myjourneysinsight

DON’T KNOW WHERE I’M GOING

Posted on November 15, 2015 by Judy

Below is a home recording that I would love to share:

Links to lyrics and more about this song:

Story behind BESIDE ME ALWAYS-PART 1

I created this calligraphy back in college. I revised the lyrics to my song years later, after my son died.

My post title is a lyric line from my song “Beside Me Always.” I haven’t posted much about my personal life for a few months. To be honest, I’ve felt detached and a little unsure about my journey. Unfortunately, coping with dry eyes continues to take away a lot of my energy.

I became very busy editing clips of my songs in order to submit them to a music library. My assistant attended a huge music conference last weekend and there was a lot of preparation involved. I designed a new business card, updated and printed a short bio and ordered 400 promotional CD’s for her to distribute.

This is the front of my new “music” business card.

Below is my updated bio:

I have been a commercial illustrator since 1981. Many of my paintings can be seen on these products: Del Monte Pickle products, Beechnut baby-food and Tillamook yogurt and ice cream treats.

For thirty years, I focused upon my art career and my family. I gave up songwriting and playing guitar; I had been a classical guitarist in college. In 2010, I began playing my guitar again started to write about my life. I became a passionate songwriter and am following my dream.

My songs truly comprise a musical of my life. After rediscovering the songs I composed as a young girl, I began writing new songs to help me cope with the challenges in my life. My music brought me joy and soon my entire life was transformed. I found an arranger for my songs and recorded all of them. Eventually, I plan to release an audio book about my story.

Many of my songs are dedicated to my son, Jason, who died in 1992. I hope to heal others with my music, because music certainly has healed me.

I enjoyed creating these logo ideas above using a photograph of my beloved Lowden guitar.

At this time, I am no longer creating elaborate arrangements for my songs. For the last five years, I worked with a man named George.

Now, I’m on my own.

My last song composition arranged by George was named “It’s Not Forever.” As much as I loved that arrangement, the acoustic recording became very touching and helped push me into doing more recordings singing with my guitar.

It’s ironic how that title spoke volumes. It can be so easy to think that nothing will change in life, but in an instant, things certainly can.

Since I live through my lyrics, I see myself going out a door and into a new place. I have many choices and have started peeking into different doors to see where I want to go.

There are many things I am grateful for. One thing is that I can rely on myself. My guitar is always nearby and simply playing and singing is one of the most healing things for me.

My journey is all about sharing and touching others, so I’ve decided to just go with that for now.

I have gotten tired of searching for places to record and trying to fit into the engineer’s schedule. I learned that a great recording set-up with a lousy performance is useless for me. So instead, I’ve decided to do mediocre recordings with a sweet vibe because – well it’s just fun for me to do that.

My post began with an acoustic version of one of my earliest songs “Beside Me Always.” I recorded it in my bedroom. I want to include it in my soon to be released audiobook, which carries that title.

The lyric line of “not sure where I’m going” seemed like a perfect title for this post – at first. But the truth is that I do know where I’m going. I was given a magical new song last week to help me. Thank you, God.

Just for fun I’ll share a home recording of my new song just the way it unfolded. No lyrics yet – just chords and a melody.

© 2015 by Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com. 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.

Tagged acoustic guitar, acoustic recording, audio book, beautiful music, Beside Me Always, child's death, comforting music, compassionate friends, composing, creativity, death of a child, drowning from grief, endless possibilities, expressing feelings, grief, grief and healing, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, guitar logo, healing, healing and grief, healing music, hope, hope for healing, hope of healing, in the breeze, inspiration, Judy Unger, loss, Lowden guitar, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Music, music and healing, music recording, musical comfort, not sure where I'm going, optimism, original songs, performing, singing, Someone to love you, songwriting, writing | 1 Comment

IT’S NOT FOREVER – PART 3

Posted on November 1, 2015 by Judy

Pine forests and dramatic skies – are very inspiring for me.

Links to Part 1 and Part 2 of this story:

IT’S NOT FOREVER-PART 1

IT’S NOT FOREVER-PART 2

Below are recent recordings of my song:

To be honest, I did not expect to write a “Part 3” about this song. But just last week, I received an amazing message that I really wanted to share with this story.

I wrote my song “It’s Not Forever” as a way to offer hopefulness – not only to other people, but also for myself. I dedicated it to a certain woman named Sammi. With the words of, “You say your pain will always be there,” I am speaking to her.

On my last post, I completely accepted Sammi’s disagreement with my lyric line of “It’s Not Forever.” She told me that her grief was forever and her pain was never going to change. I understood because I felt exactly that same way for a very long time.

I have shared many exchanges with Sammi on this blog since we first connected on an Internet grief forum three years ago; I have never met her. From the very beginning, I found her writing to be powerful and believed that our exchanges were very touching. Sammi told me that I was free to share any of our correspondence on my blog.

A few weeks ago, I wanted to let her know that I had just posted a song and story dedicated to her. I sent her a message.

A week went by and I didn’t hear from her.

Finally, I saw she posted a message on her Facebook grief page named “The Indescribable Journey.” (Her words are in brown and mine black):

Been MIA for a week or so. Had emergency surgery and just got out of the hospital a few days ago. I think I’m related to Job.

I’m so sorry, Sammi. I read your words above and at first I thought it was related to your JOB! Honestly, I know you’ve been working very hard but I’m hoping you are better soon. Please let me know how you are doing.

I share this photo of a large scar on my right arm from 4 years ago when I was burned carrying breakfast on a tray to my former husband. (The hot tea spilled.) My scar is sometimes a painful reminder of my former life, but it also is a beautiful example of healing for me.

I received this scar on my right arm 4 years ago. I was burned carrying breakfast on a tray to my former husband (the hot tea spilled). My scar is sometimes a painful reminder of my former life, but it also is a beautiful example of healing for me.

Another week went by. I was anxious to hear how Sammi was doing and relieved when she finally shared more about her ordeal. But I was completely surprised and shocked by what she wrote.

Sammi is a real person and has suffered from horrible grief in her life. First, she lost her mother when she was 18 and that changed the course of her life. But when her 36-year-old son, AJ died suddenly 3 years ago – the impact that had on her life was indescribable.

I was once told that the agony over losing a child didn’t begin to subside for at least seven years. That ended up being true for me personally.

I share now Sammi’s touching words that she wrote just last week after she came close to death:

I had emergency surgery two weeks ago, something else I didn’t ask for in my life. I had a perforated bowel, so the decision was taken out of my hands. I thought this was just another trial for me to get through, but I was mistaken.

What awaited me after I woke up was wholly unexpected and a gift. I woke up feeling lighter, like I hadn’t felt in three years. I woke up feeling settled, not as angry. I think I had an epiphany. I don’t remember anything from the time I went out before my surgery until I woke up in my room. Nothing. Blank. I just know I felt different.

I discussed this with a few people and one nurse asked me, “How do you know you didn’t have a conversation with your son or with your mother? How do you know you weren’t visited by someone and just are not allowed to remember?” That was a very interesting statement. My sister-in-law said, “Maybe you just realized that you weren’t ready to go yet, you weren’t finished here?”

My best friend told me she prayed daily to AJ to help me get through this intact. She told me she was so afraid I would never come back. When talking with her and with my brother they both said, “You sound different. You sound like you. You’re back!”

I will believe them because I feel that way. I think maybe I saw AJ and my parents and they all gave me a collective boot in the ass and told me to get on with life. The pain of losing my beautiful, smiling boy is still there. The hole in my soul is still there. The sense of loss and a life cut short is still there, but it seems to hover around me until I let it in.

I will decide if it is a strong day or a weak day for me. I will decide to stand tall or crumble.

Grief, my ever-lurking stalker, will be let in by me from now on. I will no longer allow myself to be its victim. I will fight back for my right to exist without constant sorrow.

I think I now have an army behind me on this indescribable journey.

Oh, Sammi, all I can say is, “Wow!” Did you ever believe that was possible? That is exactly the way I’ve described my own personal journey toward healing. The memories of pain and the ache can always be ignited, but feeling lighter about life is such a gift. Perhaps in your dreams, bits and pieces will be revealed to you over time. I am so happy for you, Sammi. And relieved that you are okay! Sending love and a big hug.

No, Judy. I did not believe it was possible. Ever. I don’t know if I will ever know what happened, but I accept it as a gift. Yes, I can jump back down into that darkness again. The way is open. There are no roadblocks. I won’t though. I want to move forward. Now I actually want it.

My mouth is hanging down – this is more than unbelievable. The day you were in surgery, I posted a song and story dedicated to you. I shared your message of how you were certain your grief was forever. It really is in a way; grief changes us. But the ugliness can turn into something beautiful.

How can that be? In your case, I feel a kinship. I know something you do not realize. What you actually want is to be in the light to inspire and help others, which you most certainly will.

I am coming along slowly. I have read my reports and have learned how scary the whole thing really was. I don’t think I have truly comprehended the touch and go situation I was in, but I am starting to. I got part of my staples and sutures removed yesterday and that was a relief, two more weeks and I see the surgeon again and have the others removed. I am always tired and very antsy when I’m up. Nothing worse than an RN for a patient; I am feeling better though.

Not to burst your bubble but “the light” is the last choice I would make. I don’t like the “center of attention spot.”

Actually, light can be interpreted many ways. I didn’t mean spotlight. I meant that you managed to just get the hell out of that dark place you were in. I see my son as my light. You were in AJ’s light (and your mom and dad’s).

Helping others is: sharing how you managed to survive, as well as to embrace life again.

Posted in Healing and Hope | Tagged acknowledging grief, acoustic guitar, adjusting from grief, autumn leaves, beautiful music, changing your life, child's death, childhood friendship, comforting music, compassionate friends, composing, creativity, death, death of a child, discouraged about healing, discouraged by grief, Empathy and Grief, expressing feelings, finding happiness after losing a child, Friendship, grief, grief and healing, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", Grief descriptions, GRIEF RELATED, guitar, healing and grief, healing from grief, healing music, hope, hope carried me, hope for healing, hope of healing, I once felt that way, inspiration, It's Not Forever, Judy Unger, loss, loss of a child, love, love carried me, love is never gone, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Music, music and healing, music arrangements, musical comfort, optimism, optimism after loss, original songs, overcoming grief, performing, Sammi, singing, songwriting, staying positive, surviving grief, Time could not sever my love, writing, you carried me | 2 Comments

IT’S NOT FOREVER – PART 2

Posted on October 22, 2015 by Judy

IT’S NOT FOREVER

–

You say your pain will always be there

and every day is a nightmare

I remember so well, living with that kind of hell

–

It’s not forever

It feels like it’s never going to change

I once felt that way

Today I can see; hope carried me

–

After he left, your world was shattered;

he was all that mattered

When life seems unreal,

it’s hard to imagine you could heal

–

It’s not forever

It feels like it’s never going to change

Time could not sever my love

Today I see; love carried me

–

A long time ago I felt hopeless,

but I know–

it’s not forever

It feels like it’s never going to change

Time could not sever my love

Today I see, you carried

me . . .

–

Click the blue links below to hear recordings of my song:

Other parts to this story can be found here:

IT’S NOT FOREVER-PART 1

IT’S NOT FOREVER-PART 3

It was only a month ago when I wrote out the chords for “It’s Not Forever.” Like many of my songs, the music came to me first. I was certain the words would appear when I was ready; it was a gift to me when they did.

This watercolor painting of mine was used for a memorial plaque I created for Jason. It hung in the hallway where he attended preschool. Autumn triggers many feelings for me.

This watercolor painting of mine was used on a memorial plaque I created for Jason. It hung in the hallway where he attended preschool. Autumn triggers many feelings for me.

For over three years, I’ve corresponded with a woman named Sammi. She inspired my lyrics for “It’s Not Forever.”

From the time I first read Sammi’s words on an Internet grief forum, I was extremely moved by her raw and achingly honest expression of grief. Sammi’s world was shattered when her son AJ died. (To read some of our exchanges, simply type her name into the search box on the right side of the blog homepage.)

When lyrics eventually poured forth from me, at first I wasn’t sure about whether they worked. I have written many songs related to grief and find it difficult to soften my lyrics when expressing those feelings.

After some mild indecision, I did not remove the word “hell” from my song.

I had also felt the same way when I wrote my song “Wonder Why.” Words like “torture and madness” weren’t beautiful ones. But in that song, they helped me to express my feelings while posing a question to God about needless suffering.

I decided to ask my friend Sammi for her opinion; after all, she was my inspiration for this song. Below is our exchange after I shared an acoustic version of my song in progress: (A similar acoustic recording can be heard on Part 1).

Dear Sammi,

I have really changed my thinking related to grief and healing. I don’t want to preach anymore about certainty of healing. I’d rather just offer my own experience in order to provide hopefulness. I believe my eye problems have given me a lot more compassion. I often am so miserable that it’s hard for me to be hopeful that it will get better. My song gives me hope!

But even though I am sharing my own experience with this song, I am still speaking to someone. The person in my mind is you.

My song is in its first stages. I sang it into a digital recorder today and want to share it with you. I’m a little uncertain about using the word “hell” in one of my songs and would love your feedback.

Thanks for letting me share. Always hoping you‘ll have better days.

Hi Judy,

I read your song’s lyrics and they clearly state true feelings of those who have lost a loved one. They are perfect and I wouldn’t change it no matter how dark it may seem. Your subject matter alone is dark.

We are at different stages in our grief journey but I don’t agree with the “it’s not forever” phrase. It is forever; it becomes muted over time. I have found with the loss of my Mother that I can bring that pain back in a heartbeat . . . it is there forever . . . it just recedes. It takes many years. You have already reached that place. I don’t mean to criticize, sorry, I just think the word ‘forever’ should be qualified.

Can’t believe I stick in your head like that Judy. Some people would take that as a punishment.

Oh Sammi, thank you so much for taking the time to listen and write; I really appreciate what you wrote.

My song is still evolving for me and I value your insight about “forever.” I do like the title, but it’s a paradox. I say, “Time cannot sever my love.” So love is forever for me.

I think the part I wanted to convey is that the “hell” isn’t forever. That was it.

I certainly don’t see what you are saying as criticism. One decision I made was to end each chorus with a different word as follows: 1. Hope carried me 2. Love carried me 3. You carried me. I really like that progression.

Oh, yes, Sammi – you stick in my head. It is not punishment. You are a beautiful woman carrying a lifetime of sorrow. I wish you peace.

My son’s death certificate shows he never married and never worked. He was only 5 years old. So many things he never was able to do. But he was real and he did live for five years. His presence and his absence changed my life.

My son’s death certificate shows he never married and never worked. Because he died at age five, there were so many things he never was able to do. But he was real and he did live for five years. His presence and his absence changed my life. (Clicking on this makes it larger)

Not long after this exchange, Sammi wrote a touching post on our grief forum. I share an excerpt below. Despite her heartache, I can feel some hopefulness in her words.

On Aug 27, 2015, Sammi wrote:

Three years. I have been on this pothole marred road for three years. I have made this journey with help from those that have gone before me and I have been accompanied by my stalker grief.

I am amazed that I am still standing, that I still breathe, that I still look forward. Turning around and looking back I see the black sky, the angry grey clouds, the pouring rain and those souls that have fallen into the myriad of holes that need to be navigated. I won’t lie. I have fallen into many of those holes and have needed to pull myself out or be helped out. Many times I wanted to let go of the edge and just let myself be pulled down into the darkness. It welcomes you; it offers you an end to your endless pain. It promises you peace.

I am always tempted, but I trudge on. Looking forward I notice that the sky, though still black, seems lighter, the clouds, though still angry, are breaking apart, the potholes, though still numerous, have more room between them. I now find myself reaching into those potholes of despair and helping others out. I now look back to make sure those that need it have help.

My road now has off-ramps, not many but they are there. I can now pull off at times for some respite from the constant pain. My stalker, grief, does not like this and tries to knock me back to where I was. It has no rules and is ruthless in its attempts but I put my head down, gather the strength I have accrued over the three years and continue moving ahead.

At times, I have wanted to ask for medication to numb myself to the world around me, but I haven’t . . . at times I have wanted to drink myself into a stupor, but I haven’t . . . I have made it this far with no chemical or liquid help. When all is said and done, you have to do it on your own.

It doesn’t go away. So, three years in and here I am, still missing my beautiful boy, still aching to see and hear him, still wanting to wrap my arms around him and breathe him in, still amazed that a human being can still stand while experiencing such excruciating pain every day, still being amazed by who has stood by and helped me and who has fallen by the wayside.

I am determined to move forward to help others who need it and to find what it is I am supposed to do with what I have learned.

Ending my song with “being carried” is such a beautiful concept for me. Who is carrying me? Just imagining that is uplifting and I have many interpretations for those words.

Like Sammi, a long time ago I was certain I would grieve forever.

I end this post with some of the words I wrote as the lyrics unfolded for this song.

This was something I wrote two years after my son died.

This was something I wrote three years after my son died.

ALABASTER SEASHELL-PART 2

Posted on October 16, 2015 by Judy

Alabaster Seashell is one of my favorite songs. It has such a mystical quality, with descriptive words and eerie music.

Click the blue link below to hear it:

Alabaster Seashell Arrangement

Alabaster Seashell Vocal Mix

Two years ago, I created another arrangement for this song. It was very beautiful, but I did not feel the same emotional connection that I had for my first version. Below is the arrangement without a vocal:

Link to other stories about this song:

Story behind ALABASTER SEASHELL-PART 1

Story behind ALABASTER SEASHELL-PART 3

I must reveal that the painting I used for my Alabaster Seashell cover isn’t really alabaster!

Over the five years since I first recorded my song “Alabaster Seashell,” my voice has changed considerably. When I listen to my earlier recordings, it doesn’t even sound like it’s me!

The chords and lyrics for the verses of this song were written long ago, when I was only 17 years old. I expanded my song three decades later to write a chorus explaining what the seashell represented to me.

The alabaster seashell held memories that were a comfort and reminder of love.

I’m glad that I can share how in my current life I’m enjoying creating new memories. I really do search for ways to find peacefulness and treasure each day.

A month ago my childhood friend, Joni, asked me what I planned to do on my birthday. I told her I wasn’t really sure; my birthday was tinged with sadness because I missed my mom. She died two days before my birthday two years ago.

Joni was especially sympathetic because she missed my mom, too. When we were growing up, Joni was almost like part of my family. It was an amazing coincidence that she shared the same birthday as my mother. I remember many times going shopping with my mom so she could find a card for Joni, which mentioned their mutual birthdays.

This picture was taken about twelve years ago. My life was so different then when my parents were still alive.

Joni asked me what I missed doing with my mom. I told her we often shopped together and then ate out at one of our favorite restaurants.

I didn’t want to remember my mother’s decline. A few years before she died, we stopped going on those outings. Before that, she grimaced as she pushed her walker into stores with me. She insisted she was fine, but I could see her pain. On a few occasions, she collapsed to the ground and I dashed to pick her up in terror.

Joni said, “Well how about if on your birthday, we go shopping and out to dinner then? Tell me the favorite stores you went to.”

I rattled off a few . . .

Joni is in the middle and her younger sister, Shari, has such an adorable expression on the right.

A few days before my birthday, Joni reminded me of our outing. I said to her, “Hey instead of shopping, let’s go outdoors – could we go to the beach in the late afternoon instead?”

Joni told me it was a fantastic idea. I surprised myself by suggesting it because I seldom did anything like that.

But when I was a young girl, the beach was my favorite place to go with my friends.

In this picture, Joni joined my family on a boat trip.

Joni was very close to both my parents.

The weather was perfect and the sky was beautiful. The clouds were delicate and created extraordinary textures that reflected back from the mirrored slicks of wet sand.

It was balmy and comfortable, which was lovely because it had been so hot in the city we left behind. I soaked up the sweet coolness and my good friend’s tenderness.

This close up really shows the amazing reflections of clouds on the wet sand in the late afternoon.

It was a little over a year ago when Joni had open-heart surgery to repair a heart valve. Thankfully, she had healed and gotten much of her strength back.

We had known each other almost all our lives. So much of our destinies were intertwined because of our friendship. The fact that I currently lived in the same building where we played together as toddlers was amazing. Yes, memories were always vivid when we were together.

This picture is with my older brother, Norm, on the left. Joni and I were about 19 years old, at the time.

This picture is with my older brother, Norm. Joni and I were about 19.

On this beautiful day that was my 56^th birthday, we talked about our present lives and challenges. We revealed dreams about things we loved to imagine in our future. And we reminisced about our childhood.

We ate dinner overlooking the ocean. On our way home, we even stopped at one of the stores where I used to shop with my mom, too.

I came home and enjoyed seeing the pictures from our day. I planned to celebrate with all three of my children the next day. It was fine, since my oldest son was helping his father move on my actual birthday and couldn’t be there.

My day was additionally sweet because I had lunch with my sister-in-law before I met up with Joni.

I received so many beautiful Facebook wishes and text messages. I appreciated them all and replied to every one. There were messages from friends I hadn’t seen since elementary school!

I especially loved the picture my daughter sent me that she had quickly snapped a week before.

There is one line in my song “Alabaster Seashell” that usually brings me to tears.

“Reminders of days, like the one – holding him tightly in a setting sun.”

I originally wrote that line remembering a romantic moment. But 30 years later, I interpreted it very differently. Now that line was about how I anticipated my young son’s death. I held him with great sadness while we watched a beautiful beach sunset together.

Yesterday, the sun was setting as Joni and I walked along the beach. It was not a dramatic sunset, instead it was soft and subtle. I noticed the quiet passage of pastel colors slowly fading into darkness and felt very peaceful.

Joni has gone through a lot with her heart issues. She is still making changes to her life and adjusting. I admire her courage.

Being peaceful was a great feeling. I knew there were many things we both could have worried about. Thinking about aging can sometimes lead to depressing thoughts.

But instead, life was glorious.

I photographed a white seashell, so I could write this story and have a picture of a real alabaster seashell.

What seems especially beautiful and telling, is that I had no desire to bring it home and save it.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2015. 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.