TO FACE WHAT THE FUTURE BRINGS

Posted on December 14, 2010 by Judy

An amazing poem that I just found in a “lost folder.” I had clipped it from a Compassionate Friends newsletter. It was a perfect message for me and even included a last line about singing again! It was written by Helen Rice Steiner.

“THE SUN CONTINUES SHINING”

It was unseasonably warm. I had picked my son up from school for an appointment and we were finished. When he said he would love to stop somewhere for lunch, I thought it was a nice idea. I decided we could stop and get sandwiches; I’d bring one home for my daughter, too. I was thinking of a Subway Sandwich Shop and I remembered there was nearby.

As I headed that way, suddenly the memories flooded me. It was interesting and overwhelming. Why would I choose that Subway and why today?

There was a story for me with this and I could not help but write it.

I told my son what had crossed my mind.

I said, “We’re going to a Subway and this restaurant holds some very, sad memories for me.” Of course, he asked me why.

I told him. “I knew a woman. Her teenage son was murdered while he was working there. It happened late at night; he was shot in the head.”

Of course, my son wanted to know if there was still blood there. I thought to myself, I’m crazy! Why did I just tell him that?

We went inside to order the sandwiches. As we were leaving, I said to a young man at the register, “Did you know about the murder here? It was about 19 or 20 years ago.”

He shook his head indicating he had not. My son admonished me and said, “Gee, mom! Did you have to go and ruin his day?”

Although it was beautiful and sunny outside, my thoughts turned to the story I needed to tell. On my grief journey I have collected countless, sad stories; I remember each one very clearly.

Perhaps this is a story about “unresolved grief.” Teri was about the saddest woman I had ever met at Compassionate Friends, which is an organization for bereaved parents.

I remember Teri as kind, however her sad eyes told a heartbreaking story. Every story about a dead child is sad, for sure, however Teri’s sadness and anger were palpable for all the years I knew her. She could not contain her bitterness; her sharpness was off putting at times.

Teri was very witty and easily laughed, but she smoked constantly. It must have helped her cope. Her deceased son had a twin sister who was often at our meetings.

I cannot forget the story of her son, his senseless murder, and the wreckage of so many lives as a result.

I didn’t stay in touch with Teri after I stopped attending meetings. But until the last moment I saw her, her bitterness was very apparent. I heard she died of cancer a few years ago.

But today, I remembered her beloved son, Brian. Even if I have uncertainty about what happens with death, I like to imagine they are now “together” in heaven.

I am sad for those humans who are on the path of grief and anguish. My heart aches for them. I am especially sad for those who are in “zombieland” and might never experience true joy again in their life.

There was a reason I thought of this story. My insight is this:

I wish everyone in this world could find happiness again as I have. Unfortunately, there are no guarantees.

I can share my story, and I’m glad if it helps other people who are grieving to feel hopeful. When I clipped the words at the beginning of this post all those years ago, it probably gave me some solace.

At this moment, I feel so fortunate I found happiness again in my life!

I remember Terry.

And I will always remember Brian.

I came home from performing and I was tired. But I decided I wanted to look for something in my file cabinet; I was looking for a certain poem. When I started writing this morning, I wrote the line, “The sun continues shining.” I remember it was a line in a poem about Brian written by his twin sister. It was printed with some of my poems many years ago in a Compassionate Friends newsletter.

As I scoped through my file cabinet, I saw many stacks of grief articles and more recent newsletters. Then I saw that special, tattered folder. It was filled with many pages of my poems and words during bereavement.

I had looked for that folder before, but never found it. I did have a few, old Compassionate Friends newsletters in Jason’s box, which I scanned for earlier posts.

I glanced quickly at the pages; some were folded and others were written in pencil and marked over. There were photocopies, printed pages, and poems that I recognized from a long time ago. It was another coincidence for me that I had gone to that Subway and went looking for a certain poem.

At first, I could not read them; it was too painful. I pushed the papers aside. A few minutes later, I decided to try again. As I took in the written words, it felt like the “Judy of the Past” had come to visit me. There were so many pages of revelations there!

It was so eerie that I could hardly find a way to explain it.

How interesting it was to see that I already knew all the words I’d written in my neat printing. So many of the same concepts I had written on blog posts were there, despite the fact I had not seen my writing from long ago.

It was more than fascinating to visit with “Judy of the Past.” I don’t think she had any idea when she wrote those words, that some day a very, “different” Judy would be reading them.

Perhaps she might not have been so desolate if she had known about her transformation into “Judy of the Future.”

Or maybe she did know and wrote those words for a reason.

Below are the two poems of mine that were in the same newsletter with the poems about Brian.

© 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.

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WHEN I REALIZED YOUR ABSENCE WAS REAL

Posted on December 11, 2010 by Judy

A sympathy card I received after Jason’s death from his preschool classmates.

“Difficult questions to ponder”

On Dec 6, 2010, Sam wrote:

Judy, I have a few, grief related questions:

1). What was the most isolating part of the grief experience for you? Was it that others couldn’t relate to your loss of a child because they just couldn’t imagine such a thing and didn’t go there? Was it that you isolated yourself from others because your experience set you apart, and made you “different” to the extent that you no longer had anything in common with most people? Was it that even others that had a similar experience could not be bonded with because they were hurting too much? I note that other grief experiences, such as the loss of a parent or sibling do not appear to be as intense, perhaps because it is expected that we will all go through this at some point, and thus does not seem unusual.

2).  I remember when I was speaking with my wife’s grandmother when she was alive, that she had lost several children (4 out of 12 I think). My dad’s mother lost a son to pneumonia.  My great grandmother had lost a child, I believe. None of them appeared to be impacted as much by grief as today’s parents are…I wonder why?  Was it the commonality of experience…I mean, it was almost expected that not all of your children would survive…no antibiotics, TB running rampant, poor surgical technique…I wonder if today’s medical advances have led everyone to expect that every child will survive?  Furthermore, many children that would have previously died at birth are being saved through heroic measures, but then may go on to live with significant disabilities, or even die a few years later. I wonder if it is harder on parents that have time to bond with a child for a short time, a child that would not have even survived a decade earlier?

3).  What would the Judy of today tell the Judy of 23 years ago if you could go back in time. Were you able to learn anything over the years that would have made your grief experience more manageable?

4). One of the responses you shared with me from the grief group sounded really desperate…almost suicidal (I think it was a woman who had both a stillborn and had lost a stepson).  Are suicidal feelings more common among parents that have lost a child? Are suicides more common? Has your discussion group ever had to make an intervention or tried to do so?

5). Do grieving parents wish that they had never had their child to begin with, if they were going to die so young? Is it better to have experienced their child for a short time, or better not to have known their child at all? (Theoretical to be sure, since no one is given that choice, but the answer probably strikes at the core of how a person has dealt with their own experience, and the level of growth they have achieved.)

Judy…I certainly mean these questions to be thought provoking, definitely not pain provoking! … Sam

On Dec 6, 2010, Judy wrote:

Wow, Sam. Thanks for taking the time to write this.

I think I could write a lot – boy, you’re going to really help me write that grief book!

Judy

“Honest answers to difficult questions”

Up until now, I have tried to speak about grief in general terms, but at this juncture, I am speaking about a particular loss, the loss of a child.

1) REGARDING ISOLATION

It is unanimous that losing a child is one of the hardest losses because it does go against the laws of nature. Parents are supposed to die first; they are not supposed to outlive their children.

I’ve tried not to say that too much because I’ve wanted to get away from comparing grief.

When I watched a friend who lost her mom suffer a lot – I didn’t feel better thinking, “Mine was worse.” Often, people have said to me, “I shouldn’t complain about my loss – yours was so much worse!”

I never want anyone to discount their grief anymore in that way to me ever again. It is simply not helpful for either of us!

Regarding isolation, all of my comparing was because it seemed like no one could understand my level of pain.

I have said before, I was “grief centric.” I went through a period of time where I was certain “mine was the worst!” I was even smug about that! If it were an adult child that had died, I felt my situation was worse because of all my “involvement” with Jason’s care. If it were an infant, I felt I had more time to bond and therefore, I suffered more with Jason’s loss.

I have felt terribly sad about what our supportive friends, Josh and Jeanne endured. Many of our other friends (including myself!) came right out and let them know that they had “only lost a baby,” and that it wasn’t comparable to our situation with Jason! I am amazed that it did not deter them from continuing to hang around to comfort Michael and I.

As I learned from my Romanian friend, Magda, I was very wrong about this comparison! Magda has severe, progressive MS and I wrote about her on Post #8 TENNIS, THE THREAD IN MY LIFE’S FABRIC.

Here is a message from Magda that I received today:

On Dec 9, 2010, Magda wrote:

PAIN IS DIFFERENT BECAUSE WE ARE DIFFERENT…NOW IT IS OK FOR ME TO SAY IT WAS BETTER MY SON DIED AFTER 10 DAYS INSTEAD OF A DISABILITY TO MAKE US BOTH SUFFER.

I NEVER WAS OR I NEVER WILL THINK OF SUICIDE BECAUSE OF MY FAITH IN GOD…I WOULD LIKE TO TELL THOSE PARENTS SUFFERING THAT I’LL PRAY FOR THEM…THEY NEED SOME TIME TO REALIZE THEY ARE NOT ALONE AND ALL OF US SOONER OR LATER GO THERE!!!!!!! LOVE YOU, MAGDA

I know that faith in god has sustained and comforted many people in their grief. I am envious of that, because I have always been “uncertain” in my beliefs. I have my moments of spirituality, but not with confidence.

I know I have written that, “I wanted to die.”

That statement is less about feeling suicidal and more about how difficult it was to live with so much pain. It really did seem like there was no “end in sight.” I believe my hope of recovery revolved around just “hanging in there.” I focused on the baby that I was carrying, as well as trying to alleviate the pain of my oldest son’s grief at the time.

I was isolated simply because my existence was completely “out of the land of the living.” I marched to a different beat than other people because my thoughts were repetitive and anguished. It was only a plodding existence at best. All of my energy was forced into simply surviving for the sake of my living children.

I remember I would just spend an entire day sitting on the couch with my three-year-son watching videos of Jason. It kept Jason alive for a while. It helped my non-verbal child cope with the silence, by filling our house with Jason’s singsong voice.

My other son was three when Jason died. He did not speak until he was five.

2) REGARDING BEREAVEMENT IN THE PAST AND THE PRESENT

I personally cannot imagine there is any difference between the loss of a child in 2010 and the loss of a child for a Neanderthal. I am certain there has been significant misery throughout history whenever children died.

It is a primal, human attachment to protect our child. It might just seem like people are more impacted in the present because it is talked about so honestly and openly. I imagine that perhaps child loss was so prevalent in the past; there were a lot more people to offer support.

Just because losing a child was more expected in the past, I don’t think it was less painful for parents. I remember reading something Abraham Lincoln had written about losing some of his children – his words were painfully honest and spoke as any parent today might.

The only reason it might appear that elderly people have “coped well” is perhaps because many years have passed since their child died. I don’t like to use the term that “time heals,” but with time – the acceptance and distance certainly does diminish the intense pain.

Often, bereaved parents feel safer expressing their pain with others that have gone through it. It is truly like a “club” in that respect.

On Dec 9, 2010, Lori wrote:

I remember once talking to my brother-in-law’s mother, who had lost 1 of 9 children.  She spoke to me about her child as if he died yesterday, when he had actually died 30 years before. My brother-n-law told me he had never heard her speak about her dead child like that to anyone. In fact he said he had never heard her talk about him to any of her living kids. I think she spoke to me about him because she knew I could relate to her. Maybe she never spoke about him to her kids because she didn’t want to burden them with her pain. I don’t believe parents in the past were not as impacted by grief as parents today. I think they didn’t express it as freely and kept it to themselves.

Having lost a child and a parent I definitely feel that there are two, separate types of grief. When your child dies you grieve for the future you will never have with them. When a parent dies you grieve for the past you had with them as a child, and the future that they will never know their grandchildren.

Love, Lori

I want to answer Sam’s question about bonding and medical science extending lives. I was aware that Jason would never have lived beyond a few months were it not for his first surgical procedure.

My feelings on this subject are definitely in the minority. I have heard over and over how grateful bereaved parents were for the time they had with their children. Because I felt differently, that often was difficult for me.

I actually wished Jason had died when he was an infant. Medical science kept him alive, but it was much harder for me – probably for him, too. My life with him was intense and exhausting. Although he had smiles and I had memories of him, there was so much pain associated with those five years. I often felt like my youth was stolen away and I had so much less energy to parent my other children. I used to feel “guilty” expressing these feelings, but I’ve learned that honesty has helped me.

Because I feel Jason’s love in my life, I know he would want for me to feel better and express this.

3) JUDY OF THE PAST AND JUDY OF THE FUTURE

This question was very interesting for me. First off, I’m fairly certain my thoughts about grief haven’t changed over the 23 years. I hold all the same values and beliefs as I did early on in my grief.

If I were able to go back and talk to myself, I would have liked to tell Judy of the Past that she would someday sing again. I don’t think she would have been able to hear that, because it didn’t seem possible. She would not have believed it.

Perhaps my story might help others, but not while they’re in deep grief – When my grief was fresh and raw, it used to make me angry to hear about how others had recovered. I assumed they didn’t have the attachment I did. I also hated the word “recovered.” Most bereaved parents will say, “There is no recovery, only acceptance and adjustment. It is forever.”

Still, I would want my book to be inspiring. I think my story is more about how I exited “Zombieland.” It is one thing to experience pain, and another to live without any emotional connection to life.

I was kept in that existence for decades because I was a caregiver. I never was able to truly let go of grief because too many challenges continued to come my way.

I think there are a lot of people like that.

4) SUICIDE AND BEREAVEMENT

I don’t feel qualified to answer this question. I experienced hearing countless, heartbreaking stories from anguished humans. However, because it became routine – it was generally not cause for “suicide intervention.”

I used to meet regularly with a few, bereaved moms on a weekly basis. I remember them all talking about the fact that none of them used seatbelts anymore. They really didn’t care if they were killed in an accident. I understood, but still wore mine.

Sadly, I’ve watched people deteriorate through the pain of their grief. Heavy smoking, drinking, drugs, and self-medicating is extremely common. Also, the stress often destroys one’s physical health over time. Divorce is commonplace.

When a child dies, a whole family is affected – especially sad, are the siblings who long for their parents’ attention and comfort, but have also lost their parents to grief. Grandparents suffer tremendously, as they grieve their grandchild and watch their beloved child’s heartbreak unfold.

5) WHETHER OR NOT A CHILD MIGHT HAVE LIVED

This is a very difficult question to answer. I have pondered this question in the past, and it was always confusing for me. It wasn’t helpful and never led to comfort. I have always wished that I could have avoided the experience of grief and anguish.

My answer was always an unequivocal, “I wish Jason had never been born and that I had never suffered such a loss.

I just finished writing that I have also wished Jason hadn’t lived as long as he had due to medical science!

But my insight has come to me. I have changed my thinking after twenty-three years of grief!

I was about to go back and change what I wrote only a few paragraphs ago. But I won’t. I’ll leave it there to remind myself that my insight hit me at this moment!

It was only this year that I discovered so much joy.

I would not trade 23 years of grief for the joy I’ve experienced this year with my writing and music.

Working through my grief allowed me to do something I never dreamed was possible.

If I hadn’t experienced Jason’s death, my life would have been ordinary. I might never have written so many stories and songs as a result.

With my own death, I would have left this earth without leaving a “mark.”

Now I feel my life is truly meaningful.

Jason definitely left his mark and will live on through my music and words.

On Dec 10, 2010, Sam wrote:

Judy, I’ll take some time here to respond to the following thought:

You wrote to me yesterday these words:

“I had wished Jason had died when he was an infant. Medical science kept him alive, but it was much harder for me – probably for him, too.”

I’m sure that was a very hard sentence for you to write.  And I’m sure that many others have reminded you about the good times that you two had together…they are obvious even in your pictures!  Who wouldn’t want their child to “love them more than all the cities”?  That’s priceless!  But still, knowing that you have considered all of this…those memories are still overwhelmed by your grief!

But, lets look at this another way. Jason is the central person in your life, the focus.  He was so important to you and your being that you were writing songs about him before he was born!  And I think that one of your great tasks in life is to change the above sentence…to make Jason’s life so important that it is unthinkable that he shouldn’t have been with you for five years. You have already started to do that…by being involved in compassionate friends, by writing your blog, by writing to the grief forum, and by all the counseling and sharing you have done that is not documented in an email or blog.

And the more that you can do to help others understand and survive their own grief process, the more you bring justification to Jason’s life, and bring those five years meaning. Do you see? Jason’s mission in life was to help you understand your mission in life. He could never have accomplished that if he died as an infant, and every day that you spend using your insight and wisdom to help care for others slowly changes the above sentence to the point where it simply isn’t true.

You bring tremendous merit to Jason’s existence (which is solely by your choice…no one is making you do any of this), and I hope that you won’t minimize or discount the importance of what you are doing…for others, for yourself, and for Jason. Have a good day!…Sam

On Dec 10, 2010, Judy wrote:

Wow, what an interesting morning I’ve had!

I woke up early to write more as a follow up to my last post about grief.

I know you are a busy doc, so I’m honored you have found the time to write as much as you have. If there is a purpose for everything, including Jason, then I think there was a purpose to your coming into my life again after 30 years. You have re-ignited a lot of serious thought for me and that has been outstanding! And of course, more than that – your caring is obvious.

Okay, before I dash off to go slug a few tennis balls (I have not exercised in a week and I can feel it) I want to share something with you.

I finished my follow-up of writing this morning before I got your message.

I came to the realization of what you just wrote me all by myself.

How interesting that my realization was about how sharing my music and writing has helped me personally so much. The irony is at the same time I am helping other humans – what could be better?

Judy

On Dec 10, 2010, Sam wrote:

Hi Judy,

We were essentially writing the same thing at the same time! I am so happy that you came to the realization on your own…in that light, one last thought…I would change the line:

If I hadn’t experienced Jason’s death

to:

If I hadn’t experienced Jason’s life

Sam

This is the last picture of Jason. It was the night before his surgery. We decided to celebrate his brother’s third birthday a week early. It was the last time we celebrated that birthday for many years.

© 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.

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WHAT IS LEFT SINCE YOU DIED

Posted on December 10, 2010 by Judy

“My gift”

The last two days, I had so written so much about grief! For several weeks I had been poring through my blog to excise segments for a possible book. Suddenly, I had all this “new material” – was that why I was suddenly connecting to grief again?

It was late afternoon. I hated to pull myself away from my computer and all the writing I was finishing up on. Like an addict sucking on a cigarette, I inhaled deeply as soon as I heard the music notes entering my ears with my iPod. It did feel good to stretch and be outside.

I ran an errand and then I decided to have my nails done. Having them nicely manicured was helpful in order not to bite them (after doing that for fifty years). Although my nails were short, for me they represented a huge, yardstick of self-improvement!

The Vietnamese woman in front of me was very kind. As she sat down to do my nails, I had the awareness that listening to my music might be rude. I pulled out my earbuds as she began to massage my hands.

She stared at my iPod, so I told her how much music had helped me. Then, she began to ask me a few questions. I was completely honest and within a few moments I had told her a lot about my life.

Suddenly, the manicurist lowered her head and tears coursed freely down her cheeks. She told me how much she missed her beloved, brother who had died a year ago. She said he used to play guitar with her and she was very sad.

I held her hand with one hand as she worked on my other hand. I told her that his death was still very raw and her tears were better “out than in.” She got up to get a tissue, and then she thanked me.

I asked her if she wanted to listen to one of my songs. Because I was embarrassed that my singing was too personal – I put on my instrumental song, Farewell. Within a moment, another manicurist came over and the two of them each had one earbud in their ears.

I squirmed a little as they listened. I allowed myself to hear the notes to my “theme song” in my head; I could always hear it playing through me at any given moment.

When the song was over, both women told me how beautiful it was.

I put on another song for her, “Beside Me Always.” I watched her close her eyes as she listened, and tears continued to course down her cheeks.

When she told me my music helped her feel better, I was relieved. I told her I was a writer and I wrote a lot about grief. Because she didn’t understand English too well, she asked me to write down that word for her. I did. She said, “Oh – grief! I see . . .”

I left the nail salon, and knew I’d be back soon to bring a CD over for my “new friend.” I thought about my music and wondered why I wasn’t selling anything yet.

Knowing my music comforted her made me feel alive. It felt so great to give of myself so freely.

Then I thought about her gift to me.

I suddenly gained a lot of confidence about where I was going.

You’ve got to hand it to me! (Boy am I running out of picture ideas)

“Squeezing pain of stress”

My blog, My Journey’s Insight, was started in February of this year.

For anyone first reading this page, the table of contents page has more about me on Post #1.

Currently, I am writing about grief. Sometimes, I write humorous things and I cover many other topics. I am passionate about songwriting and music, for sure.

Before I continue further, let me introduce those whose messages I will soon be sharing.

First off, there is Sam. I reconnected with Sam (who is a physician) this past October. He found my blog and saw his picture on I REMEMBER THE FUN. At that time, I hadn’t seen Sam for over thirty years and he was my boyfriend in high school.

There is also Lori. I wrote about Lori on RECONNECTING & REMEMBERING and I’VE LIVED AMIDST BROKEN HEARTS. We have a mutual relative that connected us after her son died.

I have endured considerable teasing and prodding by some of my tennis friends. Their message to me has been this, “Stop wasting your time emailing your former boyfriend and pay attention to your husband!”

Well, I love my husband, and “my former boyfriend” has been extremely compassionate and helpful in my present life. Our new, friendship has certainly provoked some insightful writing from me. His kindness has been unusual.

This week, I went into the same hospital where my mom was on a respirator last year around this time. A few days ago, I mentioned to all my friends how difficult it was for me to visit my good friend, Janis, whose mother has been extremely ill.

Sam sent me a message and said he could visit Janis and her mother at this hospital, which was nearby to his medical office. I asked Janis if that was okay and she was open to his visit.

Janis told me afterwards that he was extremely attentive and caring. He spent almost an hour of his time giving her advice regarding her mother’s care. She had never met Sam before and was very grateful that he had extended himself to her.

I felt glad, because Janis had always extended herself to me. I will never forget how when my son, Jason, died in 1992 – she was there for me.

On Dec 8, 2010, Sam wrote:

Hi Judy,

Just back from a long downtown meeting…a quick off-the-wall comment on your recent post…you wrote:

“Even when I smiled, I could feel the squeezing pain of stress.”

You wrote a similar line in one of the earlier posts that I read…I just wanted to make sure that you are not having chest pressure or anything like that…when we were 19 and 17 it didn’t matter, but now at 53 and 51…when I hear “squeezing pain of stress” in my peer group, I usually order a treadmill stress test (stress echo actually)

I just want to make sure that you’re not ignoring any of your own health issues while taking care of everyone else! If you have any “squeezing” or “tightness” or “chest burning”, let your doctor know as soon as possible! This is not to worry you, but don’t ignore any significant symptoms!!…Sam

Phew! Thanks, Sam.

I think I meant it more figurative. I’ve been feeling a lot healthier, so I’m actually very sensitive now to those feelings of stress. When my burden is “heavy,” I usually feel the squeezing in my stomach. I have found the effect of stress has been to cause my stomach to be upset, so it’s not really in my chest area.

I have kept up with those mammograms – especially, losing my friend Cheryl gave me the awareness for that.

However, it was so caring of you to write that to me – Thank you.

Judy

Jason and Judy

“Where am I going with my writing?”

On Dec 6, 2010, Sam wrote:

Hi Judy,

You wrote: “I’m actually thinking that perhaps instead of a book about grief I could make the book about releasing my grief through the music.”

You’re at this interesting juncture, and I think the main thing to decide is whether you want to write a book that is therapeutic for you in its writing, or whether you want to write a book that will sell as many copies as possible.  And they will probably not be the same book.

(Sam wrote a lot more; he was extremely helpful with a considerable amount of detail regarding his suggestion)

I think that you can find the proper tone that will be right for you and convey what you want to say…but it will have to be a careful and thoughtful road to get there.  I think you can do it and be very successful…go for it! Sam

A card from one of Jason’s 5-year-old preschool classmates. His death impacted some very young children. My good friend, Janis, says her son no longer remembers Jason now (He is 23).

From: Judy

To: Sam

Sent: Mon, December 6, 2010

Subject: Re: Grief book

I know you’re right about all of this!

I’m so tired from typing today it’s hard to process it. But thanks so much for the encouragement and thoughtfulness. I am thankful that I haven’t gotten any more carpal symptoms, but my wrists do ache a little from all my typing.

I’m going to have a great blog; too bad I can’t sell that!

It’s funny, but I feel like I always say the same things over and over in regards to grief. There are a few “truisms” for me, but generally those are not even my own ideas. They are truths that all the people grieving seem to know. It’s a “club” no one wants to belong to. And honestly, whoever buys the books will probably already know someone or be someone in it!

I read a lot of books back them. I did have one, special book and I remember being impressed that the mother wrote it ten years after her son died. I thought, “Wow, how did she remember all that?” Now I understand.

I guess I was thinking that although I thought I knew a lot of grief and “moving forward” – it was truly this year where I made so much improvement in my life. That’s why I thought it would be a more unusual book than all the other typical, grief books.

It sounds like an outline might actually be a very good idea for me. Thanks so much, Sam. I’m honored that you’ve shared my blog excerpts with med students, too.

Judy

On Dec 9, 2010, Lori wrote:

Hi Judy,

I think Sam has great ideas for you to ponder. I think what is so wonderful about your blog is that you fell deep into grief when Jason died, yet your experiences through that grief have made you who you are today.

A strong woman who can advocate for your children, caregiver for your parents, a singer songwriter, a writer etc…I think what would make your book different from other books is how you not only survived grief, but you came out the other end a very, happy person who rediscovered herself. As you and I both know, no parent wants their dead child to ever be forgotten.

Jason was only in your life for 5 short years, but look at the incredible impact he had on every aspect of your life!

That is exactly what your book would portray and that is what every grieving parent needs to know – that their child will never be forgotten and will always be involved in their life.

Love, Lori

Hi Lori,

Thank you for your touching message! You said exactly what I was thinking of doing. I love the songwriting stuff, although some of my songs are about friendship and stuff unrelated to grief (although Cheryl died).

I know a bio is too much. I thought I’d make it like a “journal of rediscovery” and use my blog excerpts – minus most of the stuff about my kids. I have plenty of material if I go that route.

Or I could just do stuff about grief, and make a smaller book.

Judy, I also love the humorous parts in your blog about your animals! I think everything including your songs should be included in the book somehow, or maybe a CD of your music can be included in the cover of the book.

Love, Lori

Below is a message from a fellow, bereaved mom in a grief forum to another mother named Joanne. Joanne was upset because she did not receive any messages on her child’s death anniversary and planned to “leave this group.” Shasta’s message echoes my sentiments exactly!

From: Shasta

Subject: RE: [Loss of a child] I think I am going to leave this group.

Date: December 10, 2010

Dear Joanne,

First I’m sorry for your loss (the death of your son). Second I’m sorry no one acknowledged it.

It is true that we understand your loss and wish to be there for each other everyday, but we can’t. As it has been said, many of us carry our own grief a burden so heavy that sometimes we stumble and fall beneath it (and often can’t get up). Some of us barely make it through our days, and many of us face other problems with our marriages, jobs, the economy, our living children (and their grief), other losses etc. Many of us will fall behind on many things including checking emails and these groups. I’m not making excuses, you are right there is no reason why anyone should face the anniversary of their child’s death alone! I’m sorry for the way the world is, it isn’t fair, it isn’t right and YOU should never have to face this horrible thing let alone feel like the world didn’t even care to acknowledge it. The truth is NO ONE should.

We were thinking of you on your hard day, I know you can’t read our minds and we need to express it out loud. For not doing so, I apologize.

Long Warm Love Filled hugs, Shasta

It might seem strange with so much sadness, but I’m going to end today’s writing with a short, humorous exchange. Sam and I both like puns:

Hi Sam,

I have a new, lower version of my latest song. Now it’s in a key that’s much better for my voice. Here comes The Alabaster Seashell in the key of C!

Judy

On Dec 6, 2010, Sam wrote:

Glad it’s not the Alabaster Beetle in the key of B…looking forward to hearing it…Sam

Hi Sam,

I had no idea there was so much to know about recording. I’m going to do a lazy vocal right now into my computer mic. Finally, blessedly it’s quiet around here.

I just know the lower key is going to help this song. I guess if this were a Beetle song it would “bug” me!

Judy

On Dec 6, 2010, Sam wrote:

Hey Jude,

I won’t leave you with no reply. That would get me nowhere, man. You’re getting better.  Do you want to know a secret?Just act naturally!

Hi Sam,

Oh god, not Beatles puns!!!!!

HELP!!!!!!

Judy

© 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.

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A DEEP, DARK EMPTINESS IS THERE

Posted on December 9, 2010 by Judy

It took me over a month to gather my thoughts in order to reply to the comment below:

Comment on Post #61 WHAT IS MOST HELPFUL

Judy, you wrote:

“The only people I wanted to be with were those who were grieving too.”

While I know that someone who has not experienced a significant loss can sympathize with someone who has, do you think they can truly empathize? Did you ever find someone who understood what you were going through if they didn’t experience it for themselves? Sam

Hi Sam,

Thank you for your thoughtful comment. I’ve decided it’s worthy of a thoughtful response. I am going to write another post about grief.

Judy

Does true empathy in grief exist?

Empathy is a word that is very close to sympathy. I looked up the definition, and empathy means “the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.”

I have often suggested that it is helpful for people who are grieving to seek out other bereaved people with similar circumstances in order to find understanding of the anguish being experienced.

When I was involved with Compassionate Friends, many bereaved parents complained about the lack of empathy over and over and over again. They were searching for it and not finding it.

I wonder if other bereaved parents would agree with me on what I am about to write.

So here is my truth (and my truth alone because grief is unique to every person):

I have finally decided that my answer is a resounding no, since it was impossible for anyone to comprehend my level of pain after Jason died – even if they had also lost a child!

I hated to write that sentence above. However, it just wasn’t possible for me to find empathy from anyone, even people who had experienced loss in their life!

I really felt no other human could understand the pain of my loss. They had no idea about what I had lost; nor could I about their loss.

Grief is very lonely. I believe it is the most isolating of human experiences.

I have often heard of amputation as an analogy for grief. Like an amputation, it is hard to imagine how it might feel to “lose a limb” unless it is actually cut off. The loss is always there, and eventually one might learn to compensate for it.

The difference is that while an amputation is visible; an amputated soul is not!

Also I believe it is a blessing not to experience deep grief, to not understand. I can certainly remember the innocence of my prior existence. I had an “unblemished heart.”

If I were to imagine losing a second child, I could not even imagine how that might be!

I believe it is completely different to imagine horror than to actually cross the threshold into bereavement. Simply projecting horror is a pittance to the experience. It’s almost like one of those “close calls before a car accident.” You might imagine the thud, breaking windshield, and injury. But until it happens, there is just no description of how it actually feels that adequately matches the horror.

I think that is why it is so frightening for many people. I have heard my friends tell me that losing one of their children is their greatest fear.

With that level of fear, it makes it very hard to approach someone who is grieving!

I remember trying to offer comfort to a woman whose son committed suicide. She told me that there was no way I could understand her situation.

She was right.

It was then when I realized it was truly impossible for me to imagine the grief of someone else. It was especially difficult if the circumstances were suicide or murder!

After Jason died, I searched for another bereaved parent who had lost a child of the same age. I desperately wanted understanding. It didn’t help. I searched for someone who had a cardiac child who had died. I actually came close. It still didn’t help.

My “fellow grievers” did have understanding for many situations which arose as a result of grief, and that was very helpful. They understood what it was like to avoid places where I used to go with Jason. Cleaning out his room, and emptying his closet held tremendous anguish.

Therefore, my “partners in grief” were useful for their “understanding” but could not ease my pain, nor could I feel theirs.

Bereaved people are still humans with unique personalities and what goes along with that. Often, bereaved people have completely, different timetables as they move through their grief.

Experiencing loss can affect and alter personalities. I’ve met bereaved parents who drove others away during the angry phase of bereavement. Grievers are wounded and not much can be expected of them. This can cause them to be further isolated.

Friendship developed over time for me with my “grief partners” at Compassionate Friends.

It was always better for me to not have any expectations of them. Even though I was still “alone with my grief,” it helped me to crawl along with them. We all watched each other eventually begin our “first steps” back into a new existence.

I still felt I had to go it alone. It was not possible for anyone to “pull me up.” When I went to visit my friend Lori, I did not pull her up; she suffered and had to survive one minute at a time on her own.

I was grateful for our friends, Josh and Jeanne, for their companionship. It truly did help Michael and I during our bereavement.

The pain was “what it was,” it couldn’t have been any worse or any easier. Initially, the shock was simply a cushion for the impending anguish.

Although I couldn’t comprehend empathy while grieving, I do believe it is a beautiful thing for another human who has experienced grief to try to comfort someone grieving.

I always appreciated caring and support. Some parents who had children the same age as my deceased son had difficulty facing me. I recognized the courage of those that stayed close with me throughout my ordeal.

As far as what to offer someone grieving, at best, it is simply the statement of “I wish I could do something to help you and I’m so sorry.” That might be the most comfort that can be offered.

As I healed, I started more and more to feel the pain of other’s grief. That was when empathy returned for me personally.

My insight about empathy, therefore, was that what I was unable to find during deep grief came back into my life later on.

The intensity was startling. I felt empathy for people who were suffering even when I knew they could not grasp my sensitivity to their pain!

I have tried to be very honest in writing about my grief.

When I was deeply grieving, I wanted to die because it was so painful. I have never felt that way before or since.

I believe grief is a process. It never ended for me; it only changed.

I truly did not see color in the world; everything was in black and white for years and years.

Sometimes I wonder how I kept on illustrating. I wonder how I continued to parent my living children.

I simply survived. And then one day, I saw color again.

A picture of me from my “prior existence.”

A comment by one of my grief partners, Riva:

I think you stated it beautifully, Judy. For me, the proof that my grief was truly understood hinged on whether people could bring themselves to mention or ask my child’s name. I longed for that, almost as if that simple act gave continuing validity to my missing child and it became my criteria for a true measure of knowing where I was.

Message to a Grief Forum:

Subject: I’m leaving this group!

On Dec 7, 2010, Joanne wrote:

As much as I love everyone here, I just had the 3rd anniversary of my son for being in Heaven. No one acknowledged it. It was a VERY tough day for our whole family…. my heart goes out each and every one of you and I know that heartache too well. It’s too much for me… hugs to you all Joanne


Dear Joanne,

Don’t leave this group!

Everyone who has “anniversaries of the heart” knows it was a tough day for you; yes, they are fellow grievers and should understand! But grief is very lonely, and those “grievers” are incapable of dealing with anything more than their own pain. But they are the closest thing to finding comfort because they might understand the challenges of what you are going through!

There were no intentions to hurt you – so that’s what is important to remember.

In the end, all that is left of Tyler is you and your love of him for the rest of your life. You will always have that and must hold onto that to help you through those difficult days. Although it would have been nice to have acknowledgment, that is never enough anyway. The true pain is that he is gone and no one loved or knew him as you did. He would want you to feel better!!!

My son died 18 years ago and I have never forgotten any of it. I am not telling you how you’ll feel better or when. Someday, I pray you will feel better and understand how beautiful it was that Tyler was in this world and is always with you!

And by the way, it definitely is too much for you! It is awful! There are no words to describe such a loss. I am really sorry.

Judy

Messages from others responding to Joanne’s message in the grief forum:

I am sorry that I didn’t respond. I have Jeremy’s coming up on January 6, 2011. It will be one year. I am hating all holidays and I want to be left alone. Always remember he is there for you no matter what…. Jeremy’s mom, Marcy

I think as time goes on, people tend to forget these days that are burned in our hearts. On Alex’s first birthday after he was gone, our house was filled with people; last year it was just the family. This year, I plan to put it out there. Maybe if you remind everyone they will come next year. We wish we didn’t have to remind them but it is such an important a day for us. Had a second heart attack on Halloween but I did quit smoking…. Alex’s Dad, Larry

I don’t post too much, but I am still here. I lost my daughter 6 years ago. It still hurts like hell. I think of her daily and wish things where different. I wish I could help people in this group. Have a good day all. Judy R

Comment from Sam:

On Dec 7, 2010, Sam wrote:

How terribly isolating it must be…even within the group…is there any way out?…Sam

I believe grief is the most isolating of human experiences.

It is a prison without walls.

Ask any bereaved parent – they’d trade their own life in an instant (rather than live in a torture chamber) if their child could live again.

You might try to imagine losing one of your beloved kids – never to hear or see them grow up. However, it’s unimaginable. It’s like going from thinking about hunger, to never tasting food again.

With time comes acceptance, but the pain is never really is forgotten. It is forever.

Judy

Ps. Sadly, most bereaved parents dream their way out is by believing they’ll see their child once they die. I am in a place of acceptance and I remember the pain clearly but don’t feel it the way I used to.

Message to my friend, Lori (Post #2):

—–Original Message—–

From: Judy

To: Lori

Sent: Wed, Dec 8, 2010

Subject: Matthew’s birthday

Hi Lori,

I couldn’t believe I ran into you at Target the other day. Another one of those amazing coincidences! Especially, since I had just revised the post “I Opened the Box” that morning and read your comment there.

This morning, I was thinking of you. I remembered it was Matthew’s birthday “anniversary of the heart” last week.

Anyway, I just wanted you to know I remembered that. I’ve been thinking about writing something about grief and the holidays. You know, the time where the holidays hurt like hell.

Hope all is well with the rest of your family. It was great seeing you.

Love, Judy

On Dec 8, 2010, Lori wrote:

Hi Judy,

It’s always wonderful to see you too!  This year Matthew would have been 17 years old. It’s been 15 years since he died. It’s so unbelievable to me that so many years have passed!

I think your idea to turn your blog into a book is a wonderful idea. I remember early on in my grief, feeling like no one could understand what I was going through except for the people at the Compassionate Friends meetings. It would have been wonderful if a friend, family member, or even my son’s doctor could have handed me a book to read by a mother that has found her way through her grief. It would have been a spark of hope!

I hope you and your family have a wonderful Hanukkah! Keep on writing and singing Judy.

You are truly an inspiration.

Love, Lori

A song that was written before I experienced grief. I wrote this when I was 17.

My last words are to remind everyone that holidays pose a particular challenge to anyone who is grieving.

The loneliness and anguish are intensified with the memories of past holidays filled with joy rather than excruciating sadness.

If you know someone who has lost someone whom they loved, swallow the fear and call them. If they are angry, listen. If they are silent, stay close.

If they are sad, allow it. Don’t feel your purpose is to remind them “life goes on.” They know that. Unfortunately, it is going on around them!

Your presence can mean so much. And if you are “rejected,” don’t take it personally.

Don’t give up either.

Grief is a horrible thing. However, it is part of life and is arbitrary. It can happen to anyone at any time.

That used to be a scary thought for me. It isn’t any more.

That is why I have so much appreciation for my life right now.

I wrote eleven pages like this in one day. I read it into a tape recorder for Jason’s funeral.

© 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.

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