but because he had a strong heart, his body continued to breathe and fight to stay alive.

Late last night, I rambled on to him in the darkness. I thought about his last message on my answering machine. He said simply, “I’m saying goodnight and wondering how your eye is.” He always worried about me. Oh, how I would miss having him there to care about me that way. The day before, I wondered if he might just awaken and this would all be a mistake. I wanted to think his snoring was just that, instead of the death rattle I knew it was.

I was certain he could hear me. Every time I brought up things that he wanted to respond to, his rasping snore became louder. When I ran out of things to say, I decided to sing to him. I was singing when one of his favorite nurses, Veronika, entered the room. She was crying and told me that she would never forget him. From the beginning of the death march, many caregivers approached me to share how they felt my father was wonderful man; all the beautiful words and hugs buoyed me. There were many, many people who loved my father. The last few months when I would drop him off at his facility, he would cry with joy when he had any of his favorite ones. His life revolved around who would be his caregiver for the night.

The process of watching him going from being an independent man to a helpless man, often filled me with despair. But eventually, he accepted it and so did I. It was harder with my mother because I hadn’t gone through seeing deterioration before. But my father remained my vestige of strength; I could always look to him for support. Eventually, that changed, especially during the times when he was continuously moaning.

The kind nurses in the room lifted my mood. We chatted about my father and the conversation became light. An older nurse said to the other, “Do you remember the lady who lived almost twenty days this way – no food or water?”

I didn’t like hearing that. I thought it would be five days, at most.

Then I heard Veronika interject how she knew my father hated drinking water. It made me laugh, because she was right. At every restaurant I had ever dined at with my dad, he insisted on not being given a glass of water. He did not want it to be wasted on him since he would not drink it. Veronika really knew my father!

I came home and it was peaceful and quiet. As I tried to sleep, I wondered if I would receive the dreaded phone call. In the afternoon, I received a call from the facility, and my heart was pounding. But the voice on the other end said she needed to inform me that my mother’s blood pressure medication would be raised.

I could not sleep. I listened to music and took in the magical elixir that allowed me to relax. But my heart kept pounding. I knew I was feeling that extra heart beat. I had never noticed it before, but now I did. My doctor told me it wasn’t dangerous, but I didn’t like it at all.

I prayed for the moment when my father’s heart would stop, because somehow I knew that after that my heart would be calm again. It would be my signpost that he was free.

Most of the time I was with him, I coached and begged him to let go. I wasn’t sure if he was able to voluntarily do that. But I told him it was okay and that he could be free from the prison of his body.

My original illustration of a fantasy butterfly which I changed coloration for to use for my song/story cover “Set You Free.”

The Death March

I wondered why I searched for an image to represent courage at my last hypnotherapy session. Had I known this was so imminent?

My image of a gray piece of granite blocking my vision held a lot of layers of meaning for me. Initially, it represented transformation by being a metamorphic rock. I certainly found the concept of allowing challenge to shape me into something stronger to be compelling.

Other thoughts began flowing into me. Perhaps the grayness of the rock represented other things, such as the reason my vision was obscured.

And then came another revelation. Gray was often a metaphor I used for grief. I have said that when I was grieving I did not see any color in the world.

I decided my rock was the image of impending grief for which I needed courage to face.

It was now the third day of the death march. I heard that my mother had babbled something about my father being dead to one of her grandchildren who visited. Perhaps she knew?

I wasn’t yet ready to face seeing my father on this third day of the death march. For the past three days, I had also been avoiding my mother. I brought in lunch to eat outside with my mother’s caregiver, Miriam, my mother and myself.

My brother and I had talked about how much better it was that we not upset our mother. She was mostly incoherent and it wouldn’t be helpful to give her grief over my father. My parents had been married over 61 years. Recently, she had even called him her “ex-husband” much of the time. As we finished our lunch in the beautiful sunshine, I felt rather impulsive when I told Miriam, “I want to let my mom say goodbye.”

Miriam said, “I have been wanting to ask you about this. So many people have told me it would be a good thing – but I respected whatever you decided.”

I said quietly, “I think it’s something I want to do for both of them.”

Together all three of us entered my father’s room. My mother hardly noticed my father. Just as he had the night before, he was prone on his bed snoring loudly. But it was clear that he was dying. My mother seemed pleased to be in the room and did not appear sad. She seemed to appreciate the dignity of not being left out. I asked her to say something to him and she babbled incoherently. The moment became sad, as I whispered to my father that she was there. It was clear my mother did not truly understand the situation.

She looked tired, so I said, “Mom, I want you to say goodbye to dad.” I put her hand in his. His hand was warm and limp. She held onto it for a while; then she said loudly, “Goodbye, honey.” Her goodbye was so clear and familiar. It was as if she was saying goodbye to him, expecting he might answer or she’d see him later on.

The moment caused tears to well inside me. But there were no tears I could release yet. They were waiting.

My mother left with Miriam. I sat alone at my father’s bedside. His throat muscles were completely visible now. The base of his neck bulged with a ball the size of a small apple. Taut veins were popping out from his skin with gullies on either side.

Every year around this time, I used to be filled with grief and sadness over the upcoming birthday for my deceased child, Jason. Memorial Day weekend was a reminder of all the wonderful birthday parties I used to make for him. He only had five of them, but the memory was always there.

I was not sad about Jason anymore. Healing was another blessing for me to hold on to.

So often, my father had wept to me about how he looked forward to seeing Jason in heaven. With that thought, I began coaching him. Firmly and gently I said, “Dad, please do this. You can leave the prison of your body. You are not alone. Jason is waiting for you. You can give me a sign and a beautiful gift if you would just let yourself go. I watched as his breathing slowed; I held my breath. But he continued rattling.

Over and over, I continued to beg him to go. I wished I could put a pillow over his face. Why was it like this? Why couldn’t he have died in his sleep on Monday morning?

I left him with my heart pounding in that funny rhythm. I knew my heart would be calm when his stopped. Of that I was certain.

I came home to write and prepared myself to go back in the evening with my oldest son after he returned home from his camping trip.

My father was waiting.

My father has always been a hoarder. I have begun to clean his room and take things home with me.

LINKS TO STORIES ABOUT MY FATHER:

#270 YOU WERE THERE – PART 2

#77 MY FATHER

#239 SET YOU FREE

#224 I ALWAYS KNEW THAT I HAD YOU

#240 I CRY AS YOU LEAVE

#246 TO SOMEWHERE UNKNOWN

#247 WHEREVER YOU ARE, MY LOVE WON’T BE FAR

#25 HEALING THE DAUGHTER’S HEART

—

SET YOU FREE

You’re hanging on as night turns to dawn

I know you can’t stay and soon you’ll be gone

we both know it’s hard to let go;

wherever you are my love won’t be far

your smile, your touch, your voice, your face;

your essence I will never replace

though I long for you to hold me; I need to set you free

There is no fear and your leaving is clear

we’ll still have our love; it remains with each tear

I cry as you leave, but I truly believe

as you leave my sight we’ll both be all right

your smile, your touch, your voice, your face;

your essence I will never replace

though I long for you to hold me; I need to set you free

though you have flown to somewhere unknown

we’re never apart ‘cause you’re here in my heart

your smile, your touch, your voice, your face;

your essence I will never replace

though I long for you to hold me; I need to set you free

Tags:"sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, death, dementia, grief, GRIEF RELATED, guitar, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother's illness, Music, original songs, performing, singing, songwriting
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WHEN I GREW UP

December 27, 2011

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

In this picture I am a young girl. Now I’m older, but I hardly feel different.

The link below will play my song as an instrumental arrangement “in progress.” My song is half-finished, and will be developed much more soon.

The two links below it are recordings of my voice lessons discussing my song’s creation with Peaches Chrenko.

PEACHES LESSON EXCERPT 12/8/11

PEACHES LESSON EXCERPT 12/13/11

On the outside looking in, I am an ordinary middle-aged woman. At home, I have two teenagers, an adult son, a husband, a Chihuahua, a Conure parrot, and two cats. My mini-van has over 200,000 miles on it. I play women’s doubles tennis as therapy and for exercise at least once a week. I see both my parents who live separately at a nursing facility at least three times a week. For over thirty years I was an illustrator, and once in a while I still get an occasional job.

However, my life is far from ordinary. I live with intense passion and excitement about the project I am creating. My audio book tells my story about how I “turned my life around” and is truly a real-life fairytale. At this time, I am utilizing all of the many talents I was fortunate to have been born with. I am creating artwork to adorn my stories; my book is told with my speaking voice, and includes many musical compositions and audio attachments. I am still improving as a singer and a CD of my songs is an integral part of my book.

I devote as much time as I can to craft my project, and look forward to sharing it and touching many people. When it is finished, I can’t wait to begin another book that will be a continuation of my beautiful story.

I see my life as a musical.

My music causes my life to be joyful, magical and simply delightful. That is amazing considering the fact that I still face many challenges as a “sandwich generation” woman.

I can be shopping in a store, sleeping, or driving, when a new song begins to play in my mind. It swells to awaken my soul and soon I am dancing. The melody and words are already written; I must simply write them down.

I did not plan to write any more new songs for my book, but songs kept erupting from my soul. I loved how my last song composition “Hang On,”was especially uplifting and expressed my survival of grief by holding onto love.

But a few weeks ago, another new melody started to fill my mind. It was unbelievable how quickly my newest song unfolded. I had been working long hours on my book, and to be perfectly honest, I didn’t feel as joyful as I had before. I had neglected exercise and missed performing since Border’s Bookstore where I used to play went out of business. I had tremendous financial pressure and issues with my parents still loomed for me. It made sense that a song would come to me, because whenever I feel pain, my mind turns it into music to soothe me.

Although my new song is about how I’ve turned my life around, it is especially meaningful because it expresses my clarity. I decided to name my song “Clear,” instead of “I Turned My Life Around.”

I have described my former life as “Zombieland” where I lived a plodding existence. There was nothing I looked forward to and I felt like I was sleep-walking through life. Thankfully, my current life is one where I am wide-awake; I see everything clearly now, and am completely in touch with my feelings.

This message I pulled from a fortune cookie tonight sounded great to me!

A week ago, I was very excited to share my new song with my hypnotherapist, Connie. I went to our hypnotherapy session and brought my guitar along. In the quiet of her guesthouse, I fingerpicked my newly discovered chords and sang softly. As I sang the last lyric line of “there’s no reason to wait,” I truly felt peaceful.

The room was silent and I could see that Connie was deeply touched. When I first began seeing her three years earlier, I was plagued by many stress-related ailments. My parents were living with me and I was overwhelmed with their care. For many years before that, I had been raising my three children and there were many challenges related to that. My career was fading and I had little income. I was beaten down and felt like I was wounded and broken. Connie could truly see what a difference she had made to my life; she had watched me heal. It was her suggestions and encouragement that paved my journey as I went from being sad to joyful.

As I put my guitar away, I said to Connie, “Am I a hypocrite? I say I am joyful, but obviously I am still struggling with many things that are causing me to overeat. Perhaps I am not really a shining example of my joyful message.”

Connie said gently, “You are dealing with many things; any one of them might be a lot for most people to deal with.” Then, she began listing all of the challenges I was facing. When she mentioned my mother’s dementia and the resulting loss of closeness that used to sustain me, I began to cry. She said many people in my situation might be so overwhelmed as to not even get out of bed in the morning. Connie also felt that it was simply amazing that I was able to be so productive in spite of my challenges.

Hypnosis had certainly enlightened me about the power of my subconscious. Our session that day was filled with so many revelations, that material for my next book was quickly filling pages in my mind. While under hypnosis, I gained great insight about how deeply songwriting and my subconscious were intertwined.

I never consciously planned to compose any of my new songs. But the words and melodies interrupted whatever it was I was doing, and looped in my mind. It was always a mystery to me, how many of my youthful songs were prophetic.

A month earlier, I had been amazed when I decided my song “Set You Free” was actually about setting myself free from grief. But now I had even more awareness. I saw my songs as a script to follow in the “musical of my life.”

My recent song compositions that I wrote to help other people were actually speaking to me at the same time!

“Hang On,” was about reminding me how I needed to “hang on” to face the continuing challenges in my life. With my newest song, I was simply stunned. The last line of “there was no reason to wait” was my subconscious speaking to me about the fear I still carried and how I needed to stop waiting to confront it. Although I was confident that my stories and music would be comforting to many people, I still wrestled with the fear that my book would not change my life in the ways I had hoped.

Regardless of how my book sold, I needed to continue to improve my life and heal myself.

My song “Clear” is a far more meaningful conclusion to my first book than “Hang On.” Beyond offering hope for surviving and creating a new life after loss, I am a living and breathing example of someone following a dream.

I am a real person and my fairytale story is still unfolding.

At this moment, I have no idea where my dream will take me. Regardless, of where it takes me, I have found happiness. I want to inspire people that it truly is possible to change your life.

Often, many of my lyric lines can be found within my stories. The line that I love most in “Clear,” is the one about getting up off the ground; that image I see of myself lying there is a very real one and I wrote about it in my story:

THERE WAS HOPE FOR ME.

I really was numb from so much scar tissue, and my awakening from that numbness after decades was miraculous.

I got up off the ground and marveled at my survival.

I celebrated how love had lifted me.

And then, I took off.

I flew to beautiful destinations I could never have imagined.

I celebrate the beauty of life with one of my paintings (hydrangeas); I love flowers.

My life is shaped by my musical creations. My sadness morphed into a beautiful new song and now my soul has been soothed. Wherever I am, I hear my new song playing and the process of crafting it has encompassed much of my creative energy.

Although it diverted me from my book, my song is now a wonderful ending for it. My audio book is about 75% finished, and is coming along beautifully. I am proud of my improvement and certain that it will touch many people. I am not rushing to finish it, because I am giving it my best effort.

At this time, I am working with my arranger George and we have been trying some new ways of working together. In the past, I simply have played my guitar first, and then sang along with it before George arranged my song. We are arranging it first with many instruments, and after I got home I began to experiment and add my guitar playing into the arrangement. George and I have not finished the instrumentation; it will most likely be finished by the end of next week. I plan to record many vocals, as I am fine-tuning my lyrics for this song.

I am still performing my song in a different way, slightly slower and shorter. It is definitely my passion and joy. Below is a link to play my performance at Kulak’s Woodshed on December 17th.

CLEAR-Performance by Judy at Kulak’s Woodshed on 12/17/11

I will share a brief update about the other elements in my life; my parents continue to hang in there. Unlike when I first started my blog, my children do not want me to write a single thing about them. I am so tired of the many messy pets running my household that I’m not going to write about them either.

I can share some pictures, so here goes!

I surprised my high school choir teacher, Frankie Nobert, on the date of her actual 75th birthday. We had a wonderful lunch.

Last Sunday, I parked my mother’s wheelchair next to my father so they could both watch a show together. Both my parents live separately at a nursing facility and my father hardly talks to my mother because her dementia is very advanced now.

My mother sleeps a lot. One of the greatest gifts in my life is her wonderful caregiver, Miriam. She has made my joyful life possible.

An actual page of my lyrics as I wrote them down.

Okay – I am going to share a picture of my three children here. It makes me cry.

Tags:"sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, creativity, dementia, guitar, Hypnotherapy, loss, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, original songs, singing, songwriting, voice lessons
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BORDERING ON TEARS

August 8, 2011

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

Just for fun, I'm sharing a picture from my wedding with my bridesmaids (For some reason, my dear friend Joni is missing.). Marge posed even though she wasn't a bridesmaid. She was in Israel during my engagement and returned only a few days before my wedding.

Marge recently celebrated a Bat Mitzvah. I am posing with her in this picture taken several weeks ago.

“The changes that have occurred in my life”

I have suffered with deep grief and other disappointments in my life. When I began writing, I shared a great deal about that. However, I currently prefer to write about how I continue to smile despite many on-going challenges in my life.

My story, “The Music From Her Heart” is about inspiring people to know that happiness is possible despite adversity in life. When I discovered my passion for writing and music a year and a half ago, everything changed for me. The suffering that I endured for over two decades was erased and I transformed into a happy and self-satisfied person. Now my life is very meaningful for me.

Although I am not the same person I was before I suffered from grief, I have definitely healed. While I was grieving, I never believed it was possible that I would ever be happy again.

After a decade of deep grief I lived for another decade in a place called “Zombieland”. That word describes my existence of feeling “numb” without any emotional connection to life.

I suspect that many people are in that place. Also, very few people escape adversity at some point in their lives.

It’s important for me to share that with joy, I also feel pain. I believe that experiencing pain is necessary and part of the full spectrum of being alive. I turn my pain into music and song lyrics; after that, my pain is diminished.

I realize that many of my songs mention tears, so I guess I am very emotional!

Most of the time, I dance through my day enraptured by music. I often cope with unrelenting stress (due to my parents’ deteriorating health), but with my music I am soaring. I am also filled with great love for my family and that continues to fuel me.

Because I am a writer, I tend to tell myself a lot of stories. I would describe some of those stories, as scenarios I imagine are happening to explain other people’s actions. Telling myself stories is usually not helpful. I have the awareness that some of what I tell myself might not be true. To improve my life, I stop those stories.

The reason I do this, is because I can easily spin-off into thoughts that make me sad. I believe many people do not realize the impact of the messages they tell themselves.

Thoughts equal feelings!

I have learned through hypnotherapy how the messages I tell myself definitely translate into whether I am upbeat or not.

I want to write about two areas where I have very positive feelings that I didn’t used to have until I transformed into a happier person.

The first area is about sleep. When my son, Jason, died in 1992 I had great difficulty sleeping. For eighteen years I took an over-the-counter sleeping pill. If I didn’t take the pill, I would wake up in the middle of the night, unable to fall back to sleep. I felt that it was very important not to forget to take that pill because I would have difficulty “functioning the next day.” That was the story I told myself, which I was certain was based upon my experience.

With my newfound happiness and “transformation,” I made many changes to improve my life.

First, I stopped biting my nails.

Then, I stopped taking the sleeping pill. I had so much more energy and decided I’d allow myself the freedom to do whatever my body told me.

I stopped telling myself how many hours were necessary for me to sleep in order to function.

I slept whenever I was tired and if I wasn’t tired, I was fine with having more time to write or play music. That translated into my going to sleep well after midnight and waking up sometimes as early as five or six a.m.

I woke up excited to be alive and to have another precious day ahead of me. This was a huge contrast to how I could not face each day while I was in deep grief.

When people hear that I sleep so few hours, they often tell me that it is not possible to function that way.

I smile with the knowledge that those people are welcome to their beliefs and can continue give themselves that message if they so choose. I prefer to tell myself a different message.

My message is that I have more energy than I ever did before when I slept more and was sad.

The other area where I have more positive feelings surrounds the subject of menopause. I have often heard the belief that the “change of life” is something full of discomfort.

Pardon my honesty, but those occasional “hot flashes” have been manageable because I have felt “hot” my entire life. It wasn’t anything new. My poor children all blame me for the sweaty condition that they inherited from me!

I actually had my last period the month I began my blog.

I can say with complete candor that I have experienced the most wonderful “change of life.” It has dispelled all of my prior notions that menopause was something to dread.

I have rarely met any woman my age who feels this way.

I continue to find ways to appreciate my circumstances and feel blessed!

“A year in my life”

Today, I happened to drive by the Border’s Bookstore where I used to perform weekly. There were large signs up for the “going out of business sale.”

It is so interesting for me that it was exactly one year ago when I began performing regularly at Border’s Bookstores. I wrote a story called: BORDERING ON BREAKING OUT

On impulse, I decided to park and go inside. I felt that it was an opportunity for me to say goodbye to the bookstore where I had so many fond memories of singing. I was sad to see my performing there end because it was such a wonderful venue to share my music. However, that is nothing compared with the loss of jobs for so many people. I entered the store. It was crowded and frenzied because many people were there looking for a good deal. The few employees I saw looked overwhelmed.

Most of the equipment at the "Cafe" was gone.

This wasn't even the most gorgeous of the smoothies I received after performing. (I always brought it home to share with my kids, but they were lucky if half was left!)

I went upstairs to the area where I used to sing. I could picture in my mind the nice girl at the coffee bar who would fix me a beautiful smoothie when I finished performing. I would always remember her.

I wasn’t sure if the manager was there and even if he was, I hated to bother him when he was so busy. He was such a kind and sensitive man. But I wanted to let him know how sorry I was and to say goodbye.

I waited patiently to speak with a harassed employee to find out if the manager was even there. She told me he was, but he was very busy. I told her I would wait. She asked me my name and I told her who I was. Suddenly, she hugged me.

Within a moment, the manager appeared in front of me. He was a tall, slender man and easy to talk to. At my last performance he told me his store had actually been profitable and was doing well. I felt sorry for him.

I reached over to hug him and then I said I would gladly write him a reference if it could be helpful. I was touched when he said he would appreciate it. He said the audio equipment would soon be available for sale if I was interested.

Tears started to pool within my eyes. As they fell, I looked the other way so as not to embarrass him.

I left the store feeling quite emotional and decided I wanted to write something regarding optimism when challenged by life.

The bankruptcy and closure of Border’s Bookstores most certainly affected many people with layoffs, and put their lives into a tailspin. I am very sensitive to grief and pain around me. As a writer, I avoid topics such as politics or religion.

But I feel I must address the pervasive atmosphere that surrounds me everywhere I look. With the current state of our economy, I am sad for the many people who are struggling. A good friend told me yesterday that people he had worked with for over twenty years were recently laid off. He is nervous because his job is in jeopardy.

For people struggling with the loss of a job and coping with financial hardship, I have no answers.

I can only say that despite my own struggles in life, I continue to remain optimistic. Like the song “Tomorrow,” I always stay positive that life can and will get better.

Challenges are usually temporary and controlling my thoughts allow me to stay joyful, which in turn helps me to better cope.

Also, having my health is something I appreciate the most. Everything else pales in comparison.

The area where I used to sing. The chairs were gone.

“An anniversary of the heart”

Today was Cheryl’s birthday. Cheryl died from breast cancer three years ago and she would have been fifty-two years old.

We were very close while I was in college and she inspired several of my songs. I have never forgotten how I made her a surprise, twenty-first birthday party. It was hard to keep it a secret from her and I had counted down the days until the moment she would be surprised.

A picture taken when I opened the door to surprise Cheryl on her 21st birthday.

A picture from Cheryl's surprise 21st birthday party.

Six months earlier, I had visited Cheryl’s eighty-nine-year-old mother and brought along my guitar. It was a very special visit for both of us. I called her mother tonight. I was able to discern from my phone call that a lot had changed for her since my prior visit.

She had withdrawn from life.

I listened as she shared that she no longer socialized or used her computer to see her grandchildren’s activities on Facebook. She rarely left her house.

It was important for me to let her mother know that Cheryl lived on in my thoughts and music. When I told her how deeply I missed Cheryl, she said she missed and thought of Cheryl every minute of every day.

I believed her.

As I hung up the phone, my heart ached for a fellow, bereaved mother. There were no words to express how sorry I was.

A picture of me with Cheryl a few years before she died. She visited me from Cleveland every few years.

Tags:childhood friendship, composing, creativity, Daily Life, death of a child, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, humor daily life, Hypnotherapy, loss, Music, optimism, Ordinary Life, original songs, performing, singing, songwriting, thinking positive, writing
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I CRY AS YOU LEAVE

July 17, 2011

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

“The cactus and the rose”

I love metaphors and imagery. Both are very useful for me while under hypnosis.

It was a beautiful morning as I entered Connie’s backyard for our hypnotherapy session. The summer’s warmth had not yet penetrated; I appreciated the coolness and noticed the lovely flowers in the garden as I entered her guesthouse.

Before coming to our appointment, I had visited my father who was in a separate nursing facility from my mother. He had only recently been discharged from the hospital. I drove to my appointment listening to my new song. My song was more beautiful than anything I could have ever imagined.

The past week had been busy for me; I was very excited to share with Connie so many things. I looked forward to sharing my new song with her and planned to sing it the moment I arrived. I brought a CD player so I could play the karaoke version of my song’s arrangement and sing along with it. In the quiet of her guesthouse, the sounds of a flute interweaving with a violin lifted my heart as I began to sing my song aloud.

The act of singing was such an intense form of emotional expression for me. My breathing felt effortless as I produced soft, delicate tones for the many high notes in my song. The beautiful melody enveloped my heart and soul with comfort. As I sang the last lyric line of “I need to set you free,” I truly felt peaceful. I allowed myself to appreciate the release that singing had brought me.

Now the room was silent. I could see that Connie was touched. After all, she knew I had not sung for three decades. Sharing my transformation with her was always very moving for me. I had been attending hypnotherapy sessions with her for at least three years. When I first began seeing her, I was a completely different person. I did not hear or play music and my guitar had been mostly in its case for the last thirty years. I was also plagued by many stress-related ailments. My parents were living with me and I was overwhelmed with their care. For many years, I had been fighting with the school district and advocating for all three of my children. My career had dissipated. I was beaten down and very withdrawn from life.

A recent snapshot of a performance at the open mic night held in North Hollywood at Kulak’s Woodshed.

I babbled happily for a few minutes, and told Connie how amazed I was that I had composed a song that was so expressive of my feelings. The week before I had played my “developing” song for her on my guitar. In only a short week, I finalized my song and even had it arranged.

Our session began with me discussing the many aspects of my life that had improved. Even though my children and my husband were adjusting to the new person I had become, I still had elements in my life that were extremely stressful. I was struggling with weight issues again. Connie said she could help me while under hypnosis. As always, I was open to anything she suggested.

It was time for hypnosis. I quickly descended into a deep, hypnotic state. Her voice was very far away. I could barely hear her and I wanted to drift off to sleep. I asked her to repeat what she had said so I could process it. She asked me to allow for an image to form that would represent my stress. I waited for something to appear and suddenly, I was transported into a desert landscape.

I told her I envisioned a cactus. She asked me to describe it. I replied that it was a large, Saguaro cactus; the spines were prominent and close to my face. She told me to allow the image to move from the center of my vision to one side. Gradually it faded into the background as she asked me to replace the cactus image with something else. My next image needed to be beautiful and comforting.

I remembered how when I entered her garden that morning, I definitely noticed all the flowers. I chose the image of roses. I found that interesting because there weren’t any roses in Connie’s garden. When she asked me to describe them. I didn’t see roses that were of one color. The ones I envisioned were exquisite with subtle gradations of white, yellow, pink, and orange.

I told her that there were noticeable thorns. My mind noted how I chose two, separate images that had similarities with sharp spines and thorns. I was surprised when Connie’s voice told me that it was now time to awaken. I was so relaxed and it felt like it was too soon. However, I heard her command and I needed to open my eyes. I squinted and grinned at her as I always did when I awakened from hypnosis.

We hugged goodbye as I was leaving. She said, “Over this next week, I’m hoping that the images you chose will be helpful for you.”

As I left our session I wondered about the significance of my image choices.

I took this picture of my parents to be used on an invitation for their 40th anniversary party, which was held at my home.

“Allowing for beauty to overshadow pain”

It was evening. I closed my eyes and replayed the images from my hypnotherapy session. I wanted to interpret the meanings behind them.

All I had noticed about the cactus were the spines. I easily imagined the pain of touching them. That was certainly a perfect metaphor for the stress in my life. I was always trying so hard to avoid being wounded. I had become excellent at dodging pain because I would definitely be stabbed, if I weren’t careful.

The roses were similar because they also carried painful thorns. However, the part that was much more prominent for me were the beautiful flowers. I realized that the difference was that I allowed myself instead to bask in the aroma and appreciate the delicate colors of the roses. I did not focus at all on the thorns.

My interpretation was that the image of roses was far more beautiful for me than the cactus and was another way I could conceptualize my stress.

It was far better to allow myself to look for beauty instead of dancing around the pain.

That was why my song was such a comfort for me. It expressed my sadness and pain, while at the same time allowing me to express my love. The beauty of the guitar chords and lyrics erased all of my sadness.

With this interesting realization, I wrote about some of the stressful moments I experienced over the past two days and utilized the metaphors of a cactus and a rose.

I will categorize the stressful moments first as “The Cactus.” I will follow those with my observations that allow for beauty to overshadow pain. Those will be categorized as “The Rose.”

THE CACTUS:

On Friday afternoon, my oldest son agreed to help me empty out my father’s unoccupied room. It was unlikely that he would ever be able to live independently again. I sent a letter giving thirty days notice, and my father was anxious. He did not want me to wait until the last moment to remove his belongings.

It was hot and I had been shuffling through debris and papers for hours. It was sad to sift through the items of my father’s life that he had deemed important. I tossed piles of old and yellowed newspaper and magazine clippings into the trash. I knew he envisioned sharing many of them with me, but I did not have the time or patience to save them.

I noticed he had saved piles of cards; there were many I had given him. I could not discard those, and put them aside to sort later on. I paused to read one that was written to him by my mother. I could feel the tears well up inside my throat. It was harder to imagine now that they had once been so close. My mother’s dementia had reduced her to a completely different childlike person. My father was incapable of caring for her now and he did not want to even talk to her.

I drove home with my van completely full of trash bags, boxes and bulky items. I had no idea what I’d do with everything, but decided I could think about it later. For the moment, I had promised my father I would save most everything for him. It gave him hope and that was important.

My son and I emptied my father’s car and my van. Soon everything filled up my living room. I did not allow myself to be stabbed by the pain.

THE ROSE:

I went back to the moment when I read a few of those special cards my father had saved. I closed my eyes and pictured images of my parents when they were younger and stronger. They had once loved each other deeply. I always felt secure and safe with their love. My pain subsided.

THE CACTUS:

I was careful in the morning when I visited my father. I made sure the floor was dry because the last time I had visited his catheter had leaked onto the floor. I almost slipped on a puddle of urine and could have hurt myself.

My father told me he was miserable. All my life he never used profanity, so when he told me, “I feel like shit,” I believed him. He said he had not slept the prior evening. The fact that he was woken up for an ultrasound late at night infuriated him. And then there was his cancer-stricken roommate. My father said, “His moans and cries upset me terribly. I suggested earplugs and he became angry as he snapped at me and said he could not handle them.

From across the room I heard a loud, hacking cough followed by a grown man’s plaintive cries. Then, my father began to cry, too. Two men crying in harmony – It was so tragic!

My father wailed, “You see what I’m talking about?” His distress was overwhelming. It reminded me of how a year earlier my mother had also had a dying roommate. She did not sleep well either for several weeks.

I looked at my father. His eyes bulged and he had shrunken so much. He appeared to have a perpetual grimace. He moaned, “Where the hell is my breakfast?” His irritation was intense, even though the nurse that quickly came to his bedside was patient and kind with him.

THE ROSE:

I watched my father eat his breakfast, and was glad to see he still had some appetite. I told him that it was nice to see him enjoying his breakfast. He replied, “I’m not enjoying my breakfast, but I am enjoying your visit. At that moment, I saw the barest glimpse of a smile on his face.

My tears subsided with that thought.

My father did not want his picture taken and put his head down on purpose. Both my parents have become very thin.

I am amazed that as I quickly snapped this, I captured my father reaching his hand over to say goodbye to my mother.

THE CACTUS:

After my hypnotherapy session I headed over to a restaurant where my family was gathering for lunch. It had become a weekly ritual, taking my mother out to lunch on Saturdays. Her caregiver, Miriam, came along to help. My two brothers and sometimes a grandchild or two also joined in. My father’s favorite restaurant was “The International House of Pancakes.” My brothers disliked the restaurant, but I didn’t care because I was so grateful that it made my father happy.

I was shocked that my father said he would go this week. He had hardly gotten out of bed since being hospitalized the week before with pneumonia and a blood infection. He had even mentioned how he missed going the week before, while he was in the hospital. I took this as a sign that he still wanted to live.

I arrived at the restaurant; Miriam and my mother had gotten there first. I noticed that Miriam looked distraught. She privately spoke to my older brother and I and explained that my mother’s dementia had progressed to the point where it was best not to tell her in advance of any impending activities. The anticipation caused my mother to become anxious and unravel. Miriam was exhausted from trying to hold my mother together.

A few moments later, my middle brother wheeled my father inside the restaurant. My father was shaking and said he was freezing cold. It was actually warm in the restaurant and I noticed that his sweater was full of holes. My father said hello to my mother without any eye contact; mostly they ignored each other.

My mother looked tired. Her difficult morning had worn her out. It was clear now that she did not make any sense at all. I was aware of how many of her words were not words at all. As she babbled nonsensically, I felt sad. The other family members conversed around her and she would make statements no one understood. I looked at her directly and nodded while smiling at her. I didn’t want her to feel ignored.

During the meal, my father began to cry and said he was upset because everyone was talking too fast. After that, I tried hard to speak slowly. Although my parents sat next to each other, they were miles away from each other. The aging process had reduced my parents to pitiful shells of their former selves.

I remembered how my paternal grandmother never allowed for pictures to be taken of her. Now my father was the same way. When he saw a camera, he shielded his face and put his head down. As my parents said goodbye to each outside in their wheelchairs, I quickly snapped a few pictures.

THE ROSE:

I heard my song playing in my heart and head as I sat in that restaurant. I felt so blessed to see my parents together. This was a precious lunch; I realized there weren’t going to be too many more like this. There was intuition between my brothers and I with that knowledge. We eyed each other and my oldest brother squeezed my hand.

My parents were surrounded by all three of their children and two grandchildren. Despite the pain of their predicament, they radiated happiness to be alive with loving family surrounding them. I admired their courage.

My smile was broad throughout that special luncheon. I reminded both my father and my mother that I was very happy with my life; that was what they had both wanted for me most.

I tried not to notice their pain.

Although there were many thorns in my life, I allowed for beauty to overshadow the pain.

A transcription of my mother’s words on the card below:

Dearest Lee,

So much has happened and mostly because of me. I am so sorry. Thank god for such wonderful children we nurtured. They are all so wonderful.

All my love,

Your wife, Shirley

Tags:"sandwich generation", Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, creativity, Daily Life, father's illness, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, loss, lyric development, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Ordinary Life, original songs, parents dying, performing, singing, songwriting, writing
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THERE’S SO MUCH FEAR

March 22, 2011

BLOG TABLE OF CONTENTS

Memories are truly one of the greatest gifts in my life. I didn’t always feel that way, since I held onto many traumatic and sad memories.

As a memory in my life replays, it can be so clear for me sometimes. The smells, lighting, sounds; all of it is there as I am transported back to a certain moment in time.

Of course, not every moment of an ordinary day becomes a memory. Only extraordinary moments are “captured,” and I am not always aware that they are special while they are happening.

Recently, I had a moment while I was visiting my mother where I definitely felt I had a memory I would access later in my life.

It was on a rainy morning over this past weekend. I decided to stop by my mother’s nursing facility before going to an appointment with my hypnotherapist, Connie. As I walked into my mother’s room, I felt like a star walking onto a stage garnering tremendous applause. My mother’s face lit up like the sun and her caregiver, Miriam, clapped with joy to see me.

It was hard for me to know how much my mother was aware of. Certainly, she was often frustrated with her inability to find words. As usual, I simply smiled and told my mom how wonderful I was doing and how much I loved her. She babbled nonsensical statements, so I simply sidestepped and ignored her confusion.

My mother had attempted physical therapy last week. Because I am very aware of attitudes and outcomes, I found it very interesting to hear Miriam describe how it went to me.

My mother walked several steps, but then she collapsed in terror. She was not in pain, but she was panicked and fearful. Miriam said, “The physical therapist kept emphasizing to your mother that it might hurt – so she was very afraid.”

It turns out that my mother’s pain in her life is not her hip, her shoulder, or her back anymore. It is terror over her intense fear of the unknown.

I had brought with me some old, picture albums. It was suggested to me that with dementia it might be helpful for my mother to spend time looking at old pictures and explaining them to her caregiver.

Miriam shuffled through some of the albums I had brought while I was gently chatting with my mother. As Miriam looked at some of the pictures, she commented softly, “Look at your mother and how beautiful she looks! When was this picture taken?”

I turned to Miriam and said, “That one was four years ago.” I flipped through and pointed to one that was taken the day before my mother broke her shoulder and ended up on a respirator for two months. I glanced at the picture. My mother was dressed so nicely and her eyes were sharp. I said, “This picture is from only a little over a year ago.”

Miriam let out an almost inaudible gasp.

That gasp spoke endlessly to me. The unspoken words and story that spun from it was:

“Oh my goodness, how she has changed (deteriorated) from her image in that picture!”

My mother looked tired. I noticed how the skin on her arm was so different now. It looked like a paper that had been crunched into a small ball and then unrolled again. Tiny webs of lines crisscrossed her skin so that it looked almost like a piece of crumpled, tissue paper.

Miriam said, “I know I’m not allowed to do this, but sometimes we have to wait fifteen minutes for someone to come and put her in her bed. I am not going to wait – I will just do it now.”

I replied, “Miriam, I found out that as long as I am here you are allowed. So go ahead!”

Miriam gently lifted my mother from her wheelchair onto her bed. My mother would nap in her clothes and later on wake up to go to lunch. After lunch she might nap again. That was her life now. She woke up, ate breakfast, napped, ate lunch, napped, ate dinner, and went to sleep for the night at 6:30 p.m.

The room was dim. I leaned close to my mom and kissed her. “Have a nice nap, mom,” I told her.

Her dull eyes brightened for a moment. She was devouring my face with love. Then she became downcast and said, “I feel so bad for her. You know she got lost!”

As usual, I quickly jumped to redirect my mom from any bad feelings. So I said, “Mom, there’s no reason to feel bad for anyone else. You’re doing well and that’s what is important!”

As the words left my mouth, I realized how hollow and insincere they sounded. I decided to ask her, “Mom, whom do you feel bad for – who was lost?”

My mom said, “You know, you lost her – your friend. The one you used to go shopping with and whom you were so close to.”

My eyes filled with tears. My mom knew. She was speaking about herself.

Click the blue link below to play audio:

MEMORY OF LOVE – LIVE PERFORMANCE AT KULAK’S WOODSHED 3/21/11

THE MEMORY OF LOVE

How can I tell you, I’m sad you’re leaving me?

I miss the way you used to be

I lost you somewhere

I’m lonely and I can’t share

I cannot tell you, so instead I just pretend

it’s easier, than to face the end

I’ve tried so hard to accept

as you fade away, I’ve slowly wept

I feel, I sense, there’s so much fear

I try to be brave, as you disappear from here

I cannot see you,

you’ve become transparent

I ache and wonder where you went

you can’t hear my cries

with deaf ears and vacant eyes

I pray, I wish, you were aware

but when I feel despair

the memory of love

is there

so even if you’re not aware

the memory of love is always there

“Instead of black and white, a palette of emotion”

The rain steadily pounded upon the guesthouse. I could hear the tapping sounds and splashes in the garden outside.

I told Connie that I was using my hypnotherapy tools and needed a lot of “self-talk” to help me deal with all the stress I had been facing the past week. Connie said it sounded as if I felt a lot of pressure.

As I was talking, I began to realize how frequently I used the statement, “I don’t know.” Here was a list from my memory of many of my statements with “I don’t know:”

“I don’t know if my teenage daughter and I will ever have a close relationship.”

“I don’t know if I’ve been patient enough with my youngest son.”

“I don’t know if my dreams are a distraction from the reality of all the overwhelming bills there are to pay.”

“I don’t know if my husband will continue to support my efforts. I haven’t paid much attention to him, lately.”

“I don’t know if I have a good enough title for my book.”

“I don’t know when I’ll finish the lyrics to my new song.”

One of the hypnotherapy concepts I learned was, “The more I looked for something, the more I’d find it.” With the statement of, “I don’t know,” I was simply leaving myself in a place of never knowing. The unknown was a place for me that seemed fearful.

I needed a replacement statement for, “I don’t know.”

Out came my favorite word. It was the word “wonder.” Replacing the doubt with “wonder” had the implication of “wonderment” and also far less doubt.

I loved wondering instead of doubting.

I had a tendency to also see things in “black and white.” I explained to Connie how that was probably “a habit” and a result of my childhood. My own mother and father still see things that way, and my awareness of it has helped me change a lot in that regard.

However, there is never an end to self-improvement!

The artist in me came alive when thinking of an alternative to viewing things in my life as “black and white.” Seeing things in “shades of gray” wasn’t even good enough for me.

I decided my “palette of emotion” would be far better displayed with infinite, colorful tones. It wasn’t about the pressure of failure or success anymore, because I began to wonder about all the colorful possibilities in between.

It dawned on me also that a lot of my energy was spent “wondering” about how to make all the other people in my life happy. I was very good at that, and had done it for a long time.

However, I celebrated the knowledge that my transformation was a result of my learning to make myself happy.

Nothing was going to deter me from appreciating that fact and continuing to find ways to improve my life and myself.

Tags:"sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, creativity, Daily Life, dementia, Friendship, grief, guitar, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, loss, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Ordinary Life, original songs, performing, singing, songwriting, writing
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MY JOURNEY'S INSIGHT

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I’M READY TO LIVE ON MY OWN

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