myjourneysinsight

HOW IT FELT WHEN YOU WENT AWAY – PART 2

Posted on May 28, 2014 by Judy

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I had two “anniversaries of the heart” this week. Monday was the day my father died and today is Jason’s birthday.

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If Jason had lived, he would be 27 years old today. But he never grows any older and I picture him as an angel of five forever.

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I can feel the seasonal change tugging at my heart and recently recorded a new vocal for a special song named “Every Season.” Every year, my sister-in-law, Jo (and brother, Norm) send me two beautiful cards remembering my anniversaries of the heart for Jason. I am so blessed that they do this; I appreciate it even more since my parents are gone. I have few people left to share memories of Jason with.

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Jo mentioned a sweet memory of Jason on her card. Jason was the ring bearer when she and Norm got married. Reading that made me smile because I instantly pictured Jason beaming that day. He was very proud of his responsibility and died only a few months after their wedding.

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While working on two recent song vocals for “More Than You Know” and “Alabaster Seashell” – it reminded me again how deeply memories and grief are intertwined. Post-traumatic stress affects me with the memories of horror, of seeing my father take his last breath and when I last held my son’s dead body.

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Thankfully, a blanket of healing results from my sweet memories. I have plenty of those and perhaps that is why singing those two songs touch me deeply.

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Especially, with my song “Alabaster Seashell,” a seashell is such a perfect metaphor for the beauty of what remains after death.

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This is a close-up of an old watercolor painting of mine.

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“AJ and Jason in heaven”

I have corresponded for over a year with a very special woman named Sammi. I’ve shared many of our exchanges on this blog but have not always mentioned her name. Sammi is no stranger to grief; she lost her mother when she was only 18 years old. She writes from her gut and I feel so much pain reading her words.

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I met her on an Internet grief forum and her first post was only one day after her son, AJ died from meningitis. (Her words are in brown and mine in black)

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My beautiful 34-year-old son Allen (we called him AJ) died yesterday. I am walking around in a fog. I can’t sit, I can’t stand, I can’t eat, and I can’t sleep. I sob uncontrollably at times and feel very bitter and angry. I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I can survive. My husband says we will get through it; we have to. I can’t see that happening. I need someone to tell me that this pain will go away, that the ache will subside. I just want to curl up in a ball and pull the covers over my head. Thank you for accepting me.

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Three months later she wrote:

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My son has been gone for almost three months. I have been having a horrible time lately. It hits me like a punch in the gut out of nowhere and I am devastated. That has been happening a lot lately. I cry at home, I cry going to work, I cry at work, I cry on the way home, I cry in the shower, I cry in bed. I have people who have gone through this themselves that I talk to but nothing is helping.

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It has been a year and a half since AJ died.

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Last week Sammi wrote:

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I have been slowly emptying out the boxes we packed up from AJ’s apartment. Yes, I still have his things in boxes but I have been slowly going through them all after a year and a half. The boxes today contained all of his DVD’s and CD’s. It made me laugh and cry, remembering his music and movie tastes. He had a wonderful sense of humor and going through all of his comedy DVD’s brought back memories of sitting with him and watching some of them. I could hear his laughter echoing in the room as I looked through them all. I remembered how much joy he got out of living and how he never wallowed in the muck and mire of life. He would always share his latest comedy discovery with me and we would laugh over all of it. How I miss his laughter. How I miss those times we had. How I miss him.

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You will always miss him, Sammi. Sweet memories are far less traumatic than what you have been living with over the last year and a half. When I had memories that made me smile (despite the longing and heartache), I knew I was moving forward in my grief.

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Those tender moments brought my beautiful son back to me. It’s been over 20 years since he died and I treasure them. They are still there and I can still hear his peals of laughter. In one week, it will be another birthday and he would have been 27 years old. But in my memories, he is a young boy who is an angel.

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AJ sounds like such a beautiful man. I am so sorry, Sammi. Keep sharing about him – I like hearing it.

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Judy, I like to think that AJ has met your son and they are now great friends. He loved children and would have made a great father. I choose to think that they know we speak like this and are happy that we found some peace with each other.

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“The Hairdresser”

I plan to share more of my correspondence with Sammi because I asked her for advice about my most recent song. Our exchange was a spiritual experience for me. Knowing that I have brought her even a small measure of comfort means more to me than I can find words for.

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I end this post with an exchange I had with her a month ago that illustrates how being compassionate doesn’t necessarily have to come from a place of experiencing the same kind of suffering.

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Dear Sammi,

It truly is horrible to think of how much suffering there is in this world. I know it helped me to have others who really understood while I was going through it (I’m ahead of you and it is not the same). Keep looking as you have. It is your rope to survival (hanging on vs. hanging yourself.)

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As always, I’m so sorry for this horror that connected you to me and hell on earth.

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Judy, while the circumstances of our “meeting” are not what I would wish for anyone, I am glad to know you. All we can really hope for is to be of some comfort to each other in some way.

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I not only struggle with this feeling of being gutted, but also with understanding the need for such pain and agony in this world. Your music is your solace and I’m glad you have it. I feel better sometimes when I just let myself rant on virtual paper.

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Believe it or not, I have received more comfort and understanding from my hairdresser.

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She always asks how I am, if I am getting out and she talks about AJ (she used to cut his hair when he was a little boy). I told her that I don’t talk much about things because I don’t feel that people really want to hear that. Her response was, “Those of us that ask you, really want to hear.”

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I don’t have many that ask.

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I love your hairdresser!

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It’s so incredible when someone really “gets it” – and hasn’t gone through this to know it. What a connection to AJ she is! I have a tear imagining it. I wish more people could understand the difference it makes to freely ask and want to hear how we are doing. All the isolation from fear and ignorance would be alleviated.

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I see a lot of progress that you’ve made on your grief journey, Sammi. You might not see it so clearly. There really isn’t a destination that I know of except to go farther and farther from the hell of where it all began. It’s tiring and discouraging, I know. But eventually, you will feel better even though you will never be the person you were before.

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Oh, I’ve already said good-bye to the person I used to be. I am already missing her. She was so blissfully unaware of so many things. If given the choice, I’d choose blissfully unaware.

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I don’t care what religion a person is. Religion, for me, does not define the person and I find solace in many places. I have found, since this happened, that I do not recognize one set of beliefs. I am Catholic and of course I feel comfortable with all things Catholic but I no longer think as a Catholic . . . I think as a human being.

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I never thought of my hairdresser, Sharon, as having a connection to AJ. Funny how, out of all the people I know, she has been the one who consistently asks how I am and notices if things are off. I have been going to her for almost 30 years. We aren’t what I would call friends. We don’t hang out together. We don’t talk on the phone. She is my hairdresser and yet she was at the funeral and she made a safe haven for me when I returned to her shop – such compassion and empathy.

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How do you thank a person for that? I have been pondering this and I will come up with something but I know she expects nothing.

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Thank you again, Judy.–

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© 2014 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.

Posted in Grief Stories | Tagged acoustic guitar, anniversaries of the heart, anniversary of the heart, beautiful music, child's death, compassionate friends, composing, creativity, death, death of a child, Friendship, grief, Grief and Bereavement, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", grief Friendship, guitar, healing music, inspiration, Judy Unger, loss, loss of a child, love, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, More Than You Know, motherhood, Music, original songs, passionate songwriter, performing, singing, songwriting, vocal improvement, writing | Leave a comment

HOW IT FELT WHEN YOU WENT AWAY – PART 1

Posted on May 26, 2014 by Judy

My title is from my song “More Than You Know. I read revised lyrics at my son’s funeral in 1992, but composed this song when I was 19.

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Below are links to stories and audio for my song:

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Story behind MORE THAN YOU KNOW-PART 1

Story behind MORE THAN YOU KNOW-PART 2

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Since meeting with my editor, Carol, I haven’t felt like rewriting my audio book introduction. I plan to soon and especially look forward to writing about my song garden.

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I simply love that beautiful metaphor. I really do consider myself to be a “song gardener” and my garden of music just keeps growing. Any stress in my life, becomes my fertilizer!

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As I continue to improve, I am intimately acquainted with my garden. There are older plants that I know hold the potential for even more exquisite blooms. Sometimes new seeds begin to poke through and excite me. All of the “song plants” are alive for me – growing, changing and developing.

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I wrote this exactly two years ago while in a waiting room at the hospital where my father was.

“Less is more”

My guitar playing has really improved. It’s not actually because I’ve practiced more. It’s because I have learned a lot about recording and editing. I have discovered how to erase those loud guitar squeaks that cut through an arrangement and annoy me. I prefer to have less to erase, so this has resulted in my simplifying chord lines and being more careful with my fret changes while playing.

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Discovering new chord lines for some of my songs has been fun. Recently, I updated my arrangements for “Hang On” and “Alabaster Seashell.” First, I changed the key and tempo. Then I recorded my guitar into those gorgeous arrangements in a new way.

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The metaphor to my life came into play with less is more. Sometimes it’s worth changing an old way. Perhaps a long time ago it worked, but my willingness to change has led to improvement. Simple and sweet is my new guitar playing concept!

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I share below some recent examples of my guitar playing added into these revised arrangements:

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In addition to recording guitar, I’ve continued to sing new vocals for many of my songs. Editing vocal recordings is time-consuming, but very rewarding.

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I’ve noticed that I’m not really improving technically as a singer anymore – in fact, I can share that I’ve definitely regressed! When I sing fully using my vocal chords, the sound is a bit harsh so I prefer singing breathier again. Certainly, practicing and exercising my voice would probably make a big difference.

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In my small apartment, I’m inhibited from singing. My oldest son is a full-time student with attention issues. Whenever I sing, he asks me when I’ll be done so he can “get back to studying.” I practice singing in my car and it’s not that pleasant for me.

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For the last few months, I have had little desire to perform and no longer attend open mics regularly like I used to. My reason is because it adds pressure for me. I’m far too emotional and vulnerable at this time in my life and my eyes hurt. So I’ve chosen to use my emotion as a beautiful addition to my recordings instead.

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I love my recent vocals because I hear a huge difference – my songs have so much more feeling. It’s clear for me that I’m not thinking about my technique and instead I’m enjoying reaching into my heart to feel the words to my songs.

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“Surfing the emotional wave”

I looked at the time and was glad that Darrin’s studio was so close to my house. I was sure I could make it there in five minutes.

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I took off my shoes and eyeballed the microphone. I could tell exactly where the mic should go after so many sessions of singing there. It seemed like the stand was little higher than usual. Darrin adjusted it and went back to sit at his computer behind the glass.

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I put on my headphones – I only used one side because I always needed to hear my own voice. And the volume of the playback (karaoke) had to be just right or I tended to over sing.

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Darrin’s voice came on loudly into one ear. “What song are we doing today?” he said sweetly.

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I told him I needed a bunch of takes for my older version of “More Than You Know.” I was going to finalize my vocal from six months earlier, but after listening to it I decided I could sing it better.

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Darrin replied, “No problem – give me a second.”

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I closed my eyes and waited. Soon the arrangement was playing. I wished I had given myself more time to warm up.

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My first two takes were very pitchy; it was usually that way for me. Nothing was wasted though because on the first takes I usually did better with the low notes.

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Then on the third take, Darrin said, “That was nice. Let’s get another one just like it.”

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It happened on the fourth take. I always try to feel my song. Emotion is something I consider golden. It can never be replicated the same way and happens when I have a true connection with my words.

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There is one problem with emotion, though. It can grip the vocal chords and shut off singing completely!

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I would describe it as surfing. I’m waiting for that wave – searching for it is hopeless because it swells up without warning. So I float along while being ready to catch it when it comes.

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Sometimes the wave appears gradually. It builds and I can feel my body take off with it. Soon I’m riding that wave. I need to get off of it quickly if it’s too big. On rare occasions (maybe only a few times) I’m late and I wipe out!

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It happened on that fourth take when I was singing the words of: “How it felt when you went away.” At that moment, I was reliving how it felt when Jason died.

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And the wave was not a swell in the distance this time.

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It was a monster that slapped the word “away” right out of my mouth. I tried to continue singing but my vocal chords were tight. I grabbed a few breaths as I tried to come up for air. The solo followed and I was weeping instead of singing. Eventually, a few minutes later I was able to sing again.

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Darrin waited before beginning the next take. For the next two takes, I stopped surfing for emotion because I had plenty of it.

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Late at night when I was editing, I knew I couldn’t use much of Take Four. A lot of it was blank. But the line of “how it felt when you went away” still held a golden moment for me.

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This song gardener celebrated her new vocal for an old song blooming in her garden again!

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I’m actually going to share those 37 seconds of my emotional Take 4. Click the blue link below to play audio:

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Emotional Take 4 of MORE THAN YOU KNOW–

This link is to read more about my song: MORE THAN YOU KNOW

This is the actual page of lyrics I read at Jason’s funeral.–

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MY DOUBT IS SOMETHING I CANNOT DENY

Posted on May 25, 2014 by Judy

My newest song is dedicated to many special people in my life. At this moment, I am praying for my friend, Magda G. who suffers dreadfully with multiple sclerosis and for Marilyn B. who is my inspiration as she fights multiple myeloma.

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“Wondering”

Lately, I’ve found myself questioning so many things. The song that I originally named “Hoping” definitely has shifted to a song that could be named “Doubting.”

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At this time, I’m planning to name my song “I Wonder” or “I Wonder Why.”

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The arrangement for it is so captivating that I hear it all through my day. I have been finalizing the lyrics and practicing the guitar that I’ll be adding to it.

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Below is a karaoke version. Because I love the song so much, I’m willing to share my song “in progress.”

Click the blue link to play audio:

Wonder Why Arrangement Mix 8-23-17

I love the word wonder. Wondering is a form of questioning that expresses my feelings in a beautiful way.

As I pose my question to God, I’m also in awe, which is another meaning for the word wonder. Many of the definitions for wonder are uplifting. A word listed as opposite of wonder happens to be fear.

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When I first began writing my song, God was only implied. On this second recording, I actually allowed myself to say the word. As I grappled with how to phrase my question about suffering, I started out with: “I try to understand why.”

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I didn’t like the way those words fell off my tongue. Later on, it felt a lot better to sing, “I wonder why.”

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But I found some insight from those first words. I realized that my search was not for any particular answer to the question of “why?” It was simply a search for understanding!

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It turned out that by sharing my new song with people who appreciated it, I found tremendous understanding. I was elated because my song once again helped to heal me while touching other people at the same time.

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Whenever I’ve found understanding, I’ve felt comforted. Recently I joined a support group for eye pain and I’ve already made a new friend.

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I often participate in a grief forum on the Internet. Initially, it was to offer helpful words because I have lived a long time with grief. It has been 22 years since I lost my first-born son at the age of five.

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But then I found comfort from fellow members after the recent deaths of my parents. Only a few days ago, someone asked this question: “I attended my first grief group tonight. I’m not exactly sure what to make of it. Has anyone or does anyone attend support group meetings?”

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I replied:

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For me, every meeting was different. Sometimes it was upsetting when one person monopolized the meeting or it went too late. But dealing with grief in that setting helped me a lot. My goal was to find another person whose situation seemed similar. After going to many grief meetings in different places I formed connections that I still have over 20 years later. All of my friends in grief grew to know my dead child whom they had never met. And I knew their children well.

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These friends replaced the people in my life who could not understand grief. I leaned on them and it really helped to hold hands with people who were in the same place I was. Glad that you wrote. Keep seeking whatever brings you comfort.

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THE PRINCESS NEEDED TO BELIEVE IN HERSELF

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The Princess listened to what God had told her. She needed to believe in herself.

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Although the Princess wanted to hold onto faith, doubt seeped into her body from every direction. It would soon be exactly two years since her father had died – she had watched him suffer terribly until he took his last breath. And he had died only two days before the birthday for her dead child.

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The terrible pain in her eyes continued to torment her. At her darkest moments she felt like her energy for life was ebbing away with the pain. This was pain she could not accept, nor adjust to.

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All of her own anguish only intensified her compassion for the pain and suffering of other people. She now fully realized the horror of what life could hold and it overwhelmed her.

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Melody was very worried about the Princess and had been for a long time now. It was very serious because the Princess was giving up hope.

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Melody asked God what could be done to help the Princess. God told Melody the best way to help the Princess would be to give her another song. This new song would be so beautiful that it would easily slip into her heart and mind.

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Melody wove her magic and the new song’s melody was so gorgeous that the Princess was completely enraptured. God and Melody were relieved to see the Princess quickly writing the words she needed to write. The words flowed forth and the Princess expressed all of her doubts.

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The Princess wrote her song for all the sad people whom she felt anguish for. And it was her own pain that fueled those words. She even wrote directly to God for the very first time; usually she hesitated to do that and God was only implied.

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She was very moved by her beautiful song but when she shared it, she received some very negative opinions. She was told that it was time for her to stop writing sad songs.

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The words that stung her the most were: “No one wants to listen to your song about suffering. If I heard it, I’d turn it off in a second.”

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Because the Princess was vulnerable and doubtful, those critical opinions stabbed her heart and instantly destroyed her joy about the new song. She retreated in pain and searched hard to find insight.

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The Princess wrote her song in a way that expressed exactly how she felt. Whether or not her song was depressing didn’t matter – she was proud of her honesty.

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The Princess decided that this was an opportunity for her to trust and believe in herself.

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From above, God and Melody watched the Princess carefully. They were both glad to see the Princess finally understood the belief she needed – the most important belief of all.

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The Princess sang her new song over and over. And most surprising was that in spite of her doubts she still thanked God for her song.

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Now the Princess felt comforted, and it gave her strength to continue her journey.

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© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2014. 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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ALL OF MY TEARS GAVE ME COMPASSION

Posted on May 20, 2014 by Judy

Tomorrow is my father's birthday. He died two years ago. My father was in a lot of pain and had difficulty smiling. In this picture, he made the effort to.

Tomorrow is my father’s birthday. He died two years ago. My father was in a lot of pain and had difficulty smiling toward the end of his life. In this picture, he made the effort to smile.

If there is anything this world needs more of – in my mind it would be compassion. To begin with, I wish I even had more compassion for myself. I often hear an inner voice filled with judgment that berates me when I’m depressed.

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I was talking with a new friend I made from my dry eye support group. After sharing her many challenges, she said, “I know I’m a loser.” I was so sad to hear her say that about herself.

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Recently I was devastated when someone I work with told me, “Jude, your problem is your lack of appreciation.”

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Nothing could have been more hurtful for me and I sucked it up.

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It was so reminiscent of when I lost my child. It is horribly lonely to carry grief inside because nobody wants to hear about it. Having other people who aren’t in pain telling me to “get over it” is more infuriating than I can even find words for.

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I don’t really spend a lot of energy imagining that I’ve been cursed with any form of loss in my life as punishment for something I’ve done – certainly not because I wasn’t grateful enough about my life.

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But I do imagine that this time is an opportunity for me to become even more compassionate toward others. I’ve written comments to many bereaved parents of, “Your child wants you to feel better.” Now I realize that my remark really isn’t compassionate. It just compounds the pain of grief; it adds guilt because now the parent has disappointed a dead child on top of everything else.

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My post title is a lyric line from one of my favorite songs “Clear.” Recently, I sang new vocals for both of my different arrangements of this song. “Clear” is truly an amazing song that helped to push me out the door to change my life. I trembled when singing it because there was tremendous irony with the words, “I opened my eyes – life became clear.”

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I never stop dreaming that will happen again for me someday. Until then, even though my physical world is foggy and painful – I never stop relishing my freedom to explore my inner mind searching for insight.

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Below are links to stories and audio for my song “Clear”

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Story behind CLEAR-PART 1

Story behind CLEAR-PART 2

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I do appreciate my life and wish the world held less misery for every creature.

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I’m amazed at how quickly life races by me. In an instant, another week has passed – when it feels like last week was only yesterday.

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Two weeks ago I had an appointment with my editor, Carol Walkey on a Monday. Carol didn’t live close by, so we planned to meet at a restaurant somewhere in the middle. It wasn’t far from the large hospital where I went for my eye appointments. So it was a perfect opportunity for me to pick up two new medicines that were ordered for my dry eye condition.

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But at the pharmacy, I was told that I couldn’t order my new eye medicines because my health insurance had been terminated. It was something I would have to deal with later on. Because of my divorce I knew I would be getting COBRA benefits, so I wasn’t too worried.

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As I waited for Carol, my eyes didn’t hurt quite as much as usual; I was blanketed by melodies in my mind. After ten minutes when Carol didn’t show up, I called her and she profusely apologized. She had forgotten because of some family problems; her husband’s son had been severely injured in a car accident. We rescheduled our lunch for the following week.

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I decided to order lunch and ate alone. I enjoyed myself and was relaxed and accepting about everything.

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The week zipped by and it was Monday again. I had hoped my medical insurance problem was going to be resolved after a week, but it wasn’t. I wasn’t even allowed to make an appointment on the phone and wondered what would happen if I were sick.

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I decided to be my own advocate by going into the medical center that was nearby to where I was meeting Carol.

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I met with a health care representative at member services. She called my husband’s employer to find out what the problem was. She was placed on hold for a long time, just like I was. Finally her call went through and the person who could help was already out to lunch.

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This representative seemed sympathetic when I told her that I needed to get those medications. She spoke with a supervisor to see if my prescriptions could be ordered, but to no avail. I could feel anger mounting when I was informed that I would be charged for medical insurance going back several weeks. I was going to have to pay for services I wasn’t getting and that didn’t seem fair at all. I told her I wanted to file a complaint.

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Most of this problem had resulted because all of the correspondence had been mailed to my ex-husband, instead of me. I hadn’t received it in a timely fashion and how was I to know if he didn’t share the mail with me?

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All the while as I sat there, my eyes were throbbing and tearing uncontrollably. After two hours, I left. I was told it was going to take a few more days, but I was glad I made the time to sort things out. I raced to my car and realized I was now fifteen minutes late to my lunch with Carol. I took a few deep breaths and drove there carefully. I wondered if I could change gears and enjoy my lunch.

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Carol was waiting and told me I looked happy. That surprised me because I didn’t think I smiled much anymore.

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It had been almost a year since I’d seen Carol. She was retired and had worked as a journalist and editor at a large newspaper. Editing was a nice side job for her, and she had helped edit the 34 stories I wrote for my first audio book.

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Carol was such a lovely woman. One of the most interesting things about her was the fact that she had a wonderful marriage to a fascinating man who was a former Disney Imagineer. He was much older than she was. It wasn’t until she was 60 years old that Carol decided she was ready to consider getting married if the right person came along. And shortly thereafter, she met her future husband who was divorced after 48 years of marriage.

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We finished our lunch and then I hesitantly asked her what she thought about the new material I had emailed. She handed me a large envelope and began to summarize some of her notes to me.

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She began by saying, “Judy, do you realize how you say the same thing over and over? Too many words, short is sweeter. I listen to the way you speak; you’re clear and to the point. But when you write you go on and on with a lot of detachment.”

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I already knew Carol would hate my Princess writings. Those were in third person and anytime I wrote “she” Carol felt I was distancing myself. I hadn’t given her any of that to read though.

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Carol continued. “You don’t have to tell your readers everything – like a staircase, you want to climb up to the top without listing every step. And I hate it when you say things like – the amputation of my soul. You’ve said that too many times already! What I want to hear are real feelings. When you wrote Jason’s story, there were things in there of a personal nature and that is what moved me.”

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I understood. I said, “You mean like when I spoke about the opera of Jason’s death.”

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Carol nodded. She could see my eyes were big and was concerned she had hurt my feelings. With kindness she told me she knew she was being critical, but emphasized that it was constructive criticism.

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I reassured her that I could handle it. What I had sent her was a rough piece that I wanted feedback on before developing it further. I liked her advice and thanked her for being so honest with me.

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She said softly, “Have you considered that since you speak so well, perhaps instead you should just talk instead of typing? Record your heartfelt words and then transcribe that.”

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Her advice was terrific and I would definitely give it a try.

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Then she added, “Judy, you say that you are a passionate songwriter. Can you find a more interesting way to write about that?”

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I began to describe to her how I see my songs as part of a garden. I am a song gardener, tending to all of them as they have grown from tiny seeds into wondrous blooms. As I talked about it, Carol enthusiastically nodded.

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“You see – that is far more interesting! Also you mention how your father suffered and your mother had dementia. Many people have declining parents and could relate to that. But you just glossed over it and didn’t reveal much.”

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I had not to gone into detail about that because my story was already so long. But it turned out that was the kind of material I needed.

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I became thoughtful as I searched for an example of my father’s suffering to share with her. The few thoughts that entered my mind caused my throat to tighten. I tried to speak, but my voice quivered and I had to stop.

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As we left the restaurant, Carol said, “Now you understand what you need to write and I can’t wait to read your revisions. We’ll meet again soon.”

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I wasn’t sure what I was feeling while driving home. The doubt that constantly clouded my life was setting in. Was I making a mistake redoing my book? How long was this process going to take? The microphone tests I had done with Lon weren’t that great and a lot of audio editing was going to be required to remove sibilance on whatever I recorded.

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Yet now I was very motivated to write something that would be far more touching. Sometimes I’ve noticed that my writing on my blog has been rambling and repetitive. I didn’t want any of that for my audio book – Carol was right.

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I don't think I ever can remember seeing my father this happy - even when I was young.

I don’t think I ever can remember seeing my father this happy. This is a picture of him as a young man.

Tomorrow is my father’s birthday. His urinary issues and painful infections wore him out and he told me that he looked forward to dying.

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He went into a coma on his 88th birthday two years ago and died five days later. His death was more a result of dehydration than anything else. He was fairly aware of his death and it was horrible to watch.

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I had started to describe to Carol how a simple trip in the car with my father was a major stressor for both of us. I would be picking him up from the nursing home and bringing him for a visit to my home. It was the highlight of his week. First, I would fold up his wheelchair and put it in my trunk. He would admonish me to be careful lifting it, so as not to hurt my back.

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Then I would gently give him a boost into my minivan. As he sat down, he would tightly grip his catheter bag and let out howling moan.

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I would always drive as carefully as I could when he was in my car. I made sure that I slowed down for every bump in road.

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But sometimes I didn’t see one. As the car bounced, my father would curse and let out a horrific scream. Then he would dissolve into sobs and yell at me to be a better driver. A few moments later, he would apologize for yelling at me. He would sniffle and cry softly for the remainder of our trip.

–

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I have my father’s cap in my closet where I can see it.

Yes, this was something I could write about.

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Thinking of his absence over the last two years, is a mixed bag. I miss his caring and concern for me. His last phone message was to see how my eyes were because at that time I had started having problems seeing; I didn’t know I had cataracts.

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I miss the feeling of him loving me so much; I also know he would be overwhelmed worrying about me at this time in my life.

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So the truth is, I do not miss my suffering father.

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It was too hard to watch.

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This is the last picture taken of my father two days before his final birthday and subsequent coma.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2014. 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.