myjourneysinsight

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Posted on March 16, 2014 by Judy

Acknowledgment (noun) ac·knowl·edg·ment – acceptance of facts, thanks

In order to better deal with PSTD (post traumatic stress disorder), I have begun to acknowledge many things that I previously have shoved back down.

The fact that acknowledgment also means “thanks” is very inspiring. I am very grateful that God blessed me with many wonderful talents. Writing, singing, composing and illustrating have allowed me to cope.

In the last two years, both of my parents have died. I can acknowledge that fact.

In addition, I acknowledge that I am also dealing with the end of my marriage of 31 years. A week ago, I recorded a love song I wrote when I was twenty. I sang with emotion, while at the same time pushing down the heartache that I am 54 and it has been over 30 years since I’ve experienced romantic love.

As I have started to acknowledge more of my feelings, I’ve found insight into that special time when I began writing my blog with joy and abandon.

I always knew that writing helped alleviate my loneliness from missing my mother when she began to decline. But when I opened up my heart and shared intimate feelings on my blog, it was because I desperately needed understanding I found nowhere else in my life.

It was after my friend Susan died that this revelation came to me. With her death, I lost a friend who offered me tremendous understanding and compassion. Susan acknowledged my traumas even though she hadn’t experienced the things I had (such as the loss of a child).

Currently, I am dealing with many different kinds of losses. Whenever a friend has acknowledged my grief and/or challenges, I have been greatly comforted.

Recently, a good friend did just that. Her message is below:

Judy, it really is amazing how you’ve kept going as well as you have. You may find this interesting–it’s a well-known life events stress test. Based on what I know about you, you top the charts!

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http://www.cliving.org/lifestresstestscore.htm

Her link was to a website where numbers were tallied for any life-changing events. I checked a lot of boxes. Here was my list:

Marital separation, divorce, death of close family members (my parents and a child), personal injury or illness (my eyes), change in financial state, death of close friends, change of career, daughter leaving home, change in living conditions, revision of personal habits, change in residence, change in social activities, change in family get-togethers, change in eating habits.

My score was 533. The site only listed above 300.

Here was what was stated about any score higher than 300.

Score Comment

300+ You have a high or very high risk of becoming ill in the near future. This scale shows the kind of life pressure that you are facing. Depending on your coping skills or the lack thereof, this scale can predict the likelihood that you will fall victim to a stress related illness. The illness could be mild – frequent tension headaches, acid indigestion, and loss of sleep to very serious illness like ulcers, cancer, migraines and the like.

My guess is that “and the like” (at the end of the above paragraph) could include dry eyes.

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My friend Marge took this picture while we were walking through a park together. It matched my blouse in color. I noticed a heart-shaped shadow before I saw the sign. It held great meaning for me because I believe self-love is very important when coping with challenges in life.

Originally, I had thought about naming this post “Grief 101 – Part 3.”

But I decided that acknowledgment was far more important for me to emphasize. It applies to how acknowledgment leads to comfort and understanding during any difficult time in life.

The three parts of that word that touch me are:

1. How important it is to allow myself to cry and grieve. I acknowledge what huge changes I’ve gone through (without going to a place of judgment that I’m wallowing in self-pity.)

2. Expressing honestly how when a friend acknowledges my challenges rather than judges my sadness, I am truly comforted.

3. Being thankful for all the goodness in my life, despite my challenges.

For more on this subject related to grief I share two links, which are incredibly moving and educational. Because these women are grieving deeply, they get the point across with far more intensity.

DOYLE’S WIDOW – SOLITUDE

GRIEF: ONE WOMAN’S PERSPECTIVE – ANOTHER VOICE

Grief is appropriate when a person experiences loss.

I strongly believe that healing is possible, but grief is still a monster that must be dealt with.

The isolation from grief is a horror that is truly indescribable. It is a feeling of being completely alone from any other human on this planet with unbearable pain.

It is beautiful to comfort someone by acknowledging his or her challenges, pain and grief. It helps them feel less isolated and cared about.

It is far better than encouraging a friend to “move on,” “get over it” and “be happy.” This minimizes their loss. Instead of bestowing comfort, it causes even more anguish.

When my son died, I knew that most people could not imagine the agony of my grief. I believed that I was coping in an amazing way – working and parenting my living children took every ounce of my energy.

On rare occasions, I felt judged by someone for grieving too much. When that happened I was simply incensed, especially if it came from a family member or friend – it was a huge betrayal that caused me to withdraw from them. All I could think of was how he or she might be more understanding if they had experienced the death of their own child.

I still maintain that I have healed from the death of my son, but now I carry new wounds.

I only want encouragement from friends and am extremely sensitive. I realize that was why I became very upset when a friend sent me a well-intentioned message last month.

My friend expressed worry that I was drawn to grief, and as an example pointed out my recent trips: attending a memorial in Northern California and going to Yosemite to meet a terminally ill blogger. My friend’s message ended with a statement that there was no end to sad stories and that I needed to actively pursue happiness.

This message was a trigger.

Triggers, triggers, triggers!

Triggers are things that cause me enormous pain because all of my suppressed pain from the past explodes with a trigger.

Criticism is always a huge trigger for me because I lived with constant criticism for years in my marriage.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to the message. I certainly appreciated what on the surface appeared to be very caring and concerned. But I felt very misunderstood and criticized.

I wrote a response to express my feelings:

I appreciate that you are concerned about me and your message is caring. But I must explain because you cannot understand what I’ve lived through. The loss of a child is something I’ve healed from, but it did change me forever. I’m never going to be the person I was before that. A wound may heal, but there is still a scar. I’ve also chosen to view my scar as something that represents a profound effect upon me.

Helping others with grief doesn’t make me sad – It is meaningful and very rewarding.

I’ve gone through a lot of loss in the past two years: my marriage, my eyesight, my parents and the life I knew for over 30 years.

I actively chose to pursue happiness by making huge changes in my life!

With all those changes, it is understandable that I have a lot of emotion. These days, I cry with joy easily, as much as with sadness.

I’m certain that I’d feel better if my eyes didn’t hurt all the time. But I continue smiling and doing what I love to do. I love to sing, compose, write and help other people. I also hope to touch people in many ways beyond grief.

For example, I had no idea that the lady who cleans my house shared a CD I gave her with her church. I’ve been invited to sing there because many people feel that my songs are about God and I’ve inspired them! I’m fine with that and plan to perform there soon.

I’ll let other people balance out their life by partying! They have no idea how grief can strike anyone at anytime – and are fortunate to be unscathed. If I can make a difference as I have to someone feeling hopeless, I’ll die with a smile at the end of my life.

Judy

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In this picture, I’m with my childhood friend, Joni

My friend had no clue about how much I enjoyed my recent trip to Yosemite where I met a fellow blogger, Sandra Callahan who is terminally ill. It was certainly not about grief.

That trip was a wonderful time reconnecting with my childhood friend, Joni. Meeting Sandra motivated me to go in the wintertime, which was something I found courageous and quite beautiful. Joni and I did spa treatments and hiked; I played my guitar and composed music on the porch. It was a very relaxing and healing trip, not at all sad.

All the posts I’ve written about the death of my friend, Susan helped me to understand my journey and how far I’ve come from when it began. My trip to her memorial was a wonderful opportunity to see my deceased mother’s two good friends, whom I’ll probably never see again. To me, that was a beautiful way of processing my mother’s death. It meant so much to Susan’s mother and brother that I was there. I made a difference and was uplifted as I sang my heart out.

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This picture reminds me how my mother was a miracle, because after she broke her hip and didn’t have surgery, she lived three years and was able to walk again.

This picture reminds me how my mother was a miracle. After she broke her hip and didn’t have surgery, she lived three more years and was able to walk again.

I am grateful for the friends in my world who offer understanding. Only yesterday, I was struggling with my eye pain while shopping in a supermarket. Everything was foggy around me and I barely could smile.

I came home, put away the groceries and retreated into a darkened room. It was then that I noticed there was a missed call and a message on my cell phone from my friend, Joni.

I listened to it and cried a lot of tears for a woman with dry eyes.

Click the blue link to play audio:

AUDIO OF JONI’S MESSAGE ON MARCH 13, 2014

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Transcription:

Hey Jude, It’s Joni! No need to call me back – I’m in traffic. But I just want to say thank you so much. Your music just brightens up my day and makes me feel at home, comfortable and safe. God bless you – your songwriting is amazing. I feel so blessed to be a part of it and that you do that. It’s just so amazing. Have a wonderful day and let me know how you’re doing.

Joni is my friend who encouraged me to play my guitar again at the age of 50. Music changed the course of my life.

© 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.

I’M CRYING WHILE I’M DREAMING

Posted on March 15, 2014 by Judy

This picture was taken during my recent trip to Northern California.

My post title is a lyric line from my latest song composition that is “in progress.” It stood out for me as a perfect description of what I’ve been going through.

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Originally, the music for my song was inspired by a classical guitar instrumental named “Waterfalls.” I composed it when I was 19 years old. I’m not sure what my new song with lyrics will be named yet, but so far “Take Me Away” stands out as most likely, though I’d prefer a title that hasn’t been used so many times before.

Click the blue link to play audio of my arrangement in progress:

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These are the lyrics for the first verse of my newest song that is slowly being born.

This is the first verse of my newest song that is slowly being born.

I begin my post by sharing some photos of the beautiful coastal scenery I saw in Northern California two weeks ago.

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I stayed with a family friend, Liz after attending a memorial for my friend Susan Rasky. I haven’t travelled much, so it was very special when Liz drove me through some beautiful places the following day. Liz and her husband lived in Sebastopol, Northern California and both she and her husband were geologists.

After having lunch with Liz’s mother at a senior center, Liz took me for a long drive back to her house. It turned into a three-hour looping trip through redwood forests and coastline and the scenery was quite spectacular.

Every so often we stopped so I could take a picture. I appreciated Liz’s knowledge about the area’s history, geography and climate. But most of all, I was fascinated and simply loved the fact that I was with a geologist.

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That’s because I collected rocks as a child and have always loved nature. After my father died, it was touching for me to see my old rock collections when my oldest son cleaned out the coop where I moved into. I wasn’t surprised that my dad had saved them because he never threw anything away. I guess I’m still attracted to cool rocks because I even brought one home with me from my recent trip to Tucson.

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Within short distances, a rolling meadow would suddenly become a rainforest. The road followed a river that I occasionally caught a glimpse of. It was called the Russian River and its water level was very low, due to drought.

While on our excursion, I was inspired by one incredible moment that happened when we pulled off shortly before hitting the coastline.

We had followed the Russian River through a redwood forest and were at an estuary where it met the ocean. The view was quite breathtaking; this was definitely a place to stop. Liz parked and I got out to use the bathroom. As I walked back to the car, instead of marveling at the incredible ocean vista in front of me, I turned around toward the hills and said to Liz, “Wow, those are interesting rock formations over there on the other side of the highway.”

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Liz smiled. Suddenly, I received a fantastic geology lesson. As I listened to her, I grinned because if I hadn’t noticed those rocks, I might have missed out on this.

Well, it turned out those rocks were more than special.

I had just noticed rocks that were found nowhere else in the world!

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In this town of Jenner where we had parked, those outcroppings represented the Earth’s mantle. For rock to be thrust up to the Earth’s surface from so deep near the core – it was truly an incredible force of nature.

And this was the spot where geologists came from all over the world to see.

Right near our car, there was an interesting boulder. I pointed it out to Liz. For over five minutes she examined it and described all the minerals to me in that rock.

I took her picture, which she gave me permission to share.

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Prior to our excursion, I appreciated this fortune I received in a cookie during the luncheon I attended with Liz and her mother.

I continue to utilize hypnotherapy to harness my mind and help myself. As I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, I realize how adept I am at pushing down painful memories.

Recently, I had a pivotal hypnotherapy session where something really clicked for me. I came home with a new word and a new approach for my challenges. That word was ACKNOWLEDGE.

I carry a lot of old habits and coping mechanisms – grief has unfortunately been a familiar part of my life. I have no doubt that my dry eye syndrome has worsened because of suppressed grief. I’ve felt pressured to uphold an image of a “poster child for grief.”

Also, I dislike feeling as if I’m a “complainer” because of my eye problems. I don’t want pity from anyone and certainly avoid self-pity as much as possible.

Unfortunately, thinking that way has blocked my ability to acknowledge a lot of painful parts of my life.

Like a victim of amnesia, my former life is remote because I’ve forced myself to separate from any pain I start experiencing. Therefore, when I’ve thought about my parents, it’s as if they’re strangers even though their deaths were fairly recent. My mother died in my arms only a few months ago – but my heart has been numb and blocked.

As I acknowledge the truth about how much I miss them, my grief is surfacing like a tidal wave. Crying over losing them is understandable because they inhabited such a large portion of my life.

I found it very disturbing to realize that what I couldn’t acknowledge during the day surfaced while I was sleeping.

In many dreams my mother appeared to me. We were holding hands and laughing, and then suddenly she died. Each time it happened in a different way.

One of my worst dreams was when I saw her fall through some ice we were walking on. I tried to grab her as she reached for my hand in the icy dark water. I silently screamed as she descended; then I saw Jason looking up at me from the dark depths below her.

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For certain, losing my parents has not been comparable to the loss of my young son.

I shoveled dirt onto my mother’s coffin during her funeral, I was calm and marveled how accepting I was of her death at that moment.

When my son died, I wanted to jump into the very hole where I was shoveling the dirt. I wished I were dead and inside the coffin with him.

It has been hard to remember my parents this happy because they suffered so much at the end of their lives.

Writing lyrics is something that happens for me when I’m not trying so hard. As I listened to the haunting chords in a completely weird guitar key of Eb minor – I wanted to envision going somewhere peaceful in nature. That still might happen for the second verse, which is not done yet. I wrote the first verse a month ago and couldn’t decide where to go with it.

I did know that I wanted to be taken away. I wasn’t sure by whom or where, either. A few days ago, I wrote new chords that I hoped would inspire me to finally write a chorus.

But it was really tough when some words spilled out of me as I searched to find those lyrics.

It was the line of, “I’m crying while I’m dreaming” that hit me hard. It was natural and understandable.

My recent dreams were the basis for my song. I wrote a few more lines and decided my song was being born. It was so healing and amazing for me.

Perhaps, God was taking me away from my pain after all.

Tagged dry eyes, escape through music, eye discomfort, eye issues, eye problems, eyesight adjustment, eyesight issues, facing divorce after a long marriage, feeling numb, Friendship, friendship rifts, gray divorce, grief, GRIEF RELATED, guitar, having hope, healing music, hiding feelings, impending divorce, inspiration, Judy Unger, loss, loss of a mom, loss of a mother, loss of parents, love for a mother, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother dying, mother's death, mother's illness, Mother's love, Music, music as therapy, music therapy, musical inspiration, Northern California, not feeling, optimism, Ordinary Life, original songs, releasing pain, self improvement, separation, singing, songwriting, staying hopeful, stressors, suppressing emotion, suppressing feelings, suppressing tears, writing | 12 Comments

YOU COMFORT ME

Posted on March 9, 2014 by Judy

In this picture, I’m in the back and my parents are on the right. Sophia (Liz’s mom) is in the middle and Evelyn (Susan’s mom) is on the left. My parents are gone now. Stan is alive (Sophia’s partner) but they are separated by distance.

A few weeks ago, I traveled to Northern California in order to attend a memorial for my good friend, Susan Rasky. I have already written a lot about Susan and will miss her terribly. Although the memorial was the reason for my trip, it was also an opportunity for me to see two of my mother’s very close friends, Sophia and Evelyn. And since my mother died only a few months ago, I was her “representative.”

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I have a lot of pictures to share here, old ones and new ones. I love how pictures can tell a story just like words can, and that’s probably because I’ve been an illustrator for decades.

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My post title is a line of lyrics from my song “My Shining Star.” It relates to my story because seeing them comforted me, and at the same time I was able to bestow comfort.

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Three dear friends: my mother, Shirley with Evelyn and Sophia

Sophia and Evelyn were 92 and 96 respectively. I shared a common bond with these two older women. It was something that only those who have experienced the loss of a child are well aware of – all three of us were bereaved mothers.

Sophia’s daughter, Liz, picked me up from the airport and together we attended the memorial. After it was over, we headed over to where she lived in Sebastopol. The drive was over an hour and I took in the beautiful scenery while she drove. I tried to forget about the pain in my eyes.

I enjoyed filtering and playing around with my photos. I definitely can use this photo as reference for a future agricultural illustration. In the past, I have done many like this one.

I felt comfortable with Liz. Her devotion to her mother’s care was familiar and she was very open about her life. Liz loved cooking. She was an artist creating unique recipes in her kitchen and eating at her home was a gourmet treat. While she made dinner that first night, I played my guitar in her kitchen as she did her thing. Her husband was also friendly and easy to talk to.

Their son and daughter were in college, so I had a choice of two rooms to choose from to spend my nights. I chose their son’s room because it had a firmer bed. The view from my window was beautiful. I especially loved the solitude and spaciousness that I didn’t have back home in my cramped apartment. As I collapsed onto the bed and drifted off to sleep, once again I was so glad I had made this trip.

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At the memorial I felt so awful for Susan’s 96-year-old mother, Evelyn. She was in a stupor and I didn’t say much. On the third and last day of my trip, I would be spending more time with her and her son.

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These three couples (my parents on the right) shared many wonderful memories together and I have boxes of pictures from their trips and holiday gatherings.

These three couples (my parents on the right) shared many wonderful memories together. I have boxes of pictures from their trips and holiday gatherings.

The day after the memorial, I was going to a senior luncheon where I would spend time with Liz and her mother, Sophia. Before our visit, Liz tried to prepare me. It was very important not to upset her mother.

It turned out that Sophia had challenging behaviors that dementia had made much worse. Liz told me she had hoped her mother would mellow out with age, but it hadn’t happened. Growing up, she hated to be told she was like her mother. It was embarrassing for her.

Early on, I told her she didn’t resemble her mother – I realized that was a good thing now.

The day before, I had also shared with Liz that my father had great difficulty being around Sophia because she was an incessant talker. Growing up, I saw Sophia more as a dynamic and fun-loving woman.

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Liz said, “My mother has a short fuse. Be careful not to mention her age – she gets angry to hear anything related to that.” Then she added, “She probably won’t remember you because I mentioned that you were coming and your name didn’t ring a bell for her.

I listened carefully and reassured Liz – the last thing I wanted to do would be to add to her stress.

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Liz took me to this wonderful bakery right down the street from her house.

Sophia lived in a board and care facility not far away from Liz. Liz shared with me how difficult it had been to bring her mother to live there. She practically had to kidnap her from horrific living conditions where her mother was living in Los Angeles. Sophia was furious, but Liz had definitely saved her mother’s life. The level of trash where her mother lived was unbelievable. Liz said that simply picking up sheets and pillowcases caused them to disintegrate into clouds of dust.

It was clear that Liz carried tremendous stress due to her mother’s difficult behaviors and frequent angry outbursts.

Our outing was to attend a luncheon at a nearby senior event. Liz meticulously planned every detail and oversaw the transport. Her mother would go in a van while sitting in her wheelchair; Liz and I would follow in her car. Seeing her mother onto the van was important because it would alleviate her mother’s confusion about where she was going.

I followed Liz into a large, brightly lit home. It was definitely a cheerful facility, without the odor I usually associated with my parents’ former nursing home.

Sophia had her back to me and was sitting near a window. As I came closer, she was very recognizable to me. She had the same face I remembered only with white hair.

She squinted and studied my face as I gently sat down next to her. Then she said, “Do I know you?”

I told her; I was Shirley’s daughter.

For a moment she looked puzzled, but then she broke into a huge smile. Her eyes sparkled with recognition.

She announced enthusiastically, “You’re Shirley’s daughter, but you look just like your mother! Wow! I loved your mother so much and seeing you is like seeing her again!”

I grinned. Sophia was obviously delighted to see me. I could feel my mother hugging me at that moment.

The transport arrived and it was time to leave for our luncheon. As Liz pushed her mother’s wheelchair, Sophia continued to chatter about my mother. “Your mother was all about love – she was the most loving person,” Sophia said. “And you are just like her!”

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Liz and Sophia

At the luncheon, Sophia introduced me and continued to talk about how much she loved my mother. Her words caressed me over and over. For two hours we sat together and Liz was clearly delighted that her mother was having a good day. I understood about dementia; there were good days and difficult ones.

For certain, this lovely lunch with Sophia and Liz warmed my heart.

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My mother might have died, but for a short while she came back to life again in my memories and heart.

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The luncheon was held at a Synagogue and carried an Asian theme. I did like the fortune in my cookie, for sure.

My audience is waiting for me to release a CD of music. It will happen someday when I’m ready!

But what was really impressive was the entertainment.

An elderly woman performed several pieces on a Chinese harp. Her name was Mary Parker. How did this woman become an expert at this unique instrument? Mary’s story touched me instantly. It turned out that she was living in China and was a professional cellist. But one day she fell and damaged her hand. Doctors tried to fix her injury, but her career as a cellist was over. Mary searched for another instrument to play and discovered she could somehow play the Chinese Harp, also called a “Gu-Zheng.” She fell in love with it and began a new career.

This was truly an inspirational story about how this woman turned a disaster into a beautiful new direction for her life. Mary studied with masters for many years, and eventually earned several prestigious awards throughout China and became a master teacher herself.

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The music from this lovely instrument transported me somewhere else.

On the last day of my trip, Liz and I went with Sophia to a nice restaurant where Susan’s brother would be meeting us and bringing his mother Evelyn.

Susan’s brother, Louis, (I didn’t take his picture) had visited Liz and Sophia before. It had been probably a year since they had visited last. As they came into the restaurant, I was absolutely amazed that Evelyn was still walking with little assistance at the age of 96!

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This picture was taken probably 40 years ago.

Evelyn is 96 and Sophia is 92. They have been friends for so many years that I cannot count them!

I didn’t hesitate to talk about Susan during our luncheon. Evelyn shared many memories about her daughter, and I loved hearing about Susan’s passion for journalism.

I was curious if Susan had ever been in a relationship and decided to ask her mother about it. Evelyn said plainly, “Susan was married to her career.”

Little was spoken about Susan’s death during our time together. The grief that was apparent was when Evelyn talked about Susan’s poodle, Lucy. It was very sad to hear.

Liz had hoped that Louis would bring Lucy; we would have eaten outside. But Louis explained that Lucy was not cooperative and he was already dealing with his elderly mother for this outing. He said, “Susan is gone and I can’t do the things she would have expected. Lucy will have to get used to it!”

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This lunch was all about friendship.

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Seeing Evelyn and Sophia reconnect without speaking much was very touching. Despite dementia, their affection and love was something to behold.

I missed my mother so much, but in a way I felt like I was standing in for her. Inside, I knew it was unlikely that I would see these two women again.

When Evelyn and Sophia said goodbye to each other, I felt a tear roll down my cheek. Both of them had experienced the loss of a child. Despite their circumstances, love shined brightly as they comforted each other.

I was thankful that these women had special children who made the effort to bring them together. Hopefully, they will see each other again.

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Tagged acceptance of loss, Aging Parents, burden of caregiving, Caregiving, caregiving responsibilities, childhood friendship, coping with grief, death of a close friend, death of a friend, dementia, friend's support, Friendship, friendship and loss, grief, GRIEF RELATED, inspiration, loss, loss of a good friend, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Ordinary Life, siblings and caregiving, Susan Rasky | Leave a comment

SUSAN’S MEMORIAL – PART 2

Posted on March 3, 2014 by Judy

This link is to an obituary for Susan:

http://www.dailycal.org/2014/01/12/remembering-susan-rasky/

My trip to attend my good friend Susan’s memorial was three days. Even though my eyes bothered me a lot, I felt very inspired that I made this trip.

On my return flight to Los Angeles, I sat next to a woman whom I had conversed with earlier while waiting to board the airplane. The plane ride was only an hour and ten minutes, but the two of us shared a lot in that time. This woman was a nurse who travelled frequently. She showed me her paintings and we talked about music. I told her why I was on my trip and about my amazing journey.

Shortly before the plane landed, I asked her if she wanted to hear one of my songs on my iPod – it was the one I played for Susan’s memorial.

I closed my eyes and imagined I could hear my song while it played for her. When it was over, she reached over and squeezed my hand. Her eyes were moist as she said, “That was beautiful!”

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This picture is the backyard of Liz’s house where I stayed for two nights. It was such a beautiful town – Sebastopol.

Up until a short time before my performance, I still wasn’t sure which song I would play. I had a few ideas and all of them required some minor lyric adjustments in order to work for Susan’s memorial service.

I had a time slot of five minutes. That meant I would play one song. I decided not to prepare a speech – I’d just say a few words and then allow my feelings to be expressed by singing.

So many times Susan had watched me perform on a live Webcast. Monday night was the night I would send her a text message letting her know my time slot so she could see my live performance of one song at Kulak’s Woodshed’s Open Mic night. It was fantastic that I could sing in Los Angeles and she would watch me where she lived in Northern California 400 miles away!

I remembered how much I looked forward to her messages after my performances. At the end of this post, I share a few from her.

As I prepared myself to sing at the memorial, I hoped Susan could hear me.

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This very old photo is probably one where I last saw Liz at a family event.

It was heavy carrying my guitar through the airport. As I waited for Liz to pick me up, I was glad she had sent me a recent photo because I had no recollection of what she looked like. She was right on schedule, waiting for my phone call in a nearby lot. I told her she would be able to find me if she looked for a lady holding a huge guitar case.

Liz was lovely and warm and I felt comfortable right away as I got into her car. I noticed we had something in common; we both disliked using a GPS for navigation. Liz handed me a stack of papers she printed out with a map of the campus where we were heading. Our challenge was to find parking close to the building where the memorial was being held.

Once we were parked and were situated we had several hours to hang out together. The weather was beautiful as we walked around the UC Berkeley campus. I imagined how much Susan must have loved being a faculty member there.

Lunch was perfect at an outdoor café a few blocks away. My eyes were sensitive to the bright sunlight, but the pain was not intense and I was grateful for that.

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It was nice getting to know Liz. Together we shared memories about our mothers. One thing that I remembered well was when Liz’s brother died about ten years ago.

It was a horrible thing that I only understood too well. Her mother and I shared many things related to grief and I mentioned it to Liz. She was surprised that I was aware of the details. Her brother had died of a drug overdose and it bothered her terribly that her mother often lied about it.

It hadn’t been easy for Liz. Her brother had many problems throughout his life, so she was relegated to the back burner. She left home and moved far away as soon as she was able to. And ironically, she took it upon herself to bring her mother, Sophia to where she lived in order to care for her. Sophia was reluctant and angry, but Liz was actually saving her life.

Sophia lived in squalor and with the onset of dementia she could not be reasoned with. After being moved to Liz’s area, Sophia was permanently separated from her partner, Stan, a man whom she did not live with. They had been together for decades and had never married. It would have been different if they had, because now both of them lived far apart and were immobile. Occasionally there were phone calls, but it was very sad situation indeed.

Despite her anguish and bitter feelings toward her mother, Liz was a devoted caregiver. She placed her mother in a nearby board and care home; and clearly her life deeply revolved around her mother.

I would be seeing Sophia the following day. Liz prepared me for many things; mostly, her mother had a short fuse and could easily become angry. I was impressed at how much Liz worried about her and dealt with the dementia so matter-of-factly.

It wasn’t too long ago when that was my life. I made a mental note to appreciate the fact that I had exited my former existence, which revolved around unending stressful phone calls from my parents and their nursing facility.

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A picture of the campus where we walked around.

It was time to get my guitar from her car and go back to the journalism building where the memorial would be held.

But first, I wanted to warm my voice up in Liz’s car. I had a CD with karaoke recordings of several songs. Now was the time to decide on the exact one I would play for Susan.

I said to Liz, “Okay, I’m going to sing a few songs. Please tell me which one you think is the most touching.

Liz popped my CD into her car’s CD player. The arrangement filled the car with sweet notes and I sang very softly, just enough to warm up without pushing it.

I closed my eyes.

Whenever I sang, I felt so elevated; it was such a beautiful feeling. I was finished and looked over.

Liz was crying.

She said, “I wasn’t prepared – my walls weren’t up. Your song just hit me so hard. I thought about my mother when you were singing; I imagined how it would be when she was gone.”

I decided that I would perform that particular song, which had moved Liz so much. It was called “Never Gone Away.

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This photo has a lot of meaning for me. My mother and her good friend, Sophia (Liz’s mom) are in the same apartment where I live now. I see my wedding picture on the wall behind my mother.

At the memorial, I was the second person scheduled to speak and sing. I felt relaxed and buoyed to be in a room with people who all felt what I was feeling. Susan was such a powerful woman – a tornado. She was honest; she was out-spoken – she was so many things to so many people. Susan had helped many of her students become important journalists. They were there.

Lydia, the organizer of the event began with these words:

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“I want to welcome everyone – it’s such a great turnout, but I’m not at all surprised. We all just have wonderful, wonderful memories of Susan, her incredible intelligence – her no bullshit intelligence, her honesty and really just her kindness, too. She was very special.”

I thought the description of “no bullshit intelligence” was a perfect one for Susan. But now It was my turn.

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I introduced myself and expressed how grateful I was that Susan had been my friend during what was one of the most challenging periods of my life.

The room was quiet as I began playing my guitar. I concentrated on singing the words clearly; it was difficult to detach but I needed to somewhat. If I became emotional (something that I often do while singing), I wouldn’t have been able to sing at all.

A lot of people heard me play my song for Susan. But the fact that Liz cried and was touched by my song was something I would always remember.

Whenever a person is moved by my music, I am ecstatic.

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NEVER GONE AWAY–Dedicated to Susan Rasky

Performance by Judy Unger

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Link to more about my song:

Story behind NEVER GONE AWAY

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The exquisite view outside my bedroom window while staying with Liz in Sebastopol.

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NEVER GONE AWAY

(Lyrics revised to past tense to honor of Susan Rasky)

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I know that you had to leave me

How can I ever say goodbye?

There’s so much you’ve left me

I’ve tried hard not to cry

And though you’re gone you’re still with me

In all the songs I long to play

Every time I see a smile

You have never gone away

It always seems to me, that whenever I was down

Your hand was the one holding mine

But your fingers I let go of; how I longed to hold on

You’ve touched so many others, though you’re gone

Sometimes I will stop and wonder

You know what I am feeling

I hear your laughter in my mind

I remember all our special moments

They run by with a tear

You’re gone, but in my heart you’re still here

I know that you had to leave me

How can I ever say goodbye?

There’s so much you’ve left me

I’ve tried hard not to cry

And though you’re gone you’re still with me

In all the songs I long to play

Every time I see a smile

You have never gone away

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I share a few old messages below from Susan after seeing me perform online at Kulak’s Woodshed’s open mic night:

June 7, 2010

Hi Judy,

I could tell nerves got you a bit at the beginning, but you shook them and were much stronger. Your voice just keeps getting better and better!

August 16, 2010

Kudos for doing a song that you are still actually learning. Now I want louder, a bit more guitar without voice for a piece of it. Also want: 1) Eye shadow and mascara 2) just a bit of rouge. You look wonderful, but wan (webcast not exactly perfect lighting, etc.) Skinny jeans very impressive! Your legs looked super long and skin looked lovely.

November 3, 2010

I think it’s great about your weekend performances. Pretty soon you’re gonna have roadies!

Love, Susan

January 16, 2011

Judy, the arranging and the voice lessons have definitely made you a much better singer and musician. The song you sent on the latest video is my favorite of all so far. It was a really beautiful melody and wonderful performance. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard “a smile” in your voice as you sang. It’s great!

Love, Susan

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