NO WORDS

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Copyright 2014 by Judy Unger

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When you were born, I can’t explain

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You found a way to ease my pain

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You truly are my butterfly

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Transforming my life, with your first cry

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Sometimes there are no words

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There are no words for you

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No words for you; you have given me love

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Given me love, given me love

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I can’t describe, my pain you’ve cured

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I try and I try, there is no word

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You truly are my butterfly

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I sing from my heart this sweet lullaby

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Sometimes there are no words

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There are no words for love

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No words for love that has given me life

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Given me life, given me life

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You truly are my butterfly

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You lifted me up into the sky

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Sometimes there are no words

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There are no words for life

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No words for life that has given me you

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Given me you, given me you

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There are no words . . .

 

 Links to other stories related to this song: NO WORDS

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Click the blue links to hear my song:

No Words Acoustic 5-5-18 Copyright 2018 by Judy Unger

No Words Guitar Mix 12-15-17 Copyright 2017 by Unger

No Words Arrangement 12-15-17 Copyright 2017 by Unger

Singing is an amazing metaphor for so much of my life. With singing I have found my fullest expression and perhaps that is why I love it so much. Lately, I’ve been enjoying singing more than ever.

What seems to have really helped me was when I let go of the notion that my singing was either good or bad.

All of my voice lessons have provided me with excellent tools. Now I have given myself permission to sing freely, to make mistakes, try new things and to stop focusing upon singing “correctly.” It has made a huge difference. Singing is a pleasure and my resulting vocals are very heartfelt.

That is exactly how I want to live my life.

All of my songs teach me many things and are the keys to my insight. Sometimes, I’ll have a revelation when I discover that my song’s lyrics mean something very different from when I first wrote them.

For the past month, I’ve been working on a new arrangement of an older song named “No Words.”

Several friends have told me that my first version of “No Words” is one of their favorite songs of mine. It is very sweet and I used to get teary when I sang it.

I wrote the chorus lyrics for “No Words” in 1978, when I was 18 years old. My words expressed longing for romantic love I hoped to find someday. For 33 years, “No Words” only had 3 choruses and I faintly remembered the lovely lullaby melody for them.

In 2011, I wrote verses and finished my song. Instead of being a romantic ballad, “No Words” became a rainbow baby song. Now the lyrics were about how I healed from grief when my subsequent children were born.

I only learned a few years ago that the term rainbow baby is one for a new baby born after the death of a child. 

Two weeks ago, I sang a new vocal for my old arrangement as singing practice for the new arrangement. It turned out that it was very challenging to find the same vibe I used to have for this song. Perhaps it was because my larger children were stressing me out (17, 20 and 23) that I wasn’t as mushy as I was a few years ago.

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I began to see my lyrics as almost funny. Although I did decide to make a few minor lyric changes on the first verse, I left the rest of the lyrics alone because I didn’t want to destroy the sweetness of my song.

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I really do want to write about my insight, though.

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The two lines that bothered me most were: “You have given me love” and “You have given me life.”

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My lyrics easily bring back my vivid memories of being pregnant with my daughter shortly after Jason died. I was desperate to find a reason to go on living and truly believed that having another child was a beautiful way to embrace love and life again.

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But when I wrote the verses for my song in 2011, I had not yet faced how unhappy I was in my marriage. My insight is that the longing to fill my empty spaces began before my rainbow babies – with my very first child, Jason.

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I remember feeling unhappy and lonely in my marriage when I was only 27 years old. Because of deep denial and fear, I never addressed the true source of my loneliness. It seemed like having children would change my life and it certainly did.

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I treasure my children and have no regrets – but I do find my insight very valuable.

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Even though my lyrics state that my babies gave me life and love, the greater truth is that my children were gifts from God. They do not belong to me.

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And the true reason I wanted another child after Jason died was that I felt I had so much love to give.

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Having children has taught me a lot about love.

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I have learned how deeply I love them and for many years I supplanted my own needs, desires and feelings in order to completely devote myself to them.

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One of the hardest areas of parenting for me has been being firm. I’ve been rather lax about demanding respect and setting boundaries, and only recently I’ve decided that’s far more important than being friends with my children.

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Wanting them to love me all the time came with a high price and it has been very hard for me to change my old habits.

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I still fix my 17-year-old son breakfast and pack his school lunch every morning. He’s been grumbling about having to do “kitchen duty,” but now he’s getting used to it and has been much more helpful about household chores. We’ve had a lot of fights over his attitude, but thankfully he understands now.

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Both my sons had a poor track record with remembering to put the toilet seat down. I found myself frustrated that they kept forgetting all the time. I thought it might help if I posted a sign to remind them – but they ignored the sign.

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Then I found a solution! If they forgot to put the seat down, well – I forgot to flush! Yes, it was passive-aggressive and upset both of them, but I loved every moment of it.

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I probably began to ignore my feelings when I was a young child. It seemed much easier not to upset anyone. It started with my parents and extended to my friendships.

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In my teens and again in my early twenties, I suffered when I was hurt by a close friend. Even though I expressed my hurt, it didn’t lead to resolution. From that time on, I decided that I hated conflict with a passion.

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When I became an adult, I made up reasons and excuses to put the blame upon myself whenever I was hurt. I believed I had high expectations of others and it seemed easier to please everyone and do whatever I could to avoid confrontation.

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During grief, I bounced between numbness and anguish. I plodded through life and focused my attention upon taking care of everyone around me. I have called that place Zombieland. In addition, my children had many challenges and I became a fierce advocate for all of them.

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Expressing my emotions (other than in a song) has been something I’ve never felt free to do in all of my 54 years.

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One of my first posts on this blog was titled “Up and Out.”

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On one hand, I relish the ability to acknowledge my feelings for the first time in my life – to get them out. On the other hand, letting things out has been very scary for me.

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A few weeks ago, my oldest son called me with a request that I felt was unfair and it made me angry. When I told him not to ask me again in an irritated voice (because I had told him before), he criticized me. That was a trigger.

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I found my voice getting louder. Because he told me that I couldn’t be angry, I wasn’t going to put up with it anymore. Then he became even more upset and yelled back at me.

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Our argument escalated and soon I was shrieking at him. For a woman who has avoided conflict her whole life, this episode was unbearable.

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When the call was over, I began crying and shaking. I didn’t know what to do and called a good friend who helped to calm me down.

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The next day, I sent my son a text message expressing love and apologizing for my anger.

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He told me I had betrayed him too deeply to ever be forgiven or trusted again. It seemed to me like everything I had ever done from a place of love was discarded due to my outburst. He moved out.

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Because I have lived with suppression and denial of feelings for most of my life, I gently understand that when something is pressed down, it’s harder to control what comes up. There was nothing about exploding that was helpful for me.

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I’m sad my son doubts that I am the same loving mother I once was. I’m hoping he’ll get over his hurt. At the same time, I’m trying to deal with my own hurt and not suppress it. A few days ago, he moved back in. But things are not the same and I’m hoping all of this will pass.

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As I adjust to many changes since my divorce, I’ve decided that any imperfect behavior is balanced by my willingness to admit my mistakes and apologize. I cannot control whether my son forgives me or not.

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It is forgiving myself that is so difficult.

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I believe the most important line in my song is the one about butterflies.

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The entire passage goes: “You truly are my butterfly; you lifted me up into the sky.”

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Originally, a butterfly was the metaphor I used to describe how I emerged from the cocoon of dark grief because love for and from my children lifted me up into the sky.

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I love butterflies and have another new insight about this line. I see my children as butterflies and teaching them to fly away has been a huge challenge for me.

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I did not learn about flying from my parents. As a result, I’ve done far too many things for my children that have not been age appropriate. How I wish I had encouraged them to be more self-reliant starting when they were younger!

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Now I want to be a butterfly.

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So perhaps my children are lifting me up to fly after all!

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I end my musings about my song “No Words” with more mature insight about love and life.

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My love for my family definitely did help me survive horrendous grief over the loss of my first-born child.

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But it was self-love and believing in myself that truly resulted in healing. The gift that I gave myself to follow my dream comes from a very inspired and blessed place.

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Sometimes, just like my song’s title – there are no words. I’m not sure what to say to my oldest son who has been avoiding me as much as possible.

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I’m actually at a loss for words to express how sad I am that he was so hurt by me. I still have memories of being traumatized when my own mother yelled at me at the age of 20.

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Perhaps my lesson is that the next time I’m angry, “no words” might be better.

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© 2014 by Judy Unger 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.