My mom was exhausted from sitting in her wheelchair all morning. She needed the bathroom, but had to use her diaper since it was far too difficult to take her to the bathroom in the medical building.
I had just shared some fantastic news with my mom’s caregiver, Miriam. Her eyes were dancing with joy as she squeezed my hand.
I thought it might be best to let my mom sleep while waiting for the transport team to take her from the medical office back to her nursing facility. It had been a long morning for her, as she waited well over an hour to see the doctor who would deliver a “second opinion.” My expectations of anything uplifting from this appointment were very low. We were seeing a surgeon, so I simply assumed I’d get another recommendation that my mother needed surgery.
I kissed my mom goodbye, and exited the building into the sunshine. As I walked to my car, I had a sensation of my feet leaving the ground; I felt like I could fly! When I was a young girl, I used to feel like I could fly in my dreams. I listened to my music and my heart felt as if it might burst.
I noticed there was a Subway near my car, so I stopped and purchased some chicken soup. I went back to where my mom was and gave the soup to Miriam. My mom might be too tired to make it to the lunchroom when she’d return.
As I drove home I savored the feeling. Life was good – so very good at that moment!
My mom is showing me off to her sister in this still.
When I performed my new song, You Were There, on 1/24/11 my voice broke when I sang the words, “I picked you up when you fell down.”
LIST OF WHAT I WAS TOLD WHEN MY MOM FELL AND FRACTURED HER HIP:
1. Without surgery she would be in extreme pain.
2. Her mortality rate was extremely high; She was already on the schedule to have surgery the morning before New Year’s Eve; the doctor told me he would not be available again for three days. Without surgery, there was a chance she’d die over the weekend. She became a candidate for hospice.
3. My mother would never be allowed any kind of physical therapy involving walking.
4. My mother would never walk again.
5. Only one patient had refused to have surgery with this surgeon in seven years, that patient soon died.
6. Without surgery, my mother would not have a quality of life – she would be immobile.
7. The fact that my mom was on a respirator for seven weeks following surgery a year ago did not put her at risk for hip surgery.
Email message sent out today:
I just got back from an appt. with my mom regarding her hip fracture. This was a second opinion with an orthopedic surgeon.
This doctor said that the ball of her hip, although fractured is somewhat “impacted.” In five years of seeing hundreds of patients, he’s only had three patients with this condition who opted not to have surgery. He said that with a fracture like this, 2/3 of the time it can actually heal without surgery.
Since my mom was not in extreme pain and could lift her leg up while sitting in her wheelchair, he felt she was well on her way to healing. He said it takes about six weeks; then she could begin therapy. She will be allowed to walk!
This doctor wondered why she was put on hospice, since she looked good to him. He ordered another x-ray to be done in three weeks, and at my suggestion will not have my mom transported to him unless something has changed. She was exhausted from the appointment.
Although my mom’s dementia has been more increased lately, she was quite aware of the impact of this appt. She said she’d be a “good girl” and not do anything risky for the next few weeks. She’s excited about having therapy.
I was obviously in my musical reverie here playing my guitar at the age of 15.
It was late last night when I finished singing at Border’s.
I wasn’t tired. Since the “writer inside” had gone away for a while, instead I went through my memorabilia boxes. It was time to hunt for more sentimental items for my blog.
There was nothing I could possibly write that seemed as meaningful as my song and story about “You Were There.” I couldn’t follow it up. I wondered what would motivate me to write again.
All this week, a melancholy feeling enveloped me as the melody to my song; “You Were There” kept looping in my head. Although I was in the process of recording another song, the melody to that particular song invaded my soul. I always said that my song “Farewell” was my theme song, and “You Were There” carried that melody.
However, my sadness wasn’t just about my mother’s situation. An “anniversary of the heart” was approaching. The date of Cheryl’s death was the first of February; it would be two years since she died of breast cancer.
I went through the boxes because I needed to find something reminiscent of Cheryl.
I was very close to my friend, Cheryl, while I was in college. However, there were stretches of years when we didn’t speak. My early, songwriting passion was intimately shared with Cheryl, and every time I sing I am reminded of her.
I miss her and I wish I could have shared with her my musical transformation.
The title for this post comes from my song “Just a Tune,” which I wrote for Cheryl. Below are the other posts (including songs) I wrote for her:
My melancholy had me thinking of a book I read when I was younger called “Flowers for Algernon.”
I imagined that I was starting to change back from the “happy, transformed person” I became this year. Images haunted me, as I felt myself falling back into old habits of overeating and the resulting numbness.
Coincidently, this week I spent a lot of time reminiscing. I had decided to create more images for my blog by creating stills from a DVD of old, reel-to-reel movies. I felt like I had entered a time machine.
I saw my parents so young and energetic; my youthful innocence was startlingly beautiful for me as I watched the images from years past. I was especially touched to see how affectionate my family was.
Here, I’m pretending my dog is a baby.
Still, there was a lot of “chatter” in my head. I decided I felt the same inside as I did when I was twenty-one. I started to think, “Where did the thirty years go since that time?”
That caused me to feel sad when I thought about how many years were stolen by grief.
Then, I decided that remembering Cheryl was an opportunity to find insight. I did.
I found appreciation that I am alive. Cheryl did not reach the age of fifty and my life is such a gift.
Every morning when I awaken, I look forward to my day because I think of those who are not as fortunate as I am.
This was taken at a Passover Seder. My brother, Howard, is oblivious as my parents kiss next to him.
Yesterday, I decided to share one of the “reel-to-reel,” conversion DVD’s with my mother. I had three of them and brought the one where my parents got married.
Miriam told me how much she enjoyed watching it with my mom. Miriam said, “Oh my god, now I see what a special family you have and why your mom is such an amazing woman. The love! There is so much love in those pictures!”
This morning I entered Connie’s guesthouse for our hypnotherapy session.
It felt like it had been an especially, taxing week. I spent a lot of time visiting my mother to lift my her spirits. I felt overwhelmed thinking about whether I could continue this pace over a long period of time.
After sorting through my feelings, I came back to the subject of pressure. I had been unable to motivate myself to work on my “book about grief.” Although I had written an introduction, I lost the desire to continue working on it.
There were many reasons; certainly my mother’s crisis had occupied my energy. However, there was more to it. I had a revelation, which I shared with Connie.
“I don’t want to write a book anymore about helping people overcome their grief. I would like to achieve that same result, but instead of writing about grief I want to write about my music and stories. Of course, there is an abundance of grief in many of my stories, but there are other elements, as well. That is where my passion lies!”
Connie suggested to me that following one’s passion is usually far more inspiring to people than anything else.
It was time for the hypnosis segment of our session. I quickly descended into a deep, hypnotic sleep. I felt my entire body tingling as I went to a very peaceful place. I realized there was a lot of emptiness inside due to the release of my two songs. I heard her voice, but didn’t listen to the words that traveled to my subconscious. Instead, I wondered what music I would search for to fill the emptiness. There was so much relief around where I was heading.
I felt free. None of my writing included my living children, and that was also liberating for me. When I first began the blog, so much was about my children. As I transformed, that all changed.
I could feel motivation coursing through me.
Before I left, I shared with Connie a few pages of my youthful, creative writing that I had found the prior night in my memorabilia boxes. I am including one story at the end of this post.
Lunch with my high school choir teacher, Frankie, and english teacher, Sharon.
After our session, I saw two of my high school teachers for lunch. It was truly wonderful to share my exuberance with both of them. My english teacher and music teacher sat across from me. Time definitely stood still as we all talked about life!
When I was in high school, I idolized my choir teacher, Frankie. At parties, I used to be so nervous playing my guitar in front of her!
After lunch, she sat in my car with me. Frankie used to sing in a professional choir. She had heard my recordings and told me she had some ideas that could improve my vocals. However, she was hesitant to “interfere” because I worked with Peaches. I reassured her that I was open to any kind of feedback.
I parked in a shady spot and savored the moment as I closed my eyes and followed her instructions while singing a few scales. I was no longer nervous around her!
Her suggestions on watching myself sing to a mirror and changing my vowel tones seemed extremely useful.
When I came home, I decided I could write again. It was time to move on from my melancholy and sadness.
ME A RAINDROP (Written when I was in 5th grade)
Being a raindrop was a little uncomfortable but I still enjoyed it. That day I felt good in the moist cloud but later I noticed the cloud was beginning to swell up. I felt moist and I knew when the storm hit I would become a raindrop. But now despite the cold I was happy. For quite awhile there was no rain and I knew it would be good to be a raindrop again. I was thinking I heard a big boom from the cloud I was in. I felt the steam under me give way and I fell through the cloud. The steam which I was made of turned into a little wet raindrop. As I fell, I wondered where I’d land. I found out as I landed in a little puddle. The rain soon stopped and I noticed the ground under me was cracked so I knew I must be in the desert. The rainstorm was over and I felt myself evaporating but it was fun while it lasted.
I have great memories of our family vacation to the Grand Canyon. That was the farthest place I ever went with my parents on vacation.
My mother was with me when all four of my children were born.
I use the words “releasing a song” to describe the process of composing the words and melodies that are within my soul. This past year I have realized that with each and every song I’ve “released,” my soul has ached intensely.
The “birth of song” is actually very painful for me – it is an indescribable feeling.
Whenever I hear the chords to my new song, I cry each and every time. My most recent song has left me feeling quite emotional.
My life is very poignant right now. I am so glad that I am able to express myself through my music and words. I wish I were a better singer – but I am finding out that a lot of people appreciate my heartfelt, song renditions. I never dreamed that would happen when I picked up my guitar approximately one year ago!
I recorded my song “You Were There” on Sunday. It is not quite finished, but I can share a “temporary” mix. I spent a lot of time discussing how the song’s structure should go with my arranger, George.
I knew he wouldn’t like having the long instrumental beginning I envisioned! I followed his advice, and ended up loving George’s simple introduction created from the verse chords.
It was another spiritual experience for me when George recorded his solo instrument and piano to complement my guitar instrumental portion of my song.
When he did his “solo” for the instrumental interlude – he did it perfectly the first time he played it. I asked him how he did that. He said, “Jude, I was jamming and I couldn’t do it the same way twice.” I could tell he was pleased with how it came out.
This morning, I thought about what I would write for a post that was named for my new song.
I decided that this song “hatched” a few weeks ago when I wrote something about my mom entitled “She Was There.” I moved those words to this post. There is certainly a lot going on in my life. However, at this moment I want to write about any feelings related to my song.
From the time I was born, I was bathed in love.
I have said before that I had an “unblemished” heart throughout my childhood and youth. I was very much loved and wanted. I was also the youngest in my family and always known as “the baby.” It was hard for my middle brother who had been the youngest for six years before I was born.
My mother was also the baby in her family.
Recently, I remembered I had some DVD conversions of old, “reel to reel” movies. This morning, I decided to watch them. I specifically recalled a scene where my mother “glowed” while showing me off as an infant.
It was especially touching for me to see those images in my “highly charged,” emotional state.
Beams of love shot out of her eyes and face.
Once again, I saw that my mother glowed with pure joy while holding me – she was radiant. She was literally dancing as she held me. I have heard over and over many times that I was “the little girl she had always dreamed of having.”
With my digital skills, I made some “snapshot” images from those old movies.
My mother is pregnant with me in this picture.
This morning, I looked forward to sitting in the garden area with my mom. The sunlight was warm and soothing; it couldn’t have been a more beautiful day. We looked for a nice spot to park my mother’s wheelchair. Her caregiver, Miriam, walked along side of me.
I told my mom that I had recorded a new song. I wondered what she would think about my song, and I asked her if she wanted to listen to it on my iPod.
She did, and I adjusted the music for her while she listened. I was nervous and fidgeted for those few minutes; then she took off the ear buds.
She told me she didn’t like my song!
Miriam also listened to my song. I watched Miriam close her eyes, and tears rolled slowly down her cheeks.
While Miriam was listening my mother said, “Your song is too sad, and it’s too soon. Maybe later on, but not now.”
She didn’t want to think about leaving!
I wasn’t hurt. I smiled broadly and was pleased that I had the courage to share it with her. I wanted to be close enough to still let her know what I was feeling.
We have had great difficulty speaking about anything related to her dying.
I have no idea whether my mother is “dying” or not – I really don’t. According to the hospice team, my mother is definitely appropriate for hospice because she did not have her hip “repaired.
After that, I played my guitar in the golden sunlight. I chose many of my mom’s favorite songs that I used to play. The experience was quite beautiful. After an hour I had to leave to attend a meeting with the staff at my mom’s nursing facility.
The room was full. I was surrounded by a roomful of professionals facing me down. There were nine medical staff members at this meeting. It reminded me of the many times I had advocated for my children. I tried to remain calm and be articulate.
There was a lot of discussion about pain medication. The general opinion was that my mother definitely needed stronger painkillers to address her pain. When my mom has been on any painkiller in the past, she has become extremely disoriented, agitated, or immobile. I explained this.
I have seen my mother in extreme pain before. She has told me she does not have much pain now, even when she has been moved.
The medical staff told me that my mother’s short-term memory prevented her from realizing how much pain she was in. I was also told that perhaps my mom didn’t want to tell me about her pain. It was there when I was not watching.
I reminded everyone that her personal caregiver kept in close touch with me, and had not seen any severe pain that required additional medication. I remained firm that my mother was not to receive them at the current time. If she needed them later on, I’d let them know.
I was told that my mother was not allowed to walk again ever. No therapy would be given.
After that, I requested another opinion from a different orthopedic doctor. I was told the same doctor who did her shoulder repair could give the opinion. That didn’t work for me since his surgery (according to another specialist) was actually not the best approach for my mother.
My mother told me yesterday that her shoulder hurts her more than her hip.
I also mentioned the resident across the hall who walks had told me she had not had surgery for two, fractured hips.
I became sad when I was told that my mom’s “neighbor,” Sara, most definitely had hip surgery; that she was considered too demented to know the truth. Sara seemed very sharp and articulate to me. I will certainly check this out.
But now, I cannot write any more about this!
Clicking on this makes it larger.
The meeting ended and I drove to buy my mother her favorite lunch, a hot dog with fries. I returned with several bags, including soup.
Miriam, my mother, and I ate our picnic. I breathed in deeply and savored the calmness. I was pleased to see how alert my mother was as she relished her food.
Miriam thanked me profusely for arranging this lunch. I was glad that I was able to “make it happen.” I let her know that I received a greater gift in return. Both of us knew this was a special moment I would always remember.
My emotional mood began to overwhelm me. I could feel tears falling inside my throat, because I didn’t want to allow them to fall in front of my mother.
So instead, I unfortunately ate all the leftover French fries. I am so human!
My mother was smiling. I asked her again if she needed any painkillers. She adamantly shook her head no. She said, “I sleep too much already. Plus, I really don’t have any pain, honey!”
As I drove home, my soul ached as I remembered those images of how happy my mom was on the video I watched this morning – of when I was born. I was glad to have seen her so happy today.
I have written four posts that were called “A Daughter’s Love.” I do not plan to follow up any more with the emails that were the beginning of my “writing therapy.” However, I do want to share one message that was one of the last ones I wrote during that time.
I wrote this email message approximately one year ago. My mom was soon to be released from the hospital after being weaned from a respirator for seven weeks.
January 25, 2010
I am finding clarity through writing. It was always another direction I had hoped to explore; it is possible that I might move into that direction more now.
I sat down early this morning, and I began to craft my final entry for Tuesday when my mom is released from the hospital. Here it is:
When my mom had the code blue and was intubated, I spoke with my good friend, Janet, who is a writer. I told her that I couldn’t do anything at this point, so it would be an excellent time to write my mom’s eulogy. I needed to be able to put into words all of my love for her. Since I’d have less than three days to write it, while also planning the funeral, this was something I could definitely make time for. I’d be “on top of things.” Of course, I was also trying to figure out how to straighten up my home for all the visitors.
Janet’s words were brilliant. “Why don’t you just write a tribute, not a eulogy? That way, it will be there if you need it – but if you don’t, it’s also a beautiful thing to do.
Well I realized something this morning. Even though I thought I never found the time to write that eulogy/tribute, it turns out that I was writing a tribute all along through my emails.
My mom and Jason when he was an infant.
(I posted this two weeks ago, but it belongs on this post. I moved it here)
SHE WAS THERE
I was an adult in my early twenties. Suddenly, I felt like a baby again with the stomach flu. I was home alone and could barely move. “I’d be fine,” I told my mom on the phone.
I opened my eyes.
SHE WAS THERE.
It was the kind of fatigue that was beyond being alleviated by sleep. I was full of an intense, restless anxiety while at the same time my eyelids were as heavy as bricks. The night was giving way to dawn.
I had gone another night without a single moment of sleep. Jason wouldn’t stop crying – he was only a few weeks old. I wondered – would I be able to continue this pace of trying to feed this impossibly, sick child without any sleep?
The doorbell rang. Jason was still crying as I opened the front door.
SHE WAS THERE.
There was no reason to get up. I did not want to get up. I was under the covers. I had no tears left and my body was completely spent from crying for days and days. It had been a few months since Jason died and my husband went to work.
No one was home. Even though I heard the doorbell, I ignored it.
I wanted to die.
She had let herself in with a key. My bedroom door opened, and she pulled down my covers. She lay down next to me, and cried.
This picture of my mother with a rainbow is amazing for me.
Soon it will be the one-year anniversary of “My Journey’s Insight.” I have been thinking about whether I will continue this blog.
I want my blog to stand as testimony of my amazing year. To continue it might trivialize what it represents for me. My accomplishment in one year was my transformation, as I released all of the stories and music from within my heart.
Perhaps there will be new stories and songs for me. I like to wonder about that! I love writing and sharing, so I might pursue another type of venture; I might even start a new blog.
The title for this post comes from my new and upcoming song, You Were There. This new song carries the melody of my instrumental song, Farewell. This past week, the lyrics for my upcoming song flowed out from me.
Although I did write my song “Alone” before experiencing grief, the absolute truth is that I have never been alone. The love from my mother always enveloped me in safety and comfort.
I most certainly had issues with her as many mothers and daughters do. However, I never doubted that my mother loved me deeply; her essence was completely about loving all of her children.
I truly became close to my mother when I became a mother.
Any past enmity that I had toward my mother in my mid-twenties evaporated when I saw how she devoted herself to helping me with Jason. With his death, she echoed my grief. She loved Jason, and still carries his memory.
Below is a recent, message excerpt from my cousin, Dorothy. Messages like this help me continue to stay positive.
Dear Judy,
Thank you for the photos. The picture of the artwork on the table reminded me of your mother and all the art projects she did for you. As a result you are a great artist.
All the things your mother did for you have not only made you a good artist but gave you the persistence to do all the things you did with each and every one of your children.
It sounds as though your mother is slowly gaining her strength back. Judy, you are helping to give her moments of peace. Thank you for all you do. The pictures you send bring back so many wonderful memories. She is such a fighter and has always had so much to give to others with all the love she had inside her.
And now you are giving back to your mother.
Love, Dorothy
There are things I notice about this picture. My father’s face is full; he is so much heavier. My mother has reading glasses and is about the age I am now in this picture. I do not carry any, and I probably should!
The unknown can be scary. For me, there is a lot of unknown about my mother’s condition right now.
It has been difficult for me to counteract medical personnel that view my mother as a rare oddity – someone who has refused surgery. That was why she became a candidate for hospice. Although I am told she is dying, I believe she would be dying in the same way even if she had surgery – only sooner and with significantly more pain.
Certainly, no one has solved for me the riddle of my mother’s dementia!
If I wanted to be angry, I could go to a place of wondering why those same medical personnel were not more helpful about preventing my mother’s accident – or even a future accident!
I don’t go there, although I have a meeting on Monday with the hospice team to discuss my mother’s situation. I hope I won’t express anger when I am faced with an attitude that I have hastened my mother’s demise.
Sadly, my mother has disappeared into a fog of confusion the last few days. It appeared not be related to any medication changes, although she did begin an antidepressant, yesterday.
I try to remain positive. I am able to handle this phase, because she is comfortable and happy. She is not suffering!
Most of the time my mother is sleeping. The other night, I tiptoed in and gently woke her. Her face beamed at me with happiness. I listened to her nonsensical babble and didn’t correct her. I knew she was happy that I was there; even though it was sad that she was so “out of touch.”
Because it was in the back of my mind the slim hope she could take an “anti-dementia” drug, I decided to ask my mom if she still wanted a pacemaker. I gently reminded her that with a pacemaker she would have more energy; I could arrange for it.
Suddenly, my mother’s fog lifted. She told me she did not want any measures done like that. She said to me sternly, “No more hospitals!”
I knew she understood.
I had to ask her something else. I asked again her if she wanted to have surgery to repair her broken hip. She looked at me directly and said, “No way!”
Tears rolled down my cheeks, because my mother suddenly seemed so alert and aware.
She must have known that I needed to hear that.
I left in the twilight. I listened to my new song and cried while I was driving.
Nine months ago, I wrote a story that I called “The other daughter.” In summary, it was about another daughter whose mother was dying while my mother was on a respirator a little over a year ago.A PERFECT DAUGHTER, I’M NOT
“The other daughter” is also a Judy, and she is a good friend of my friend, Janis. Tomorrow night when I perform, Janis and Judy will be coming to watch. Judy has been observing strict, mourning customs since her mother died last December. She did not attend any musical performances for a year. Now she is coming to hear me sing!
After I perform, we are all planning to go out to dinner. I am looking forward to it.
Judy did not have the opportunity to say goodbye to her mother as I have with mine.
I have chosen to look at this time with my mother as a wonderful gift!
I love memories of my parents when they were able to dance.
This morning, I sat in a lovely garden after breakfast with my mother and Miriam, her caregiver. Miriam carried a book with her. She shared with me that this book was helping her. It was a book about faith. She said to me, “Judy, sometimes so many things happen to us and it is those very things that allow us to understand the meaning of life.”
I haven’t read any books in a long time; her book sounded interesting. I remember very well, being very angry with God for the loss of my child. Her simple statement made a lot of sense to me.
I truly understand now how much I have learned from all the challenges in my life!
All of the things I used to fear are not scary anymore. I understand about losing my mother and my father. I even understand that the time will come when I will die.
When that time comes, I will let God know how thankful I am for all the gifts I was given.
I took this picture the other night.
DEMENTIA, IS A DEMON
Dementia is a demon.
This demon is evil and capricious, wily and cunning. Like a poisonous snake, it slowly slithers into the soul. It tightens its evil grip upon the brain. At first, its victim struggles with the ever-tightening awareness. Soon, it becomes too difficult to escape from the demon’s tentacles of torture.
The demon of dementia likes to tease its victim. The demon knows it will ultimately win, so it takes its time.
My mother is now a victim of this demon!
I wish I could pull out that demonic snake and rip it into pieces to prevent it from further destroying my mother’s soul!
This demon taunts me! My mother is still warm, but too weak to fight. I want to understand why this demon invaded someone who is such a kind and loving human!
I do realize there is so much pain and evil in the world!
The demon of dementia might win, but only in the physical sense.
My mother’s soul may have been incrementally stolen, however, love and goodness can still triumph.
The demon of dementia can never take away love and
goodness, because I can carry it on.
My youngest son made this completely on his own and gave it to me. When I asked him why he chose the word “hope,” he said it was for his grandma.
“Lyric adjustment”
Last night when I performed at Border’s I played my new song.
My song felt “finished.” I looked forward to recording it. I did have one, lyric line that I wasn’t 100% sure of. Although, it was honest – it felt “needy” and sad. It was:
“And when you’re not there, I’ll look for your love everywhere.”
I know there is no one on this planet who could love me as much as my mother did. Although I know I am fortunate to have experienced that kind of love, to lose it felt very sad.
This morning, I brought my guitar into my hypnotherapy session. Since music expressed my feelings better than anything, I was eager to share my new song with Connie.
I had changed my strings the night before; the sound was gorgeous. I was glad I was able to play my song without crying. As my last note echoed, I felt peaceful.
Connie gently asked me for an explanation about the lyric line I wasn’t certain of. I was fascinated that she had picked up on my sadness with those words!
We talked about it.
I left her guesthouse knowing my song was truly finished. I was now 100% sure about my lyric line. It became:
“And when you’re not there, I’ll still see your love everywhere.”
My mom was exhausted from sitting in her wheelchair all morning. She needed the bathroom, but had to use her diaper since it was far too difficult to take her to the bathroom in the medical building.
myjourneysinsight 