I’M NOT A POSTER CHILD ANYMORE

A card sent many years ago to me from my mother.

Another note from years ago, sent to me by my mother on what would have been Jason’s birthday

It was a beautiful Saturday morning. I walked into Connie’s guesthouse; she wasn’t there yet.

After a few minutes, I decided to knock on the main house to alert her to my presence. She told me she was glad I had, because she didn’t know I had been waiting. I joked and said, “Of course you couldn’t hear me come in! I slipped through the bars on the fence – I’m so skinny now! Actually, the truth was – I flew into your yard! I am taking off these days and sailing through my life – I am Super Woman!”

She laughed out loud. Our session was full of laughter. We were both cracking up constantly.

I wasn’t sure if there was anything in particular for me to work on. Connie and I caught up on things. Whenever I mentioned a possible problem, within the next breath I easily suggested a simple solution to it.

I told her that all the answers were now at my fingertips – I could pull them from my heart and mind, because the “connection” was there. There was no barrier, judgment, or interference anymore. I felt so different! I told her I was enjoying being this completely new person.

“I was a wounded, human being! The therapy of writing and singing has allowed me to release trauma from my life. I have so much more joy! It’s a wonderful feeling to go through my day singing.”

I told her, “I’ve totally connected to the up and out. I had no idea how much there was inside of me!”

I decided to mention Jason’s impending birthday. I’ve lived through many of those since his death in 1992; eighteen of them, to be exact.

I said to Connie, “Detachment allowed me to feel less pain. I chose not to remember anything related to him for a long time. That was because I felt certain it was an important part of the healing process. Recently, I looked through his pictures and read those tear-jerker messages on special cards. How could I possibly stay detached? I could not!”

The up and out began . . .

I told Connie I had not yet posted a picture of his gravestone. I had been saving it to post in honor of his twenty-third birthday on May 28, 2010.

I was at Jason’s grave with my youngest son the prior week. My thirteen-year-old son, laid on the grass next to the gravestone of the brother he never met. It was very sweet. I told Connie there were a few pictures that really caused my heart to really ache. I began to describe those pictures. It was at that moment when my “well of tears” began to flow. The splashing took over, as the tears spilled freely down my cheeks. My voice became tight. I took a deep breath.

“I had two pictures of him – he was wearing a paper, birthday crown the preschool used to make on his birthday. It said Jason on it. He looked so happy!”

With that image, I felt the waves of pain wash over me. The memory was so intense; it was remarkable. I hurtled back through time and could feel the moment in front of my eyes. My son may have had eighteen birthdays since then, but he will always – he will always be five years old.

Forever, he will remain that age!

During hypnosis, I let go. I didn’t even listen to anything she said. I felt light and I was calm. Connie told me to go to a beautiful place, somewhere outdoors. That was very easy for me; I could smell the pine forest. I was in a place that was like a fairyland when I was a child – nothing was more magical than a forest for me when I was a young girl.

I told Connie that I wanted to say something to Jason, but I didn’t know what to say. It was such a long time ago that he had died.

I pondered and finally spoke. But it wasn’t to Jason, it was to Connie. Here is what I said:

I lost something that I loved so deeply; losing him was like an amputation of my soul. I still love my other children. They will grow up and I will always love them.”

Jason is different. He will always be with me in a different way. He is not part of my life, and I cannot see him. But he represents the kind of love that will follow me for the rest of my life. It is a love that is so – I searched for the word. It is a love that is pure.”

I don’t have to be a poster child to prove there is “recovery” for bereaved parents! I don’t have to always be smiling, and I don’t have to prove to anyone that I’ve moved on. I can still cry and feel pain for not having my beautiful child to hold. I can still cry because I cannot see him grow up and have the life I thought he was entitled to. I may continue to cry for him when I am very old.”

The difference is that now I want to remember him – even if that makes me cry!

It’s okay, because my life is wonderful. I have so much joy and excitement about living. I will always carry these memories with me.

I can feel the heartache, because even with the tears, his “pure love” will stay with me forever.

When I sing, I feel his presence. He’ll surround me and inspire me when I record my music later on today.

On Feb 2, 2010, Susan wrote:

Jason must have been a magical child, and I remember my parents telling me about his illnesses and his funeral. My father apparently sobbed throughout the service; my mom said she had never seen him so consumed with grief. I can’t begin to imagine the pain you have lived with. I am waiting to hear that you are feeling some peace with all of this.

Much love, Susan

On May 10, 2010, Amelie wrote:

Do you know what I remember about Jason’s funeral, Judy?

First, the terrible sight of you and Michael walking across the grassy hillside together and holding up each other, your hands clenched like they’d been welded together–a sight that remains with me forever.

Second is the eloquent speech Jason’s surgeon made about what they knew about infant cardiac surgery the year he was born and what they knew five years later, and how Jason’s journey had contributed to great strides for other children.

I remember because I was relieved to hear a note of hope, that Jason had left his mark not only on our hearts, but the hearts of all children who faced congenital heart defects and the hearts of their healers. I was so grateful for the doctor’s beautiful speech, which pointed all of us to the future and how Jason’s part in all of this made him a part of the future forever.

Love, AF

© 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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IT WAS QUITE A WEIGHT

Hey! Will you stop trying to take my picture already!

I am just so adorable! Please, forgive me for pooping everywhere!

“Performing again”

Okay, who is this person I have become?

Someone else has inhabited my body! Since I’ve been writing, so many things have changed in my life. This new person wants to perform. I find that very interesting.

I am not glamorous, and I’m fifty years old. Why do I want to perform, and will anyone want to hear what I have to share?

Maybe I should prepare a comic routine, in case my music falls flat. Here are my prior venues over the last thirty years (since 1980), leading up to this:

a. Two talent shows

b. One funeral (not Jason’s)

c. One Bar Mitzvah (for my older son)

d. A retreat with special needs mothers

e. Puff the Magic Dragon–well over a hundred times at my children’s schools on their birthdays.

Before that, it gets fuzzy for me to remember. I can say with some certainty that I performed at numerous talent shows, and for the City of Hope.

That’s it!

As I go on an adventure with this new person I have become, I am very enthusiastic! I have not had any adventures in a long time. It is thrilling for me to consider being on a stage and sharing my passion.

I have looked into a few venues where I could perform on a live stage!

It was very easy to do this. I started to wonder why I waited so long to “live.” I don’t have to wonder too much.

I was busy surviving.

“A Few Months in the Life”

I remember an excellent show I used to watch called, “A Year in The Life.” I was thinking that perhaps if my blog became my book, it would be called, “A Few Months in the Life.”

These few months have been simply amazing for me. Because I’m not sure where I’m going yet with my writing, I have grappled with whether to use the blog for serious stories, humorous essays, or simply day-to-day updates.

I don’t grapple too much. My writing still controls me, more than the other way around.

On Monday night, I went out with my parents to celebrate their being reunited. My mom was finally transferred to the same facility as my father. It was a very emotional and touching reunion. However, they are both so much weaker and not aware of each other’s frailties.

A reunion at last!

Tomorrow, I am taking my mom to a shoulder specialist so she’ll be able to continue receiving physical therapy. My mom told me how disappointed she was that my father was not coming along. I couldn’t believe she had such expectations. My father can hardly walk anymore and has no patience for an outing of that nature.

My father is very impatient with my mother. He is also very negative, pessimistic, and difficult to have a conversation with. He has been more interested in what I’ve been doing, lately. I haven’t shared too much with him, since he tended to make remarks that weren’t helpful and were actually quite hurtful. The other day, he said my life reminded him of the movie, “Punch Line,” with Sally Field, where she played a struggling, stand-up comic who was a housewife. It was sweet when he mentioned this to me.

My title of this post, “It Was Quite a Wait,” is related to weight and waiting. Because of my writing, I’ve come across many, old pictures. Since Jason’s birthday is in two days, I saw images that were sad reminders of his birth for me.

One of the pictures I came across really captured my struggle with being overweight. I’ve always had weight fluctuations, but my greatest one was during my pregnancy with Jason. I gained 100 pounds, and came across a picture that really showed it.

I remarked to Connie this past weekend how I discovered this: “When I filled myself up with other things, I stopped filling up my void with food.”

I used to tell myself on a daily basis, that it wasn’t fair that I was so overweight. It made everything more difficult for me. I have experienced such dramatic weight fluctuations, and certainly could blame four pregnancies for that. However, I was in survival mode and doing whatever would help me cope. I could not for the life of me figure out how to change. Connie always helped me to be gentle with myself, to be human and not be a perfectionist.

Connie explained to me that all my newfound energy could be due to no longer applying my energy into being “stuck.” I had no idea that holding in my feelings could be so exhausting on a daily basis.

I was just so used to it. Freeing myself of that, has allowed my energy to come back. It has allowed me to stop filling myself up with other things, such as food. I am more full of things now than I have ever been; I am especially filled with joy.

Since I’ve begun writing and singing, most of my food issues have evaporated. I’ve lost 23 pounds. If I don’t lose another pound, I’m fine. I feel wonderful and the lightness inside lifts me everywhere I go.

The post title and “waiting” also applies to my music. Last night I went to an “Open Mic” evening and performed.

My only picture from last night’s performance at open mic – Cool effect without a flash!

I have been practicing a lot, lately. Actually “practicing” is not the best word to describe it. Singing has become for me what writing has been. It has allowed for tremendous release and an intense feeling of connection.

I only play my original songs. Not all of my songs are sad. I have been enjoying one that is very upbeat. It is called, “You Are My Wings.”

I recorded in on Saturday with George as a “freestyle, rough-cut.” This weekend I want to record it using separate tracks and additional instruments. When I performed last night at an “Open Mic” venue, this was the song that I played.

My youngest son listened to me practice. His comments were: “Mom, I can hear you breathing too much. You have to stop making so much noise when you breathe.”

That felt a little too challenging for me. My son has been very excited about my voice lessons with his former teacher, Peaches!

My husband and both my sons came to watch my performance. My daughter didn’t feel well enough to come. I could write a lot about my evening, but I’ll try and summarize it. I was approximately the sixteenth performer out of eighteen other people. I was allowed to play one song.

Most of the performers were comedians. My youngest son was exposed to a lot of “racy stuff,” which he loved.

Finally it was my turn. I gingerly stepped onto the stage, being careful not to trip or stumble. I asked for a chair, instead of the stool that was there. I introduced myself and shared that this was my first performance in thirty years. I had an “Aw, shucks!” kind of demeanor and the audience was very kind to me. There were approximately twenty people.

I said, “Hi, my name is Judy. I haven’t played my guitar and performed like this in thirty years! I’ve had a life changing experience; up until then I was taking care of many people. Now I am rediscovering my love for music and it feels great. I want to share one of my original songs.”

I realized my guitar had gone out of tune. I took my time and tuned it before I began. The adrenaline rush wasn’t helpful for my performance; I calmed myself down. Once I began singing, my nervousness disappeared.

I learned a few things:

I’m a doofus when it comes to microphones and audio. I was clueless about adjusting the microphone. My husband’s first comment on my performance was, “The microphone was too loud.”

My oldest son smiled and said, “Nice job, mom.”

My youngest son said, “You took too long to get started. The guitar part overshadowed your voice; the microphone wasn’t in the right place. But you did great with the breathing thing!”

While I was singing, my voice really opened up; I felt like someone else! Hearing my voice and connecting with my heart caused me so much pleasure that I could hardly believe how quickly my song went by.

It wasn’t enough.

I don’t want to perform in this kind of venue again. I could perform in my bathroom and get so much more therapy. It was quite difficult to wait three hours. My guitar went out of tune and my voice was no longer warmed up. I wanted to play more than just one song.

Perfecting my performance in public is still valuable. However, my connection is there when I know the people listening have read my writing. I love the idea of having a video performance on the blog. I’m sure that hearing my music and seeing me play would convey more than simply audio.

I love my journey so much!

smiling with Killer

© 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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CHILDHOOD DISAPPEARS

Chery and I performing together in 1980.

“The singing stopped for her”

Today, I reached out and made another call.

It had been on my mind for a while. I called Cheryl’s mother, Blanche. Cheryl died of breast cancer a little over two years ago. I have not spoken with her mother in many years.

I called Cheryl’s brother, Barry, the week before Mother’s Day. He said he would ask her if she was willing to speak with me; then he’d get back to me.

After Cheryl died, Barry told me his mother could not to speak with me. He was being protective of her and I understood. She sent me a card that stated those words on it also.

I hadn’t heard anything. So today I decided to just call her. I was a little nervous.

Blanche was warm and we had such a nice time talking. There were many emotional moments. We made a plan. Our plan is next Friday, May 28th. That would have been Jason’s twenty-third birthday.

It would be a fitting day for me to visit with a fellow, bereaved mother.

I am planning to drive out to where she lives. She lives about an hour from me. We’ll visit and go out to dinner.

Blanche has not read my blog. I told her I had written about Cheryl and it was very emotional for me.

Blanche remembered my love of music. She asked me to bring my guitar when I came to see her. Cheryl always told me that her mother loved to sing. Cheryl wanted her mother to continue singing because it was therapy. During her terminal illness, Cheryl hated thinking about how much suffering it caused her mother.

I asked Blanche if she still sang choral music and performed. She hesitated because she couldn’t speak for a moment.

Then Blanche said, “I stopped singing after Cheryl died.” Her voice caught as she softly cried. She regained her composure and continued.

“The singing was just too much for me. I’m 88 years old, and I need to take care of myself. I don’t want to ever be a burden to my son and his family. I pray to die in my sleep someday.”

I understood.

“Dear Judy – Thank you for your beautiful card and your wonderful feelings about Cheryl. Barry tells me when you call, but I’m not ready to discuss Cheryl’s short life. It is too painful for me. It will be in the future sometime that my niece will have anything in her memory. Fondly, Blanche”

I have shared the story about my friendship with Cheryl. My major writing about our friendship is on Posts #57 – #62.

When Cheryl died, my parents were living with me. My family took up all of my energy. I hadn’t seen Cheryl for many years, except for a few brief visits.

I was surprised by how much I wrote about Cheryl.

Recently, I came across some email correspondence between Cheryl and I seven years ago.

Seeing that exchange caused me to ache. Each and every time I read our words, I realized how much I missed her.

Through the years, even though we didn’t speak often, I knew Cheryl understood about my life and my struggles. As I follow the path of a songwriting journey, she is deeply inside of me. Her death has made me appreciate my life even more and her spirit continues to inspire me.

I started to practice and play the song, “A Place I’ve Never Been.” Cheryl had written the lyrics for it. I could not play it, because I ended up heaving with sobs over my guitar. My grief has finally found its way up to the surface.

I received some wonderful messages after I shared what I’d written with people who had known her. I had written that Cheryl touched many people; the messages I received confirmed that.

One letter that moved me very much, painted a poignant image. It was one that sadly might be commonplace for those with a terminal illness. Cheryl enlisted her friend’s help to write a letter for each one of her three children. It would be her legacy to each child once she was gone.

Without knowing what she wrote, I’m certain that her words of wisdom and inspiration will stay with her children for the rest of their lives.

I often think about a special song I wrote before I was married, “Only Tears.” I wrote the song in calligraphy as part of a painting and gave it to Cheryl just before I got married. It was a very meaningful gift, and she loved it.

“Only Tears” represented a sense of finality for me about a chapter in my life that was ending. I knew it well when I wrote the song, and sharing the song with my friends that were leaving on world travels made the song even more poignant for me.

My song was a goodbye to my college friends. It was also a goodbye to singing and songwriting, as well.

Cheryl smiling up close

—–Original Message—–

From: Judy

Sent: Monday, May 05, 2003

To: Cheryl

Subject: Keeping in touch

Hi Cheryl:

I haven’t heard from you in a while, so I can guess that you’re probably super busy. I still love keeping in touch with you, so I’m going to write to you regardless!

I had to share with you that I went away without kids this past weekend. It has been eleven years since I’ve done that. I went to a retreat entitled, “Healing the Mother’s Heart,” a get-away for mothers. Of course, it was a lot of work just to leave instructions for all of my kids for only two days. But it was so touching, to hear all of these incredible mothers’ stories; I cried so much myself because I am so filled with grief.

The best part was Saturday night! I played my guitar and several women sang along with me. They couldn’t get over my songbook! I also shared several of my original songs; it has been so long since I’ve played them. My fingers are so sore today – they’re numb and blistered! I didn’t go to sleep until after midnight. It has been such a long time since I’ve felt so unburdened and not super-mom.

Anyway, I hope you and your family is doing well. I thought of you so deeply when I sang “Only Tears” – it was very special to remember all of those wonderful times we sang together.

Love, Jude

—– Original Message —–

From: Cheryl

To: Judy

Sent: Thursday, May 08, 2003

Subject: RE: Keeping in touch

Judy,

Every time I think I am going to e-mail you, I get preoccupied with something. At the end of the month I am speaking at a middle school assembly on the Holocaust. I am taking a survivor with me. I have been trying to get into the mind-set of a teenager having to go through the holocaust so I can help pull the kids in during the presentation. It has been draining but it has helped me sort through some of my own issues. These people had it worse than we can ever imagine, yet they chose to go on with their lives. They look for the miracles in life to help them through the hard times. I know I have had many miracles and I know you have, too!

I’m glad you got away. That is so important for you sanity. Do you know that I have that painting (I only have tears song) hanging in my basement? Sometimes I still sing it.

Sorry about the challenges you’ve faced with your children. Some kids go through life without their needs being properly met. Your children are lucky to have you as their mother.

Talk to you soon. Love, Cheryl

Subject: Re: Keeping in touch

Date: Thursday, May 15, 2003

From: Judy

To: Cheryl

Conversation: Keeping in touch

Hi Cheryl,

It was nice to hear from you! I hope that your presentation at the end of this month goes well.

I’ve been feeling better since my retreat. I’ve already organized a reunion dinner this week; it sure is great having email to keep in touch. Now, I need to get more art jobs in! My daughter’s new school requires a lot more time in driving, but it’s been worth it. Guess what? I signed up for a talent show at her new school – I auditioned yesterday, and all these mothers were so excited to hear me play. I’m still using the same old guitar from our beach going days.

Stay well!

Love, Jude

A picture I found from the talent show where I performed in ’03. Wow, I was out of practice!

SOME CORRESPONDENCE I RECEIVED AFTER WRITING ABOUT CHERYL:

On May 1, 2010, Karen wrote:

Dear Judy,

I was so moved by your blog entries about your life and your friendship with Cheryl. I never met Cheryl. I have known her husband’s brother for many, many years, and later got to know his wife and kids when they lived in Palo Alto for a while. We do not correspond very frequently, but I closely followed the entries about Cheryl and almost felt like I knew her. What an amazing woman she was and I can tell that you are as well.

I’m in tears now as I take in all the beautiful words you shared. I admire your strength. I’m a geriatric Social Worker/MFT, which I think is the field Cheryl was in. Currently, I’m a caregiver to two older adult women. Well, I’m not much of a writer but i wanted to share some and thank you for sending me your personal writings.

May God continue to give you good health and blessings in your life. Thank you so much.

Karen

On May 1, 2010, Sharon wrote:

Judy: This is one of the most beautiful and memorable things that I have experienced. I was so touched by your friendship. In my office I have a picture of Cheryl and the family. When Cheryl decided to leave work, I asked only one thing of her. I wanted the beautiful, beautiful picture on her desk, which she gave to me. I cherish it and look at it daily. Although my friendship with her was brief, it formed instantly on the day we met. She was loved by many and gave all of us some of her strength, compassion and humor.

Thank you for sharing.

Sharon

PS- I will be saving this in my file.

On May 4, 2010, Phylis wrote:



Thank you so much for sharing all of this with me and including me re: memories of Cheryl.

I think of Cheryl often and liken her to an angel on my shoulder. These thoughts bring over me a peacefulness that Cheryl brought out of all of us during her lifetime, even as she approached death with such magical calm. She accomplished more (and influenced more people) in her short life than most of us can even begin to accomplish in our more extended lifetimes. Even when trying to bring comfort to her, she turned that around and brought comfort to me. She worked hard to make memories for her family.

It gives me comfort now to know that all three of them have that to treasure. She wanted all of them to move on with their lives. I know she gave them all “guilt free” permission to move on and she would be so very proud of how well each one is doing.

I was fortunate to “take dictation,” as she wrote a special note to leave for each of them – there are not words to express what that time with Cheryl meant to me.

You are so right. Love does not die. I learned so much from her; she will be in my heart and mind forever.

Phylis

On vacation in Carpinteria with my family. Tan, relaxed, and so happy!

My diary from 1980.

© 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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THROUGH MY MUSIC

One of my most beautiful memories as a young girl – playing my guitar on the beach.

Something I wrote a month ago:

One of the great mysteries in my life is how I wrote songs about loss, grief, and death, before I ever experienced it! My songs speak to me deeply as an adult; they cannot simply be the shallow musings of a teenager.

Click the blue links below to hear my songs:

Through My Music Acoustic 4/19/16 Copyright 2016 by Unger

Through My Music #1 Instrumental

I am planning to continue recording my songs. It has been a fantastic experience for me. I am improving. I’m ready for the next step . . .

I want to do some live performing again. Maturity has some advantages! I have no fear, which makes it so much easier. My husband said he’d go with me, and I’ll share my venue (Open Microphone) when it happens.

I’m going to share my song that I recently sang at George’s studio. It is a simple, acoustic freestyle recording. This is not my “best song.” This is not a song with a hook or even a chorus. I am sharing the 30-year-old version of this song.

Sharing songs at this juncture is like sharing an illustration as a “line drawing.” I’m sure with vocal improvement and added background accompaniment my song would sound better. I can always share it again later on with the added features. And of course, my improvement will show.

It is simply a song from my heart. It speaks about my life. It was written when I was 19-years-old. I might be 50 now, but it still speaks to me.

My diary in 1980

My high school yearbook picture. I can’t believe I ever had hair that long!

© 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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