myjourneysinsight

YOU WERE THERE – PART 5

Posted on February 17, 2014 by Judy

You Were There Acoustic 9-10-18

You Were There Guitar & Piano 9-9-18

Link to other stories and recordings: YOU WERE THERE–

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You Were There lyrics

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“The bereaved daughter’s club”

Last week, I forced myself to have lunch with a good friend. Our lunch was an opportunity to celebrate our birthdays, which was something we had already delayed by several months.

There was a lot of irony about seeing my friend, Janis. We each had lost our mother shortly before our birthday.

The day after my mother’s funeral in October, Janis called me to say her mother was very ill and had gone into the hospital.

Janis was a friend whom I felt very devoted to. We met over twenty years ago when my son, Jason was a playmate to her son in preschool. Janis was really there for me when Jason died and we have stayed friends ever since.

When Janis’s mother died six weeks after my mother, Janis called me and said she wanted to ask me a favor.

Her request was that I sing my song “You Were There” at her mother’s funeral service. I hung up the phone and felt overwhelmed. I couldn’t imagine a greater honor.

It was another coincidence that Janis’s mother was to be buried at the same cemetery. The funeral director took a double take when he saw me again so soon. The same Rabbi delivered her mother’s eulogy and did a beautiful job.

So only six weeks after burying my own mother, I was singing my song in the exact same funeral hall. I performed my song with great emotion. As I sang, I pictured my mother and the beautiful memories I had of her throughout my life.

Mom w. hat & me closer

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Janis and I hugged and sat down together to eat lunch at a lovely restaurant. I wore my sunglasses because my eyes hurt and were sensitive to light. But truly I was hiding behind those shades because I felt like crying.

As we both glanced at the menu, Janis shared with me that her mother’s death had deeply affected her. Most of the day she watched TV and did the bare minimum to get by. Over and over, we both rattled off all the ways we were grieving and trying to carry on with our lives despite the heaviness.

It was awful for us both to acknowledge that we weren’t feeling well emotionally. But for me, the truth was that I was elated to be with someone who understood my feelings.

Before saying goodbye, I invited Janis to my car so I could play my newest song arrangement for her. She was eager to hear it.

My car filled with the sweet notes of the arrangement. My voice quivered and I could barely sing my song. For many parts, I simply mouthed the words silently as tears flowed down my cheeks.

When the music ended, I opened my eyes and could see that Janis also was crying.

She said softly, “The line that always gets me the most is about being loved your whole life. What a gift that was.”

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Although I try

I hugged her goodbye.

As I drove home listening to my song I could feel my mother hugging me, too.

Mom in the hospital I'll still see your love

© 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.

Tagged "sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, dementia, grief, GRIEF RELATED, guitar, hard to say goodbye, I picked you up, inspiration, Judy Unger, loss, loss of a mom, loss of a mother, love for a mother, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother dying, mother's death, mother's illness, Mother's love, Music, original songs, singing, songwriting, tribute to my mother, tribute to parents, you picked me up when I fell down, You Were There | Leave a comment

REMEMBERING SUSAN – PART 3

Posted on February 14, 2014 by Judy

This is a picture of Susan Rasky. Susan was a professor of journalism at UC Berkeley.

In this picture, I’m playing my guitar for my mother in the garden of her nursing home.–

With the death of my dear friend, Susan Rasky, I dedicate this post to her. She was right there with me when I began my blog and her messages tell my story. My words are in bold.

After my mother was released from the hospital and into a nursing home at the beginning of 2010, Susan wrote this to me:

What’s important now is your life at home. Time for your dad, to the extent he can, and your brothers to tend to things on that front, while you concentrate on your husband and children. Write when you need to vent or want support.

There is something else I have wanted to tell you. There is a common pattern among journalists who cover very intense stories – fires, quakes, wars, plane crashes, and even big investigations. You go hard and fast for a period of time, living on adrenaline, and loving it even when you are exhausted because you feel like you are doing something so important (I tell my students it’s even better than sex). Then the crisis abates. And almost without realizing it, you get depressed. Some people actually crash. I hope you won’t face this, or if you do, that you will be kind to yourself and take the time to re-center. Please, please don’t let your parents or other family members take advantage of you.

I don’t want this to sound like a lecture, but I repeat, you must rest and replenish yourself. Tennis today was a start. I think the email support network is wonderful therapy because it forces you to reflect, don’t let it become a burden either! I wish you peace of mind and some quality time with your own family for a while.

Love, Susan

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I began to miss writing to my friends and family once my mom was in stable condition. I shared with Susan my thoughts about continuing to write.

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It’s been really nice to rekindle the family connection with you, Judy. I feel almost like you are a younger sister, and that is really quite wonderful.

I think it would be a beautiful for you to put a journal together. I know this whole episode with your mom opened up a well of grief over the son you lost. Jason must have been a magical child, and I remember my parents telling me about his illnesses and his funeral.

My father apparently sobbed throughout the service; my mom said she had never seen him so consumed with grief. I can’t begin to imagine the pain you have lived with, nor how you found the strength to go on, but surely that strength is what guided you through this recent ordeal.

But no more sadness! Time to enjoy your beautiful family, and to pick up the art and music that give you such pleasure. Keep emailing.

Love, Susan

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I began my blog and named it “I’m Taking Off.” My first story was about an upcoming meeting I had with a music producer who would hear some of my original songs. But I was out of practice because I hadn’t played my guitar much for 30 years!

Judy, I think it’s so cool. Don’t you dare be intimidated by him. What have you got to lose? You’ll be great!

Blog is fantastic. Give yourself a window to write, Judy. I’ve saved all the emails that I think would work as book material, so if you are missing any, you’ll have an archive. Take it easy.

Love, Susan

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A few months later, Susan wrote:

I continue to be amazed at how prolific you are. Writing must be the only “private” thing you get to do, which is part of the reason you love it so much. I’m glad you are pushing your dad to take a little more responsibility. Take deep breaths, little sister. Take time to just be, even if it’s only a few minutes.

Jude, I want to hear about you and your family. I love the deeper stuff, so keep me in loop as far as the blog, or draft essays for the blog.

Love, Susan

I wrote a message to Susan about something that had happened not long after I started my blog:

Oh Sue, I’m so upset right now. My husband and kids were making fun of the blog and I actually cursed at them to stop. I can’t believe I did that! I guess my filters were down and it was quite shocking. However, I guess I reached a point where I couldn’t take it anymore.

Love, Judy

Judy, they’ll get over it. Right now the blog is an extension of you, so it makes sense that their teasing hurts. Of course you are feeling and emoting, as you say. NOT TO MENTION THAT YOU’VE BEEN LIVING WITH ALL THIS PAIN. DUH.

Come clean with them. Tell them they are difficult and that you need the blog to vent and to regain your equilibrium.

Promise them that the eventual book will be respectful of them and their feelings. Maybe involve them in reviewing it. They do have a fair complaint, and you have to deal with it. Doesn’t mean you stop writing, but take some deep breaths. You’ll make it.

Love, Susan

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I eventually picked the name “My Journey’s Insight.” I used to change the header illustration almost daily, but eventually decided to stick with one of my favorite butterfly illustrations.

Susan continued to support my writing:

As far as finding a new blog title, it will come to you, probably when you are not trying so hard to find it. My best stuff is usually from the shower.

Eventually, you will find distance from your initial writings so that you can structure, edit and rewrite for a book. It will happen. You’ve been operating at warp speed for so long (and out of such necessity) that until now you haven’t been able to just sit back and reflect. Don’t be afraid to slow down.

There is no pressure to write the Great American Novel or anything else. As I’ve always told you, those routes take a lot of the pure joy out of writing and might not give you the wonderful feedback and clarity you are getting from the blog. Not to mention the comfort and advice your blog entries give to others. With all of your trials and burdens, you deserve some time just to be happy.

Love, Susan

I loved writing and had a talent for it at a very young age; I used to write to my future version that I named “Judy of the Future.” I stopped keeping a diary in 1983 and when I began writing again in 2009 – my life turned around. I opened up to share many details of my personal life.

I loved writing and had a talent for it at a very young age; I used to write to my future version of myself whom I named “Judy of the Future.” I stopped keeping a diary in 1983 and when I began writing again in 2009 – my life turned around. I opened up to share many details of my personal life.

Susan was blunt and honest with me. I knew she always had my best interests in mind, even when I didn’t follow her advice.

Jude, content is great and important, but I also want you to consider style. Think about how you might want to shape and edit the blog. You can convey a lot of personal anguish without ever revealing details of your personal life. I already see you doing some of that on the blog, and that’s a great leap.

Judy your “ordinary life” posts are where your writing talent shines, where your sense of humor and ability to laugh a little at yourself comes through.

I swear I could make a book of those posts interspersed with your family anecdotes. If I were a book editor, I would tell you that your parents and the permanent ache of losing Jason are the shadows, but not the substance of the book you should write. To me, the book is a comic romp of your real life!

You also need to separate your blog from your art illustration business, in my humble opinion. Do you really want your clients to know the private details of your life? Sorry. I sound like such a wet blanket but if you want to make money with your other wonderful creative talents, I’d argue you need to have some distance between that material and your raw emotion. I always sound like such a crank. I’m sorry. Feel free to ignore my unsolicited advice!

Love, Susan

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Later on, I created a second blog named “Illustrating My Life.” Susan had given me a great idea. That blog received a lot of traffic and views. It was also very therapeutic for me to create.

Judy! I love the art blog! Haven’t made my way through all of it yet, but tone is right. I can tell. I think this is because you have a detached (yet involved) feeling about your art career. It’s the perfect perspective. And I love the title.

I think about you all the time, and I am in awe of your illustrating talent. If life would calm down enough for you, it would be wonderful to imagine you teaching young people (private art lessons, community college or design school) to draw. I wonder if you realize how good you are.

Love, Susan

I used to teach private art lessons and was a part-time college art instructor. I am still in touch with some of my students.

Susan, continued to express her concern for me:

Jude, pay attention to those mood swings. Some of it may be menopausal, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t real or potentially in need of special attention. I worry constantly about you running in a thousand different directions at once (just from your creative endeavors!) let alone the overwhelming responsibilities you give yourself with the parents. That seems to me to be just the inside out of turning off all your feelings and retreating from life.

I’ve been so worried about the manic energy, Judy. You’ve taken such huge steps this year; I want you to savor the good stuff without having to feel cheated when life settles to just some of the old routine. Am I making any sense?

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I found this picture on Google Images. It was probably a more recent picture, since I hadn’t seen Susan without her hair colored before.

I never shared with Susan how lonely I was in my marriage. But she sensed it.

I keep thinking that some of finding the balance means finding common ground with your husband again. And I know that’s really hard after all the two of you have been through. Just know that I am thinking about you and trying to talk to you like an older sister. Doesn’t mean I’m correct in any of my amateur analysis, by the way, but it does come from genuine care and affection and belief in your many talents.

Love, Susan

Eight months after I began my blog, my old high school boyfriend, Sam saw a story on my blog named “The Very First Song I Ever Wrote.” On my blog, I call him Dr. Sam and the song I wrote for him was named “You’re Not the One.” Sam and I began corresponding and Susan was very concerned about it.

Judy, I’ve been wondering where you were. Are you emailing less or just less to me? Either way it’s ok, as long as you are all right. School starts this week, so I’m busy with last minute doctor appointments and syllabi.

It caught my eye this morning when you mentioned that your tennis friends told you to stop emailing with Sam. They felt he was wooing you and it wasn’t good for your marriage.

I agree with your tennis buddies. Please, please cool it with this fellow. I’ve been thinking you are probably ripe for an extra marital fling. This Sam would be so wrong to have a fling with. He would hurt you, and you would hurt your husband and your kids for nothing. Sorry to sound so melodramatic, but a whole lot comes through in the email exchanges.

Sam came with his wife to meet my husband and I at our house around that time. I reassured Susan that my messages with Sam were completely open and chaste; I really appreciated Sam’s caring and his friendship. Sam was a religious man, an Orthodox Jew. I told Susan there was little for her to worry about. But Susan didn’t trust him.

I beg you, don’t get sucked into this! The idea that orthodox men don’t cheat on their wives is nuts, and, as Jimmy Carter once said; lusting in your heart is the real issue anyway. What all this should be telling you is that you need some romance and spice in your life. How about figuring out how to make that happen at home?

Judy, your LIFE is a country music song waiting to happen! The lyrics could write themselves. Think of one good line and let your friends riff the rest. The music will come to you. I think it would be great if you wrote one just for your hubby.

Much love, your Big Sister (I mean it, this is big sister advice!), Susan

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Sam became part of my circle of friends whom I continued to email with updates about my life. There were hilarious pun exchanges and my friends often gave me advice for song lyrics. Gradually, Susan accepted Dr. Sam more and more – responding to his statements in agreement many times. At one point, Susan’s mother was hospitalized with a medical issue. Dr. Sam even offered some medical advice to her, which Susan was appreciative of.

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During and after my mother’s decline, I continued sharing a lot of emails with my friends. My recipient list gradually thinned out as several friends requested I stop sending them so many messages. Susan’s words once again helped ease my anguish because I felt badly that I had put my friends in that position.

Judy, I confess I’ve thought about telling you to send fewer messages, but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I just delete the ones that don’t interest me.

Because I’m always looking at everything like a reporter, I keep trying to figure out what’s going on in your mind when you get into one of your spurts. I have several theories, which I’m happy to yak about (what do I know?) when we talk.

My number one theory, with detail to come when we speak, is that you’ve been isolated physically, emotionally and maybe most of all, intellectually, for so long.

You are just bursting with all this pent up creative energy, and are trying to reconnect with your previous life when that energy brought you joy!

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Tagged acceptance of loss, Aging Parents, Beginning a blog, blogger, blogging, burden of caregiving, Caregiving, caregiving responsibilities, childhood friendship, coping with grief, death, death of a close friend, death of a friend, dementia, Dr. Sam, friend's support, Friendship, friendship and loss, grief, GRIEF RELATED, I'm Taking Off, inspiration, loss, loss of a good friend, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, old boyfriend, releasing pain through writing, siblings and caregiving, Susan Rasky, therapeutic writing, writing | 6 Comments

REMEMBERING SUSAN – PART 2

Posted on February 13, 2014 by Judy

This picture is from Google Images. I don’t have any pictures of Susan and I together. How I wish I had some now!

Susan’s messages tell my story in a beautiful way and I will never forget her wisdom and love.

My story with Susan began in the beginning of 2008 when she encouraged me to speak to my brothers and let them know I was overwhelmed by my parents’ care. I sent her this message:

Hi Susan,

Hope you are well. Ever since seeing you, my situation with my brothers has been gnawing at my insides. I decided to start seeing a therapist to help me deal with my frustration over my brothers. The disappointment is overwhelming sometimes, yet I’m still so afraid to ask for anything from them. Asking for something monetary makes me feel badly, and I feel would upset my parents, as well.

I remember you said you could “talk” to them. Would you feel comfortable writing something for me? I would be forever grateful. Thank you again for your supportive gesture and compassion that day I saw you.

Judy

Dear Judy,

It was great to see you and your parents, and I’m so glad your mom is doing better. I must say it was a bit of a shock to see how much they had aged. I guess I will always think of them, as they were when your brothers and I were little kids – before you were even born! At any rate, my mom had a wonderful time spending the day with them, and she couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful you were with their care.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t stop wondering how you do it without going stark raving crazy yourself. Standing there in your kitchen and taking it all in, I was horrified to learn that your brothers don’t share any of this responsibility with you

I just can’t believe it. I know every family has complicated issues around caring for the parents in their old age, and I also know that it’s a little easier when you are single and don’t have spouses and your own children to deal with at the same time. But surely you and your brothers could have some kind of an arrangement where they helped out with some of the planning or the decision-making or just spending time with your folks to spell you for a while. You can’t go on doing all this yourself. You will get ill, and then you won’t be able to care for anybody.

What do your brothers think would be happening to your folks if you hadn’t stepped in to keep them at your house?

It’s always easy for an outsider to have an opinion about how to fix things, so forgive me for mixing in on what I’m sure is a painful subject all around. But it just broke my heart to see what pressure you were under, and I hope they will step up and do the right thing.

Love, Susan

Hi Susan,

I didn’t send your amazing letter and decided to set up a therapy session with my brothers. The anticipation for this meeting was tough; I am very relieved that it’s over! Was it successful – did I achieve anything? Those questions are hard to answer. Both my brothers are business professionals, and I fault my parents for raising them with that being their highest priority.

Their response to my being overwhelmed was for us all to ask my parents to leave. I explained that I didn’t see them surviving very long in another temporary situation; but at least it was open for discussion.

I hugged them both after, and that was worth it. Although I’m disappointed that they couldn’t help me more, I’m not surprised. If I weren’t around, they wouldn’t do anything differently. I am proud of what I am doing by making a difference to my parents’ lives. I accept my brothers’ limitations.

You helped lighten my load by encouraging me to seek their help. Hopefully, if things get tougher, they will be more emotionally supportive (if nothing else) since I’ve started a dialogue with them. Thanks again for everything. I appreciate you so much.

Love, Judy

Eventually my parents went into assisted living. A year later at the end of 2009, my mother fell and broke her shoulder. While in the hospital recovering from surgery, she contracted pneumonia and was put on a respirator. Her ordeal lasted six weeks. I wrote a lot of emails to my friends and family to gain support.

Judy, my prayers are with you and your family. I’m thinking only positive thoughts. Love, Susan

When I didn’t send an update for a few days, Susan wrote:

You see how dependent I’ve become on your twice-daily news feed? Hope quiet means your mom is doing uneventfully well. She is in our prayers. You have created an amazing support group, and I’ve learned a ton just hearing the stories from your friends in the forwarded emails.

Hope tonight is another peaceful one for you and your mom. All the best from the Rasky clan, especially from my mom to your parents. Love, Susan

After my mom was weaned off the respirator, Susan wrote:

You are totally amazing, and I’m glad that emailing is an outlet for you. I realize you don’t have time or means for vacations, but if you and your husband ever want a weekend getaway up here, I have a den with private bathroom that makes very nice guest room and you would be most welcome. Keep me posted. I’m counting the days with you. Love, Susan

Susan shared how much she learned from my experiences with these messages:

All of this makes me so scared about my own mom, especially since she doesn’t live close by. You are the canary in the coalmine, Judy. I’m learning from you every day. Take care of yourself, and keep sending email. Love, Susan

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I always felt her indignation at the horrors I experienced with my mother’s hospitalization.

I know it must be hard not to doubt yourself in this, but I swear Judy, you are not off the deep end. What you see and report are real issues in the care of older people. I shudder to think about the care or results for those who don’t have care managers like you. Your parents, and brothers, are very, very lucky.

Susan always gave me concrete advice to help me cope with my stress:

I think a personal caregiver is a great idea – you might tell your dad that care of your mom is not your responsibility; it is his, and if he can’t handle it (as he tells you he can’t) then he needs to spring for a personal caregiver. Tell him you are overwhelmed with issues affecting your own children. Tell your brothers that they need to make this pitch with you and that you need to work out a shared schedule with them so that you divide the responsibility of the parents among the three of you. Ask your therapist to help you work out the way to say this to your parents and your brothers.

And ask your husband to help you figure out how to talk to your dad. It is also his house and family, too, and every minute you devote to arranging the parents is a minute you take away from your own marriage and kids. I know I’m speaking without knowing all the details, but Judy, you are entitled to your own life, and some of this stuff your parents have to work out for themselves.

It’s ok to be human. You can’t always be superwoman. Something has to give. There is enough stress to it just being a regular daughter, why do you have to be the best, most burden-taking daughter in the universe?

Much love, Susan

Susan was always concerned about the burden I carried. Very little changed for me as I continued to feel the weight of the world upon my shoulders.

Can your husband step in on some of the responsibilities for the kids? You haven’t talked about him at all through this, and I don’t want to pry. I find sometimes that when I feel like the whole burden is on me and I get sick or falter, other people surprisingly step up to the plate. Maybe time your Dad did. Maybe he could help at home?

Your brothers and Dad have essentially placed this responsibility on you, and so far all of your instincts have been a/spot on and b/pretty damn selfless. It kills me that you should have to work in spite of the medical professionals, rather than with them, in keeping your mom cared for properly. You have a hell of a book to write if you ever get a moment to think again.

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A lot of things changed for me when my mother and father became ill.
I am certain they wished it weren’t so hard on me.

Eventually, I insisted upon hiring a companion for my mother even though my father was against it. That decision ultimately saved me. Miriam was a miracle in my life.

My music and blog sustained me throughout.

And my wise friend, Susan, was always there in the wings to offer her support.

Judy, you are an amazing role model for your children – and nieces and nephews. Certainly you’ve been one for me. How I wish I could do something to help you more concretely. Just know that you have my support and love, and when your mom is ready to hear some of what you went through, I will be there to tell her.

Love, Susan

–

SUSAN 1 © 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.

Tagged acceptance of loss, Aging Parents, burden of caregiving, Caregiving, caregiving responsibilities, childhood friendship, coping with grief, death, death of a friend, dementia, Friendship, friendship and loss, grief, GRIEF RELATED, inspiration, loss, loss of a good friend, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, siblings and caregiving, Susan Rasky, Susan Rasky's memorial at UC Berkeley | 1 Comment

REMEMBERING SUSAN – PART 1

Posted on February 12, 2014 by Judy

I love this picture of my parents and brothers taken before I was born.

My son had left for school and I had just finished eating breakfast. As I was flipping pages of the newspaper while sipping my coffee, a tiny article caught my eye. It was actually an obituary for a professor of journalism at UC Berkeley. But the woman’s name was Susan Rasky and the picture with it was definitely that of my good friend.

Shockwaves of horror began to shoot through me as I read the article. My good friend had died of breast cancer, and I hadn’t known that she was ill or dying at all.

Susan lived nine hours away and I wondered whom I could ask to find out more about what had happened. I dialed her cell number and Susan’s voice told me to leave a message. It gave me chills.

The ache in my heart overwhelmed me as I wondered why Susan hadn’t shared anything about her illness with me.

Then I remembered a family friend named Liz, who lived not far from Susan. Liz’s mother was also a good friend of Susan’s mother. I emailed Liz and her reply indicated that she was also shocked Susan had died. She promised me she would try to get more information and find out if there was going to be a funeral service.

Susan was seven years older than I was. She told me that she remembered when I was born. Mostly, she was a playmate of my older brothers. Our parents took many vacations together and I had boxes of photos from their trips.

But in 2009 we became very close and Susan became my big sister. As she supported me through many ordeals related to my mother’s decline, she often called me “her canary in the coalmine.” That was because she foresaw dealing with the care of her own elderly mother; my situation was a precursor to hers.

But now she was gone and her 94-year-old mother she had cared for was still alive. I found out that her brother had moved in and become the caregiver for their mother. It made complete sense to me.

–

I can easily flashback to the time when Susan entered my life in a big way.

Susan and her mother came to visit me in 2008 when both my parents were living with me. We all had just finished lunch and both of us were standing alone in the kitchen.

She stood right in front of me and spoke with a very determined tone. “Judy, how do you do it? I cannot believe what you are dealing with.”

Her words were so comforting. I rarely felt like anyone knew the stress I was dealing with. I had three challenging teenagers and two parents living with me. I prepared their food and it was not an easy feat.

Susan continued by saying, “This is not okay. You are on the verge of collapse! Where are your brothers in all of this? How are you going to keep going?”

I loved this woman because she really seemed to care about me at a time when being a caregiver had caused me to completely lose my own soul.

After that visit, Susan promised she would find a way to help me. She kept her word. We began to correspond and she felt strongly that I needed more support from my older brothers. I laugh remembering her words of, “I’m not afraid to talk to them or write a letter. I knew them when we were toddlers splashing in a kiddie pool naked together!”

I took her up on her offer to write a letter to my brothers, which she felt might help my situation. Her letter was simply magnificent and buoyed me greatly.

In the end, I chose not to send the letter she wrote. But her support lifted my spirits and gave me strength. I decided that instead of sending a letter, I would speak to my two brothers myself. But I wanted a safe place to do it and I asked them both to attend a one-time therapy session with me.

Very little changed after that session, but my friendship with Susan was solid. She cheered for me after my parents moved out and into an assisted living facility.

When my mother was on a respirator, Susan was transfixed by my messages and told me she saved them so that I could someday publish a book about that ordeal.

–

And it was Susan’s encouragement that inspired me to continue writing and create this blog.

I wrote a lot to Susan. Even though she was a university professor of journalism, I hardly ever felt she was too busy to be thinking of me. In fact, when I didn’t send her messages she would write to check up on me.

The last message I had from Susan was one with her condolences after my mother died three months ago.

–

In this picture, I’m next to Susan’s mother.

Death is so permanent. So often Susan had encouraged me to visit and I’m very sorry I hadn’t.

In ten days, I will be flying up north to stay with Liz and attend a memorial for Susan that will be held at the university where she was a professor. Many people revered her. I will see her elderly mother and Susan’s surviving brother, Louis.

I have no memories of Liz, but knew her mother very well. I plan to bring many pictures I have of our parents’ vacations together. Her mother has dementia, but still remembers me and it will be wonderful to spend time with them.

I will be playing a song with my guitar to honor Susan at the memorial service.

It’s going to be hard for me to sing without crying.

–

In this picture, I’m with my parents and Susan’s mother is in the middle. I hated being dressed up, so maybe that’s why I’m not smiling!

Message from Liz after my mother died:

Susan just told me the sad news. I don’t know if I’ll share the news of your mother’s passing with my mother. Not sure if it will depress her. My mother has some very “sharp” moments when you wouldn’t think she has dementia, and then next she does something very inappropriate. What can I say? It sucks to watch it. But I do get those smiles from her, and I have to think I am blessed that she is pretty with it for almost 92 years old.

You should come visit Susan and I. Fall is a beautiful time here. A reunion . . .

Love, Elizabeth

–

Susan brought her mother to see my mother two years ago.

Dear Susan,

All morning I went back to read the words you wrote to me over the last five years.

You were such a good friend. You were my big sister. Every word you wrote bathed me with encouragement. At times you even worried that you were too blunt, but I always appreciated your heartfelt honesty.

When my journey began, you were right next to me holding my hand. I was brimming with crazy enthusiasm and you simply jumped in to join me. Even when I threw out hundreds of emails in your direction, I could always count on jewels of wisdom to come back to me from you.

Here I am ready to finally take you up on your long extended offer of a vacation where you live up north. But now, you are dead. And I’m travelling up north to your memorial. I wish; I wish it weren’t true!

After reading all of your messages, I realize how little of your own tribulations you shared with me. Perhaps you didn’t want to add to my burden and it was the reason why you never shared that you were dying. Yet had I known, I would have told you so many things. Most of all – what you’ve meant to me!

You lifted me through relentless ordeals and struggles with my mother’s illness and my childrens’ challenges, as well. My life was only made bearable because of your friendship and support.

Susan, I will never forget you. You truly understood how my music and writing sustained me. You knew me to the core. I have no idea where my journey will lead, but wherever I go – I feel you right there cheering me on.

I will miss you my big sister. You have no idea. My heart is broken.

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