ILLUSTRATING MY LIFE LESSONS THROUGH ART

PERFUME MEDLEY – my original painting, not a photograph.

My motto as an illustrator was always “whatever works.” For me, that meant through experimentation I developed many shortcuts and ways of doing things that gave me the result I was looking for. Most everything I have learned, from art to music, even to computers, has been self-taught. It might be interesting to know that although I was a professional illustrator, I lived without creative passion for over twenty years. Initially, I used to contemplate beautiful portfolio paintings that I could create for my commercial portfolio. However, that stopped once I became an established illustrator. Over time, my illustrations simply became technical exercises for me. I was grateful for a career that allowed for me to create my own schedule. That flexibility was very helpful while raising my children.

An early watercolor done while learning the technique in college.

An early watercolor done while learning the technique in college.

When I was younger, I did not have enough life experience to really connect with other people through writing. I certainly did not have the confidence to pursue any of my dreams of sharing music. However, I have always pursued my dreams as an artist. It started when I was very young. As a child, I remember my own mother telling me that being an artist was a wonderful career to have as a mother. I was in preschool when a teacher told my mother that I had artistic talent. From that time forward, both my parents nurtured it. I didn’t have any expensive art lessons. My parents simply provided me with materials and art projects that I enjoyed. I was a consummate “paint-by-numbers” artist. I remember patiently completing such an elaborate “doodle art” poster of fish, which still hangs on the wall of my old bedroom.

One of the few drawings I’ve done, which I find interesting.

When I was around ten-years-old, I became such a perfectionist that it became painful for me. I remember I would draw only one line, decide it wasn’t quite right, and then crumple the paper up. I went through many, many reams of paper. At that time, I decided that being an artist was frustrating and not much fun at all.

It was ironic that I was an artist who hated drawing. Though sketching was very frustrating, tracing came easily for me. And then there was an exception about drawing. I could easily draw mazes. My post about my mazes is at: #44 MY AMAZING JOURNEY. 

I published my maze book at the age of fourteen and I dedicated it to the math teacher who had encouraged me. I didn’t make any significant amount of money from my “Maze Book,” but it was a great achievement in my young life. 

After my book was published, I didn’t create mazes much anymore. In high school, I turned all of my attention from art to music. I stopped doing most artwork except for the enjoyable renderings that impressed my biology teachers. It wasn’t until I discovered watercolors in college, that art became part of my life again. I decided to become an illustrator after I took two, illustration classes as an undecided major in college. My first, paid illustration assignment resulted from one of those classes. The instructor had given our class an assignment for a medical magazine publisher. In 1980, my illustration was chosen for the cover of a medical magazine specializing in cardiology and I received $400.

My very first illustration in college for which I was paid $400.

How was it possible for me to be a mom, a wife, a daughter, and still have a successful illustration career? That is a very good question!

It is absolutely true that I was painting while my infant daughter was nursing at my breast.

I was illustrating after Jason died. Sometimes my tears would drop down onto my artwork. I always cover everything to prevent spills when I’m working. Sometimes, it was my own tears that spilled onto my work.

I began illustrating after I graduated with my Bachelors in Art 2-D from California State University, Northridge in 1981.

After I graduated, I developed a commercially oriented portfolio and within a few months I had some small assignments come my way. My first breakthrough assignment was an advertisement for a national product. I had one week to create a painting for which I was paid a significant sum of money. It was a lot of pressure for me and I experienced tremendous anxiety. I hardly slept that week. 

I learned a valuable lesson about deadlines in my field when I realized there was always time left over for revisions if the client was unhappy. I never took an assignment with a deadline I could not meet. There were revisions on my first, big job, but I still managed to pull it off. When my painting was printed in the coupon section of the Sunday newspaper, it was very thrilling for me.

My first, big job.

Gradually, I received more and more assignments. Later on, I had several agents representing me in major cities of the country. I was usually busy working on one assignment, with several others waiting for me when my current job was completed. 

For over two decades, I continued to produce my paintings. I was prolific and accomplished with my technique. Even so, there were always those occasional “nightmare projects.” I remember each one clearly and learned lessons from all of them. I was not so arrogant as to assume that my work was pleasing to everyone.

About six years ago, my career began to gradually fade away. When my parents became my responsibility, I was able to devote myself full-time to their care. All of my advocacy exhausted me, and I was fully into Zombieland. I was ready to let go of that additional pressure.

Because everyone was using computers already, the demand for a “quick turn-around was even greater. Prices were already half of what they used to be. Eventually, there were seldom calls for custom assignments. In the past, I used to have assignments waiting for me for as long as six months. 

I appreciated that I could devote more energy to my family, especially my parents. I figured it was “meant to be.”

“Idealism and Photorealism”

My motto as an illustrator has always been “whatever works.” But my paintings always started out as a way to match a color and/or texture that was on my photo-reference.

I always say that the irony of my career is that:

I started out making paintings look like photos,

and now I’m taking photos to make them look like paintings!

When people look at my paintings, they often think they are photographs. My technique has always involved using photos as reference. However, they are still paintings.

Later on, I will share more about my own “rules of illustrating.” One rule that I have (remember, this is my rule only) is:

There is nothing wrong with tracing.

The reason that my subject matter gravitated from doing medical magazine covers to food and flowers is quite simple. I have easy accessibility to photo reference for food and flowers.

My greatest challenge has been illustrating something I cannot look at or photograph. I have become quite resourceful in creating reference photography for myself. That is another area that I look forward to sharing.

One of the ways I like to view my paintings is not to say they are “photorealistic.” I prefer to call them “idealistic.” I want my fruit to be perfect; the ideal. As I’ve developed my paintings, sometimes I’ve gone more toward including blemishes on fruit – I’ve made them less idealistic!

Perhaps that’s because it feels just like me. I am older and more blemished, too.

DESSERT MEDLEY – copyright by Judy Unger, 2009

“Transparency is my ideal in creating colors”

Working transparently vs. opaquely is basically the difference between having colors that are “clear” vs. those that cover other colors and can be mixed with white paint. In my later years, I have often gone to a more opaque method to create unique textures. It is subtle, and is generally not used throughout much of my painting.

I prefer transparency with color, and utilize transparent painting even when using opaque mediums. That means that I glaze with acrylics when I use them.

Transparent color was always my ideal. Transparent color is a lot like looking through stained glass windows. Each veil of color subtlety alters the color it overlays. The most brilliant white is achieved by leaving the paper white. I always preferred painting transparently and my favorite medium was water-based dyes. Even when I used opaque mediums, I still worked transparently. That meant I glazed when using acrylics; painting with thin washes of color instead of thick gobs of paint.

“Taking stock of my situation”

Well, the fates have allowed my career to be there for me throughout many of my “trials and tribulations.” However, with the advent of computers and stock illustration – the demand for illustration has been “phased out.” I knew things were serious when most of the artist representatives gave up their businesses first. Then, 90% of the agencies I used to work with closed. After that, there were fewer and fewer artists surviving only on illustration assignments.

As stressful as illustrating was for me at times, I have loved the entire process. It has been an artistic journey of self-discovery from the very beginning. I finally reached a pinnacle of mastery over the watercolor and marker technique. And then it was all over!

There was no avoiding becoming digital any more because now I had a lot of time on my hands. I knew I definitely had to figure out how to use the computer for my artwork. The process took years and years, and I didn’t rush it. I started off very slowly.

When I hold a stylus, it has not replaced the feeling of a paintbrush. I can look at my thumb to see a very large callus from all the painting I used to do. I hardly ever hold a paintbrush anymore. I still have a large callus on my other thumb from the years when I played classical guitar.

I create beautiful artwork, but my hands are not that attractive. Unfortunately, I do bite my nails!

Even though I utilize the computer for illustrating now, I do not create paintings that are “totally from scratch” on my computer. I combine elements of prior paintings, as well as photography. I create an image on my computer that I am satisfied with. After that, I create a light print upon rag watercolor paper, upon which I overlay watercolor washes, as well as sometimes acrylic, and colored pencil.

This has been exciting for me in two ways. First of all, I dislike sketching and drawing. My print version helps to set my “road map” in place. Second, I have a great idea of how my final version will look. I have solved all the composition issues.

When I used to create a painting, there was a lot of stress related to uncertainty about the best possible composition. With my computer, I can know exactly what is the best placement for every ingredient. It also helps that I can instantly share this with my clients.

Ironically, the computer has been wonderful, while at the same time decimating the need for an illustrator like me.

However, with age and the resulting changes in my vision, I appreciate how much less stress it has been utilizing the computer. I do miss holding a paintbrush, however, now that I’m fifty I can honestly say that it’s a lot easier to see the close up pixels on a computer – rather than squinting through those damn reading glasses.

I now have what I deem a “library of images” for my medley of ingredients. I certainly have a lot of work over the past twenty-eight years to literally “draw from.” Using my scanner, touch up skills, and intuition, I’ve put in thousands of hours to create my “library of images.”

While I created my library, I wondered whether it was worth it or whether it would pay off. It didn’t matter, because now that I’ve done it – I’ve learned all the skills I needed to for mastery of the computer. I receive a lot of requests for images, and my hundreds of stock images are available for sale internationally on the web. Also, any royalties from stock can continue indefinitely; the work is all done, which is nice.

Unfortunately, illustration stock prices are ridiculously low and have not translated into any significant amount of income for me. All of my photographer friends understand this downward spiral of prices for stock. Paintings that were originally thousands of dollars, now sell for $10 on a stock image site. Sadly, some even sell for less than that.

My new way of looking at my paintings is to view them as a medley of ingredients; I deem my art “reconfigured illustrations.”

I still have the ability to quickly create custom work. Maybe someday, I’ll create new imagery. But I’ve always thrived on assignments. I’ve never felt like creating a painting for myself. When someone is willing to pay $7,000 for a painting, I am ready to create anything that will make my client happy.

An assignment is a project with perimeters. Those perimeters become my puzzle to solve. Without an assignment, there are too many possibilities for me. The challenge for me has always been to follow the structure and instructions I have been given. I want very much to please the art director and the hoard of numerous other people involved giving their opinions!

There was a very special evening where I was honored, which Jason attended shortly before he died. Every year, I entered the annual illustration contest for the Society of Illustrator’s of Los Angeles. That year, my favorite painting of a Snicker’s Bar won a gold medal in the unpublished category. I was often told my painting made art directors hungry and it was an excellent promotional piece for me. That night where I shared my excitement of that honor with my parents, husband, and Jason I would always remember.

It was so beautiful having Jason there to share my excitement of winning an illustration award.

When I began to about write my life, I shared a lot about my illustration career. It was very gratifying to know that even though my career faded, it was possible for me to resurrect it by sharing and writing about the experience. No longer had it simply disappeared into nothingness, and it had value in a different way than before. 

As an illustrator, I had a gift for creating any color I desired. I enjoyed the challenge of replicating areas of interesting textures that were on my reference photos. I also loved contrast and often used extreme dark and light whenever possible on my illustrations. I usually mixed many colors together to get dark shadows, rather than use black.

I love to add purple into shadow areas.

In fact, in order to achieve realism when working with my brightly colored dyes, it was important to dull colors down quite a bit. I remember well teaching a painting exercise for my illustration students utilizing complementary colors.

An orange was given an under-painting using green tones.

A banana was given an under-painting using purple tones.

Once the under-painting was done, the pure vibrant color could be painted over the under-painting as an overlay. It was a fun process to teach, because my students were so excited to see something come to life in front of their eyes.

I have probably illustrated more fruit than anything else.

I am now finding great insight into how applicable my art lessons are to my life as well.

If all colors are brilliant, nothing stands out. The brilliance is only possible through having the depth and richness of colors that have been mixed into subtle, dull variations. The same thing applies to contrast. The brilliance is only possible through having the depth and richness of darks and lights!

In life, we cannot have everything purely colorful or purely bright either. It is the contrast and the dullness that allows for appreciation of sparkling beauty; it allows for it to be emphasized!

I found great insight into how applicable my art lessons were to my life, as well. If all colors were brilliant, nothing in my painting stood out. The brilliance was only possible through having the depth and richness of many other colors mixed into subtle, dull variations. The same thing applied to contrast. The brilliance was only possible through having the depth and richness of darks and lights.

This was a metaphor for me because nothing in my life was ever purely colorful or purely bright. It was the contrast and the dullness that had allowed for my appreciation of the sparkling beauty that surrounded me.

I learned so many things by being an artist. I’ve never defined success as making a lot of money; I felt successful when I had my maze book published and I received very little money for it. I’ve had posters, prints and even towels with my work on it; those projects paid very little but I was very proud to see my work displayed. 

I never dreamed that I would pursue art as a career; I excelled in other areas besides art. But with dedication and commitment, my dream became a reality. I was very resourceful as an illustrator, and I enjoyed the many challenges I faced during my career. Seeing how much I improved was very gratifying. I went from being an artist who disliked drawing, to an artist who loved painting. I had tremendous satisfaction when I completed assignments that pleased my clients.

 

But I am far more passionate about my writing and music than I ever was about my artwork. Perhaps the difference is that I am not seeking to satisfy anyone other than myself. I might never have imagined I’d be a successful artist, but in contrast, I feel very positive that with my music and writing I will touch and heal many people. But most importantly, I have certainly healed myself.

© 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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PERFECT DAUGHTER, I’M NOT

My mom has always been my best friend.

I’m not sure I want to share what I’m writing today.

I need to figure out what is causing my pain. I am slowly reaching within to understand it. I can say one thing, for sure. I cannot share this with my mother.

I will write and decide later on how much I can share. Part of my anguish about sharing is twofold. I want to help other sandwiches that might be grappling with this same issue. At the same time, revealing how human I am will destroy my image as the “perfect daughter.”

It was certainly no accident that I started to write about my mother and her ordeal on a respirator. I can see that by how I’ve been feeling.

I have so many pangs right now! However, it is true what I have discovered. Recently, I have felt so much joy. I walk around beaming sometimes. That is all new in my life. I have learned that there was no joy for me when I didn’t acknowledge my pain. I have to allow for my pain in order to feel better.

So I guess my emotions are simply “bubbling up.”

One friend of mine called my style of writing, “emoting.” For me, I feel as though I am an “emotional teakettle.” I have had the fire under me for a very, long time. My whistle blowing is a result of trying to hold it all in.

It has been unsettling for me to have my filters blown off. I have the insight to realize that this was necessary for me to heal. It will probably be temporary. I need to regain my behavior as an appropriate human, eventually. I have always been polite and considerate.

Today, when the director of my mother’s nursing home called to give me an update, I embarrassed myself. He told me there was no news about whether a room was available for her to move closer to where my father is. I brought up about how it’s been a month since I requested the feeding tube be removed.

I was told that the next appointment with a GI specialist would be two to three weeks. I listened and tried to explain that it’s been a month already. That didn’t help. Then I said, “Every day her quality of life is affected! I was with her in the bathroom. Can you imagine how it must be to have the tube hanging down getting stuck between your legs?”

I shared this with my husband. He is off work this week and available for me to complain to. He told me, “You need to advocate stronger. She shouldn’t have to wait. They can transport her! You should be able to insist on this!”

After he told me that, I didn’t feel any better. It only got worse.

I confided in him about something else. I was upset about something my mother said to me this morning. I told him how she upsets me a lot lately. Doesn’t he realize I know she can’t help it?

He was firm when he said, “You are wrong, wrong, wrong! You cannot be upset with her! What are you thinking? She is not your child to correct. She is older and she is only going to get worse!”

My husband always says things the way he sees them. That is why I married him – to balance out my emoting.

Releasing my pain

I reached inside to find my pain.

It started this morning when I spoke with my mom. I hadn’t written about the other day when I took her out to dinner.

I need to start with that.

I called her on the way to pick her up. I told her it would be around 5:30 p.m. Lately, she doesn’t remember what time I’ve told her I am coming. She was worried. She left me a lot of messages. She thought I had told her 4:00 p.m.

Now she wasn’t answering the phone. Did she go to the dining room to eat? I had told her I was definitely coming.

A moment later while I was still driving, she called me. She said, “You wouldn’t believe it, honey. I was waiting for your call. However, I was holding the TV remote because I thought it was the telephone!”

That was the first pang.

The second one was my sore back.

First, the lighter, transport wheelchair wasn’t available. It was not in her room. She was waiting for me in her regular wheelchair. I figured I was superhuman and could “handle it.”

I tried in vain to put it in my car. I almost hurt myself. I tried not to curse too loudly when I thumped my head on the open hatch. Calmly, I told my mom I would try to find a lighter, more portable wheelchair while she waited in the car.

I walked back into the facility, and looked for another wheelchair. A nurse pointed to one that was one folded against the wall. I pushed it to my car. Not only didn’t it fit in either, it was just as heavy. I was sweating buckets.

It was quite difficult trying to hide this struggle from my mother. I had my third pang when she said; “I am just so much trouble for my poor daughter!”

I realize I should probably purchase a portable wheelchair for her soon. I will ask my father to pay for it.

I ended up leaving the wheelchair in the underground parking lot. I would plan to help my mother into the restaurant another way.

I picked up my children, and my oldest son helped my mother into the restaurant using an aluminum walker. I was amazed that she did it. I felt like the mother of a toddler learning to walk. For my mother, it was an achievement like climbing Mt. Everest. We didn’t eat until almost 8 p.m.

I was starving, and I had a huge headache. But I smiled, and I was patient with my younger son who was feeling the same way.

I allowed myself to feel the pleasure of seeing my mom enjoy her grandchildren and the outing. That helped me so much.

Partial Recovery

Last night, I wrote about my mom. I wrote that she is recovering from her hospitalization. That is only partially true.

My painful realization is that she cannot recover from old age and it’s ravages.

Without feeling totally disrespectful to the mother that I love so much, I am writing about my desolate sadness of losing the woman who was my greatest source of support; my mother was my best friend.

She has incrementally faded from my world, and that has left me bereft and lonely. Through my darkest hours, I always knew how much I could count on her wisdom to comfort me. I’ve said this many times, “No one in this world will ever love me as much as my mom.”

Now I am her source of comfort. I am her sounding board; I am her savior. I am the parent.

It is a huge responsibility that I feel proud to accept.

But I am confused by this “other person” she has become. I’m frustrated that she says so many things that upset me.

MY “BEFORE” AND “NOW” LIST WITH MY MOTHER:

Before: Every morning I would look forward to talking with my mom. I always had so much to share with her and I felt so loved.

Now: I feel guilty that I don’t have time. (Scratch that word, guilty!). I make time, but I am very careful not to share anything upsetting. My easiest form of conversation begins with the sentence: “Mom, what can I do for you?” My mom is always ready with her list. She wants me to bring things and make calls for her. Unfortunately, she often forgets what they are.

Before: When I was sad or unsure, I knew she would brainstorm solutions with me. She was sad along with me. I always felt better after talking with her.

Now: When she is sad and filled with anxiety, I try to encourage her to think positive. I promise I will solve her problem. She has faith and trust in me. But I become sad and anxious along with her. I feel the weight of the world after we get off the phone.

Before: We would go shopping together once a week. It was productive for me, and she enjoyed our time together. There were many items on her list, and the store checkers sometimes recognized us. I would hear, “The two of you are most certainly mother and daughter! It is so beautiful to see you together!”

Now: Only six months ago, we could still go shopping. However, her back would hurt her and she walked very, very slowly. I ran circles around her to grab the items on my list. I left her in one aisle, walked across the store and then returned. She tried not to complain about the severe pain in her back, but it was obvious. Now, she no longer has much of a shopping list.

Trauma Memories:

My mother and I had a wonderful shopping outing. I loaded everything into the trunk. My mother was on the passenger side opening the door. I put my key into the ignition. I looked to the door and she had disappeared. I opened the window and called out, “Mom, where are you?” There was no answer.

I leapt wildly out of my driver’s seat and dashed to the other side of the car. She was on the curb sitting there. She said, “I’m fine, honey. I just lost balance and came down slowly. Don’t worry, I’m okay.”

I smiled with relief. My heart felt like a train wreck, though.

The “Other Daughter”

Every day I was trudging into the ICU. I usually couldn’t sleep, so I was exhausted. I brought a blanket and pillow to keep in my car. I was prepared for those emergencies, and the possibility that I would be too tired to manage the whole day. I had a cooler with snacks to keep me going.

Sometimes, I didn’t even sign in. I used the same sticker from a prior day. No guard ever noticed. I felt panicky, like I was trying to delay going in, when I’d stop to get some coffee.

Before reaching the familiar, double doors, I’d pass a tiny waiting room. I could see other families, other faces there. Every face could tell a story.

It was there that I always saw the “other daughter.” She had the saddest eyes. Her hair was long and pulled back under a shawl. She carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, just like me. Her mother’s room was across to the left of my mother’s. This woman was often there with her father. He would not reply with anything but a gruff response when I’d say hello.

I never went into their room much. But it’s easy for me to picture her mother with her knees up. She had a trachea tube also. She was not very old, and that stood out for me. The other daughter told me her mother was an avid reader. Her world was shattered the day her mother was hospitalized due to a perforated colon.

Her mother was three days “ahead of mine.” When it came time for the trachea tube to be inserted into my mom, I spoke with the “other daughter.” She told me how the procedure went for her mother. When the weaning seemed excruciating, she understood what I was going through.

We both had our own worlds to live in. Our bubbles were touching.

One day, my good friend Janis, came to visit me in ICU. Perhaps because Janis was a nurse, she had no reservations about stepping into this ghastly stress pit with me. I could not hold a conversation while Janis visited me; I was busy wiping my mother’s forehead with a washcloth and adjusting pillows. I had to ask the nurse for ice and other items to help my mom.

Janis was also there earlier to visit the “other daughter” on the room to the left. They were mutual friends. Such are the coincidences in my life.

Although things were discouraging with my mom, the situation had not turned the corner to despair.

One day when I visited my mother, the other daughter’s eyes were more desolate than usual. The other daughter was processing the terrible news that her mother would not recover. It was simply “a matter of time.” I hugged her, and told her how sorry I was. I did not know her, and I have not seen her since this ordeal ended. Janis says she lives only a mile from me.

I continued my daily existence of trudging into the ICU. I wondered every day if the time had arrived for the “other daughter.” It made me even sadder.

However, she was still there day after day. This went on for over a week. I tried to speak to her father, but he would not even answer me gruffly any more. Now family members began to arrive and the ICU was crowded with her family. Young girls were at her mother’s bedside. She told me it was a religious custom that her mother would not die alone.

When the “other mother” died, I gave the “other daughter” the tightest of hugs. We were connected by our shared ordeal but now our paths were diverging. She was going down the path of bereavement as she planned her mother’s funeral.

I went back to the ICU to continue my vigil with my mother. I should have been celebrating my mother’s tenacity, but I was numb.

The other daughter would have given anything to be in my place!

I have so much pain for not appreciating my circumstances more!

I have this card in my drawer. I have a box full of more of them. I cry every time I read it.

© 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 DAUGHTER’S LOVE – PART 1

With my mother’s love, anything was possible.

“Where my writing explosion began”

For a long time, I would say I saw myself as one of the “walking wounded.” I also described my world as “Zombieland.” There were no highs and there were no lows. There was simply nothing but a bland existence.

I thought that after losing a child and dealing with three challenging children, I’d be better prepared to deal with further adversity in life. However, all that scar tissue did not make me feel any tougher. The scar tissue was numbing. I felt both scarred and wounded.

I honestly made the effort to take care of myself, and continue with all of my responsibilities. However, I could not lose weight. I was more than slightly overwhelmed by the constant stress in my life.

Currently, I am filled with wonder and amazement about how I’ve managed to find a sense of humor. Constant stress continues to bombard me. However, learning to express my feelings has saved me. Most of the time, I am relaxed and smiling, no matter what storms might be brewing around me.

I believe it is because I have become a writer.

When my mother was on the respirator for two months, I received encouraging feedback that my email messages were moving and riveting.

That is what inspired me to begin this blog.

In four days, it will be exactly two months since I started writing here. I have written a lot of stories, but very little about the experience where my writing began. I’ve decided that I am ready to share that story.

“Last November”

I remember it was a Monday morning. I was just leaving to drive carpool for my daughter when I received the call. My 84-year-old mother had fallen. While she was navigating the bathroom in her assisted living facility, she had lost balance.

My husband told me he would go to make sure my mother was okay until the paramedics arrived. He told me he would make sure everything went smoothly. Both of us knew that an advocate is necessary at times like this. He stayed and went with her to the hospital until I arrived. He never visited her after that. Instead, he accepted that I would be unavailable to our family for a while. I appreciated very much he went that very first day.

This story is so fresh, and perhaps it doesn’t allow for those insights that only come with time and stepping back from a life-changing experience.

However, already I can see four important lessons, which I learned during this ordeal of my mother’s illness. The first one was the release I achieved from sharing. The second one was the comfort of friendship, which resulted from connecting. The third one was the realization of my own fortitude and strength, even as I shared my vulnerability and doubt.

The fourth one was the power of love.

My mother could have easily given up. At her age, it was actually unlikely for her to triumph over so much pain. She was easily prone to infection, due to an immuno-deficiency disorder. I watched what happened with both my mother and father-in-law. They were not willing to fight this battle. My mother allowed herself to fight, because the power of love is what inspired her to do so. She loved life and she loved her family.

I might not have been able to save my five-year-old son, but that was another lesson for me. That was a different lesson. The power of my love for him, even though he died 18 years ago, is what has given me the inspiration to write. I may have had a gift for writing, but what I am really doing is connecting with other people. My mother’s illness reignited the trauma that I had only pushed back inside of me. I want to write so I can share how pain leads to insight, change, and eventually healing. This process is happening for me every day as I’ve written my stories!

Now, I am going to share some of my messages. Most of these messages were to friends and family. I often wrote deeper feelings to my hypnotherapist, Connie. Those messages started off as factual but changed as the stress and trauma overtook me.

As I begin sharing this story, I must break it up into parts. There might be a long break between parts. I wake up every day and I’m never sure what I will write about. This story is different for me than my other stories. I think that is because it’s ongoing; my mother is still recovering.

And so am I.

My heart was pounding. Was she really okay? My mom is like a cat with nine lives. She has fallen so many times and has been lucky every time. This time she was not so lucky, but it could have been worse. I was told that breaking a shoulder is much better than a hip.

Here are my messages:

November 25, 2009

Life throws us some tough curves. Imagine, after feeling the relief on Sunday – I get a call from my father that my mom fell in the bathroom that morning. She broke her shoulder and is in the hospital. A surgeon called me last night. Without surgery she will not have mobility to use a walker, and her hand will be weak (it’s her primary hand). She is sick with a cough, so nothing can be done anyway right now. I’m thinking she shouldn’t go through surgery.

On top of that, my father had a car accident on the way to the hospital that evening. His car was totaled, but thankfully he was okay. He is devastated, and I am trying to keep his spirits up.

November 26, 2009

I’ll come on Saturday. The unreality I feel about scheduling, is because I need to make a medical decision this afternoon. Today I have to make a decision as to whether my mom will have surgery to repair her fracture. Without it, she won’t be able to walk (with a walker) again. However, I don’t know if she’ll handle the surgery. It’s been hard.

I’ve been told it’s “up to me.” The surgery would be on Friday, so you can see how challenging this is. Hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving with your family. I’m going to try my best to be calm. I have a lot of things to be thankful for.

You being there is one of them!

November 27, 2009

The decision for my mom to have the surgery was so difficult. I had so many reservations, but my father and my brother were very certain my mom needs it. I saw both sides, but of course, I am very worried. I was told there wasn’t time for a second opinion.

The surgery began at 3 p.m. today and should be done soon. I’ll let you know how my mom is doing when I hear something.

Thank you so much for your support and input. I appreciate it very much.

November 28, 2009

She ate a few bites last night, and I gave her cereal this morning. She still has trouble with some words, but is better!

My mom looked good when I saw her this morning.  I did just get a call from my brother that she has lung congestion.  A little concerning.  Hopefully, it will pass. I’ll stay in touch.  Still planning to play tennis.  I can visit before and after.

November 29, 2009

Rough few days. Had to decide if my mom should have surgery to repair her broken shoulder. It was supposed to be my decision (my father asked me), and of course I agonized. Wasn’t sure, didn’t know what to do. It turned out my brother and father were absolutely certain she needed it done, and the surgeon convinced them not to even wait for a second opinion. She had it done on Friday night.

My mom had complications, yesterday. She has congestive heart failure, and is being aggressively treated. We don’t know much, but she had a lot of difficulty breathing, yesterday. I hope today is a better day. I’m trying to be strong. I cancelled tennis this morning. I really wish I could hit something right now. Hope things are going okay in your world.

November 30, 2009

I’m feeling pretty down today. Didn’t sleep well, and this morning I got a speeding ticket on my way to the hospital. When I got to the hospital, my mom was very down. She had choked badly while eating breakfast, so I felt frustrated that I didn’t get there sooner. I think her mood change is due to the medication they are giving her. Prednisone is a powerful steroid and is known to cause horrible side effects.

Up until now, she wasn’t in pain, but today she was. That was very hard for me. My brother came, and he cried a little – I didn’t, but I thought it was interesting to see how affected he was. I allowed myself to come home now, because he said he’d stay. It was nice to feel his support.

I went to get my mom something cold, so I walked a few blocks to Gelson’s where I found some Gelato for her. Walking back, I almost keeled over from pain in my stomach.

I am sensing this is going to be a battle she won’t win. I’m not sure how long this is going to be going on and I’m scared that I won’t be able to keep it up when I’m needed most. Just having a loved one present, seems to be such an important key to my mom’s recovery. I went through five years with Jason, and it’s coming back to me what a hellhole hospitals are.

December 1, 2009

My brain is so tired, I can’t think of what to write. Yesterday was so up and down. I feel like I’m hanging onto a roller coaster.

My mom did have big improvement last night. I should feel great about that, but I can’t trust it to last. I’m not sure what I’m feeling, except trying to figure out how and when to catch up on household things. However, I still am chugging. My presence is very appreciated and helpful – even necessary. Can’t think about how long this may go on. Just glad everyone else is managing okay.

December 1, 2009

Today was up and down. This morning, my mom was sitting up and looked much better.

However, when I went this evening to visit with my dad – she was struggling to breathe. She had a little setback with some bronchial spasms. It was very scary, but the doctor said she’s now stable. It seems like they discontinued her oxygen too soon, and will have to add medication back through her IV.

I hope tomorrow is a better day.

December 2, 2009

I know this sounds horrible, but I don’t know what to do and I’ve thought about writing a speech for “when the time comes.” You and I both know that Jewish funerals are held quickly. If she improves, then at least it’s a testimony I’ll always have. If I do write something, I would definitely love my professional writer/friend to read it – you!

I appreciate your support more than you know.

December 2, 2009

It was very traumatic when I arrived this morning. I met a rabbi (chaplain) on staff at the hospital.  She said a blessing in Hebrew with me to my mom. She was with my mom while she was struggling to breathe, and helped her.

Sending out email is definitely a way of reaching out.  The responses are helping me.  Especially yours.

December 2, 2009

This morning my mom was put on a respirator to help her breathe. Obviously, this is very serious. However, we were told that she’d be kept sedated and comfortable; she cannot be awake while on the respirator. It will be a few days of this, at least. We are holding out hope that she will be able to come off it.

I feel helpless and I’m trying to be positive.

December 2, 2009

To my friend, Janis:

I remember well how you were there for me when Jason died. That was a long time ago. You simply know exactly what to say and do – that is such a source of comfort.

I spent some time sorting through my mother-in-law’s things – something I haven’t had time to do. I’m going to go bring my dad over here, if only to keep him busy. I’m torn about going back to the hospital. Do you think she knows or hears me when I’m there?

December 2, 2009

I’m trying to be positive, but I feel like a zombie.  Yesterday, every minute with her counted and today I can do nothing. She called me this morning, and wondered when I would be there.  When I got there, a code blue had been called. I was able to say a prayer for her with the hospital chaplain.

If she recovers it would be a miracle.  I’m trying hard to support my poor father. He is coping with my mom’s illness as well as his loss of independence with driving.  He totaled his car in an accident while on the way to see my mom in the hospital.  I don’t know if he should drive anymore.  It’s all sad, but part of life.

I still have reason to be hopeful, however, because I have been so close with my mom – I’m preparing myself.  I’ve always understood the time would come, but I also know how I will miss her so much.  I am trying to grasp that reality, and I’m walking around like a zombie.

December 3, 2009

I saw my mom this morning – she’s being kept sedated, but she was aware of my presence and able to squeeze my hand.

Tomorrow at 4 a.m. the process of weaning her off the respirator will begin. It is painful and difficult, but this will be a huge turning point if she is able to breathe on her own. I’ll keep you posted.

Mother’s Day – I cooked her breakfast!

© 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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HOW WE DON’T CARE – PART 1

I was ten in this picture. I have learned so much about friendship since then!

Story behind HOW WE DON’T CARE-PART 2

Click the blue links to play audio:

How We Don’t Care Acoustic 5-6-18 Copyright 2018 by Unger

How We Don’t Care Home Recording 6/24/16 Copyright 2016 by Unger

HOW WE DON’T CARE INSTRUMENTAL

As I was driving to my appointment with Connie, I felt so much melancholy! I had such a heavy realization that my memory simplified something that was not that simple.

Friendship and relationships are complicated!

I have often wondered why it was that certain songs felt so much a part of me.

One of my favorite songs was entitled, “How We Don’t Care.” It actually wasn’t written about my high school friend, Elena – but it could have been. It was written a few years later. I was struggling with the same feelings of being hurt with a later “best friend” named Cheryl.

When my session with Connie began, I told her there was a lot going on in my life for me to talk about. I really wanted to discuss my revelation about past hurt in my life.

I had noticed that I had moved beyond my childrens’ issues and the stress of caregiving for my parents. My recovery now included my own, personal realizations, which I’d shoved to my psychic “back burner” for the last thirty years.

I mentioned that I felt like my writing had become my reality and my daily household tasks were rather unreal.

I explained to Connie that since my family wasn’t really aware of what I had written, that I felt remote from them in a way. Writing my feelings on the Internet felt like disrobing.

There were two ways that I viewed people I ran into. There were those that had read my writing, and those that had not.

Those that had read what I’d written could really see me. When they said hello and hugged me, I felt totally comfortable and open. I’d never felt that way before, and it was very different from how I used to feel.

I always appreciate any readers, and the time they devote to reading what I’ve written.

The other people had no idea what “lurked within.”

The young girl in my diary was a version of me that seemed familiar. I was hurt and carried it for a very, long time. I spent a lot of energy trying to deny my hurt, and I pretended I didn’t care as much as I really did. How sad it was that my friend and I both suffered from pride and such a severe lack of communication!

This pattern repeated itself many more times in my life.

For so many years, I’d felt emotionally deadened. I remembered the excitement of my deep friendships and especially of first love! I’d just thought that was part of growing up, and accepted that it was over.

The sadness was that with the “smoothness” or lack of highs and lows, there was numbness. Without pain, there could be no joy. The period of bereavement actually allowed for me to appreciate joy again in my life – when I accepted every tear as my penance. Holding those tears in was what caused me to feel like a zombie.

Perhaps with maturity I had far less lows and highs with all the challenges I had faced. Instead of creating my own emotional tumult, I was thrown onto the tumult of trying to stay afloat amid responsibilities and circumstances!

After I shared many of those insights with Connie I was drained. It was interesting for me that I could verbalize so much. Lately, I’d felt I could only write my feelings, not articulate them.

Her response was, “How do you want me to help you?”

I told her, “I have no idea. I guess I understand that I’ve been married a long time. I am not really looking to have a joyous friendship like I had with Elena so long ago. Right now, I barely have time for friends in my life!”

While I was under hypnosis, Connie asked me, “Do you have some area of your body that is hurting – where you feel your stress?”

I did. I felt my stomach was churning. It seemed that area was my weak link with stress. I developed colitis when my mother first became ill several years ago. It resolved when my stress diminished. I could feel the calmness radiating throughout my body. I didn’t want to think too much, but I was searching to understand what my hurt was actually about.

I decided to see if I could find any word to describe it. The word that came to my mind was “lonely.”

“Life is basically lonely,” I explained. “Even sharing through my writing is a solitary venture. Perhaps I am so passionate about it because I’ve finally found a way to connect with people!”

Suddenly, a realization came to me.

When I left her guesthouse, I felt lighter again. It had finally dawned on me.

I had found my new best friend.

I had found myself.


HOW WE DON’T CARE

Copyright 2018 by Judy Unger

 

What’s new with you?

It’s been awhile since you’ve told me

I have nothing left to say

It might be too late to give it a try

For now you can’t look me in the eye

 

I’m doing fine

Although I’m smiling

Inside it isn’t quite the same

I can’t take much more of fighting these tears

it seems my disguise is not what it appears

 

We try to show how we don’t care

How we don’t feel, how we don’t share

And it’s really nothing new

It just gets harder every time

to say I love you

 

Sometimes I feel

like this time it’s over

Will this be just a passing storm?

Somehow I wonder if after the rain

can our love survive this pain?

 

So what’s on your mind?

Will you cry when you leave me?

Or is it that I’m just crying alone?

I thought that our love I could always count on

Did we wake up to find that love has gone?

 

We try to show how we don’t care

How we don’t feel, how we’re not there

And it’s really nothing new

It just gets harder every time

to say I love you

© 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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