My new vocal coach, Hannah, was giving me such wonderful guidance. I was able to maintain my style, while at the same time incorporating new habits that increased my confidence.
Recently, I asked Hannah to help me with an issue I noticed on my recordings. I told her that sometimes I felt like I was holding onto words longer than I needed to.
Hannah listened to my song “Alabaster Seashell” and gently told me that I was “over-singing.” She said it would be easier to hear my lyrics if I used a more spoken approach.
It was such a simple and beautiful concept.
I share audio from my lesson with these brief clips below:
Looking for light in the darkness, is a recurring theme in many of my songs. I share one of my ideas for a soon-to-be released album of mine.
In 2010, I began this blog as a way to express my feelings. I had no experience with blogging, and taught myself how to do things as I went along. Last week, I decided to try something new. I signed up for a free course that was offered through WordPress called “Blogging University 101.”
Assignments were given by email everyday. Learning new things turned out to be fun and interacting with other bloggers was stimulating for me.
One of the first assignments was to change the template or “theme” for my blog. I took the plunge and played around with a different look. The theme that I had used for five years was no longer available – so once I made the change there was no going back.
I chose a custom upgrade, which means I can now add video to my blog.
Yesterday, I was given an assignment to comment on five new blogs.
Today, the assignment was to write more in depth about any of those comments. I’m actually going to address two of my comments.
Beautiful words! I lost my young son many years ago. I do believe the intense pain of grief isn’t forever – I am able to live with joy again. This doesn’t mean I love my son any less. For me, I think healing is a sign of love, too.
It represents what I know my son wants for me. Your poem is very thought provoking. And certainly, the last thing someone needs while grieving is judgment from others that it’s time to end!
The poem I commented on addressed the pressure put upon people grieving to “get over it.”
I do think that many people are uncomfortable with grief. A good friend or family member truly has good intentions in wishing someone’s grief could be over.
For me, grief was a personal journey and the entire process certainly held no timetable. Support, understanding and compassion were what I needed most from family and friends. To this day, my sister-in-law and brother send me a card every year on the anniversary of Jason’s birth and death. And it has been 23 years.
I am grateful that the pain of grief did not last forever. I didn’t “get over grief” because it was time. I simply had the realization that I could see grief differently and healing was a beautiful way to honor what I had loved and lost. It was music and writing that gave me this insight after many years of sadness.
The feeling that my loved ones want me to heal, rather than suffer, inspired my song “In Every Smile.”
I wrote that song to tell my children that when I die someday, I want them to continue to smile. Of course it was okay for them to cry, but I hoped that laughter and love would lift them up. When I sing “In Every Smile,” I also hear my parents and Jason speaking to me with those same words.
And at the end of this post, I share a video performance of that song. It will be my first video embedded on my blog!
Dee had one of her posts about grief published on the Huffington Post. But even with this great honor, she confided how she felt very vulnerable.
I read her published article; it was well written and very helpful for anyone wanting to understand more about grief.
My comment:
There is so much ignorance about grief and your beautiful article was illuminating and well written. I am so sorry for your loss, but very inspired to see what you have gone on to express in your writing. It’s been many years since my son died, and I feel him with me always. Angels are our shining light through life. Amy is proud of you.
Her reply:
Judy, thank you so much for your comment. It made me cry as I earnestly try to embrace Amy’s continued light. I am so sorry for your loss.
“Loss left me in horrific darkness. My love became the light that saved me”
In honor of Dee’s words, I decided to name my post: “Let My Light Surround You.” Those words are lyrics from my song “In Every Smile.”
For many years, I carried deep heartache and an intense physical longing to hold my beautiful child again. I grieved differently for my parents, but still longed to hear their voices and hug them again, too.
Memories were both sustaining and painful. It was almost impossible for me to accept that my child was gone forever. It was easier to accept with my parents, since I watched them suffer so much and they had lived full lives.
Light was a metaphor, which comforted me. Feeling “light” dispelled the heavy darkness. Light represented warmth, direction and most of all love.
For this story, I want to share some uplifting comments that I’ve made to other people. I think these messages allow me to share so much of what I’ve learned from my personal grief journey.
The images are close-ups of my floral watercolor paintings.
To my friends in grief:
You aren’t okay and can’t expect that anymore. Your mind can’t accept it and that is why you are numb; it is actually a cushion. Grief truly is a journey. I once described it as my “ocean of tears” – I couldn’t fight the current and just floated farther and farther from where the pain began. I can honestly say that there were times when I just wanted to let myself drown.
I remember how I didn’t know what I was reading or watching. The shock of my loss seemed unbelievable. I kept reliving it over and over and had no ability to concentrate. Gradually, it moved to the side. It was still there, but not blocking everything like it did in the beginning.
The courage and energy it takes to survive the loss of someone we loved so deeply deserves to be acknowledged with more love and tenderness to your own heart. You have every reason to be angry with your family for not understanding. I do hope that someday your anger will dissipate. When I was angry and disappointed with other people, it just magnified my grief.
I was wondering how it went today for you. I’m glad he appeared to you when you were eating. It’s very important for you to eat and that’s why he came to calm you. You must stay healthy by eating. Many grieving people develop serious health problems from grief. It might seem like it doesn’t matter, but it can be devastating on top of grief. I really care.
I know that you can hardly imagine how you survived two years as you have. Surviving grief is a miracle. Finding joy in life again is next to impossible. But it is not impossible, because I did. Never lose hope. It is possible to see color in the world again.
I healed from grief when I released my honest feelings after years. Your anguish can be expressed – even if you do it only for yourself. Don’t stop telling the truth about the horrific abyss you are constantly living with.
The lyrics you shared from the Simon and Garfunkel song “I Am a Rock” are a beautiful analogy for grief. I love how you eloquently wrote this line: “We may not be able to become a rock but we most assuredly can become an island.”
How true that is! Here are definitions for an island: isolated, detached and surrounded. What a perfectly metaphor to describe how grief shipwrecks us in a place where there is little human contact and tears cannot even be seen or heard.
I know for certain that wherever my grief has taken me, the people whom I’ve held hands with will never be forgotten. Once I was lying on the ground and I couldn’t walk another step. Then several hands reached out to pull me up. Now I am reaching to people on the ground in the same way.
I have watched you trudge forward over these three years. I cannot describe how touching it is for me to see you helping others. You tenderly reach out your hand even though you are still trembling from your own anguish.
I am certain your son is next to you, embracing you with his light and strength.
To my friend whose husband has dementia:
You really are in the worst kind of limbo. You are faced with emptiness, but this is not the time where you can fill it. You’re just watching him fade away from you. Trust me, one day you will slowly fill that space, but for now you are coping with impending loss.
The worst part about your situation is that acceptance is unreachable. The progression of the disease and the fact that your needs have been supplanted makes it that way. It is temporary, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.
Anticipatory grief is as painful as the grief over someone’s death. It is real. I cannot know how it will be after he is gone, but I can tell you that for years I grieved terribly for my mother who suffered from dementia. It won’t be easy after he is gone, but you will be surprised in many ways at how much grieving you’ve already done. Sending you a hug.
To my friend who is terminally ill:
If you lived near me, I’d be bringing food over and serenading you. For now, I like to imagine it.
You are not wimpy, as I see it. You are so courageous and thoughtful. As long as you are able to make decisions, it’s important that you trust in yourself. I certainly think you have a wise handle on what is happening. Pain is a horrible thing. Even temporary relief might be what you need right now. Sending love and light to you, my brave friend whom I have grown to deeply love.
It amazes me how you are struggling physically, while at the same time being completely in joy of making it through another day. What can I say? You are an inspiration to every human on this planet – most certainly, me.
Your description of what you are dealing with sounds tough. I know this is somewhat of a battle. You will leave when you are ready – but because you love life, that is such a hard choice. I pray that this current situation will let up and that your transfusion today gives you a bit of relief.
I am selfish because I want you around a lot longer. You are so special to me. But please don’t hang on to suffer. Just the thought makes me sad.
Grief is such a lonely and personal journey. I often tell people (and myself) that our loved ones wouldn’t want us to suffer. It would comfort you greatly if you knew you could pass on and leave your family behind without them suffering from grief. What can I say? With great love – the absence is hard to fill. You are leaving a huge hole behind for so many.
Every time I read what you write, it feels like I’m reading a fabulous book I wish would never end. It is what makes me appreciate you even more. Each page holds delight, and I never want to reach the last one. So I savor each page as it turns.
I think your last lines hit upon something so sweet. How often I’ve heard it said that we are truly alone when we are born and when we die. Your concept of arriving into loving arms and being sent off that way is so comforting and beautiful. Not every person is lucky to have that kind of love.
You are such a loving woman – you deserve to leave this world knowing how many people will miss you and treasure the kindness you so freely shared.
My post title is a line of lyrics from my song named “It’s Not Forever.” (Link to that song story: IT’S NOT FOREVER-PART 1)
My first post for 2016 is a medley of comments I’ve written to other people. I have learned so much from grief and that continues to this day.
My own words uplift me; I want to stay positive on my personal journey of insight.
Between the comments, I’ve inserted images of close-ups of my original watercolor paintings.
I know you want him back. What helped me a lot was to realize that this separation is about seeing him in a different form. He is not there to touch and hold. But he is still with you – in your mind and in your soul. He will never leave you that way and he will give you strength and courage to go on and find your life again.
You have a life ahead of you that will unfold in ways you cannot imagine right now. You don’t need to look ahead, just hold him in your heart always and let him speak to you. That will get you through. It is very hard. It is the hardest thing you will ever go through in this life.
ps. I am crying for you because I remember that pain.
It is sad to imagine a destination of everlasting heartache. But look behind and see how far you have come. The road is softer now. I used to argue with people who offered me hope. The best way now for me to help others is to simply be an example of my own healing. It is possible. Long ago it was unbelievable for me and now it is my reality.
There is no going back. I mourned my loss and also the person I was. But eventually I adjusted because I had no choice.
The hardest part was taking that first step out of the rut. It is going to get better – you deserve more from life and you are going to get it!
I became pregnant a month after my son died. So much of what you wrote I experienced, as well. You are welcome to write to me anytime for support. I remember when I delivered my youngest son (6 years after my son died) – I cried uncontrollably for an hour afterwards. The spasms of grief continued for many years for me. I understand. I pray for moments of peacefulness and relief for you. They are possible. I found that my living children were my best salve – there is a joy from that no one could imagine except a bereaved parent. And one day, I can offer you hope because my pain has eased into something bearable and actually inspiring.
I want to encourage you not to fall into the “guilt trap.” Letting go of grief doesn’t mean you loved your daughter any less. It’s okay to acknowledge your pain, but you must take care of yourself any way you can – even if you have to take meds. I had to take a sleeping pill every night and did that for 18 years after my son’s death! But I don’t anymore. As you know, grief will continue to raise it’s ugly head – eventually, it will be less of a shock. And the moments where you feel better will become more frequent – allow them!
There are people who die from their broken heart every day – that wish to join your dead son is a powerful one. It may be true that the loss of a child is THE WORST. But no one can truly know another persons’ pain.
I want you to heal. Your pain is unbearable. It is worse than anyone else’s because no one else loved your son as you did. I look forward to the day when you’ll know that having THE WORST pain is over. It won’t be as horrible. Hang in there!
Dreams are fuel for our soul. They cost nothing and help us overcome fear and despair. Your writing is touching. Doubt is poison – push it aside and keep writing. There is magic when you dream and I am certain you will find it again. Grief has a way of ripping our heart into pieces and dreams are the salve.
It is not your destiny to suffer. I pray for some hope to gently whisper something into your ear. Listen carefully, because it will come. Grief can cause total devastation, but like after a fire burns – growth and life are possible again.
myjourneysinsight 