myjourneysinsight

REMEMBERING SUSAN – PART 4

Posted on February 26, 2014 by Judy

When my good friend Susan died in late December, I was shocked. After her death, I went back to read all the messages she wrote me over the last five years.

I attended a memorial for her this past week at the UC Berkeley campus where she worked as a journalism professor. I stayed with a family friend for two nights and also spent some time with Susan’s surviving brother and mother.

Susan was 61 years old; her surviving mother is 96 years old.

It turns out that Susan mentioned breast cancer to me when I first was getting to know her five years ago. I felt horrible that I forgot completely about it and never asked Susan how she was years later. It was easy to assume that she was cancer-free because she never mentioned it. But the truth was that she was never actually in remission.

Her message in 2009 was:

It is not a lump; it’s an “array” of lesions – but they are malignant and it’s invasive breast cancer. I’m starting chemo within the next two weeks and then I’ll probably have to have a mastectomy. The good news is that the cancer doesn’t seem to be in my other breast, brain, lungs, ovaries or pancreas, and that I don’t have either the BRCA 1 or BRCA 2 genes. It is in the lymph node under my right arm, which is why it is especially worrisome.

I think my Mom copes by not paying full attention, but I believe she knows how serious it is. She’s been great. I’m in good spirits, and I’ll get through this. Thanks for asking. Take care of you. Susan

I replied:

Oh my god, Susan, I am so sorry for your trials. I do appreciate the info, and my thoughts and prayers are with you. I can only imagine what a curve this has thrown you. I especially hope the chemo doesn’t make you feel too ill to function at full force. You are so vibrant and active, and hopefully, this will all be behind you soon.

Her brother shared with me his frustration that Susan did not seek treatment toward the end. She suffered with tremendous pain and the ordeal of getting her to a hospital was very traumatic. Susan believed she would survive through her sheer determination. She took off from teaching shortly before she died – everyone expected she would be back.

I will be writing about her memorial, but first I want to share more about our friendship.

When I first met Susan, her mother lived an hour from me in Los Angeles, while Susan was 400 miles away in Northern California. Our parents were very good friends and I have many pictures of them on wonderful vacations together.

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My mother with Susan’s mother; this picture was taken perhaps about 20 years ago.

Hi Judy, I’m gearing myself up for school, working on my taxes, worrying about my mom. I’m not (or she’s not) where you and your mom are, but I feel it coming, and I dread it. I know how you must miss the way your parents were when they were well. I think it will drive you mad to keep comparing them to that. Both my brother and I have nothing to deal with compared to your situation. She’s staying with me for a week and is driving me mad right now, and I try to remind myself that one day I will miss even that. She is a bundle of nerves and so over-anxious that it gets harder and harder to reason with her. Hoping to make it to LA for a few days before semester begins, and if I do, I’ll call you so we can aim for visit. Offer to escape all at my house for a weekend still holds.

Love, Susan

Susan tried to arrange for her mother’s care, but her mom was stubborn and did not want to discuss options.

It’s clear she can’t be alone anymore; even she knows that. I flew down last week on rescue mission. She fell last week (no injuries, so we were very lucky) and gave herself a good scare. Now my life is totally absorbed by her. I always knew I would have the stomach for this, but I kept praying I would have enough time and money to have my own life stable so I could more easily take her on. I guess you’re never really ready.

My mother is prone to crumbling at the slightest stress and deeply anxious about things she doesn’t really need to worry about. I can only imagine how much harder it is for you dealing with your mom’s dementia.

Love, Susan

Susan occasionally mentioned Liz. I stayed with Liz when I attended Susan’s memorial service this past week. I had never met Liz before, but knew her mother well.

I am making a mental note to phone Liz today. Her mom is in a board and care, fairly advanced in dementia, and she is all alone in having to deal with her up here. My mom is so depressed at all of it. Every time I think I’m just going to scream in frustration at some nonsense my mom is babbling, I think about what it must be like to see all your dear friends in one state of decline or another, and my heart breaks for her.

They say this generation of kids will live well past 100. Given what we’re seeing of our parents old age, that doesn’t seem like any kind of blessing! Sorry to be a downer here. Promise to buck up and perk up before we talk.

Love, Susan

Eventually, Susan brought her mother up north to live with her. It was a very big step.

We are good up here. Cramped, but sane, and I’m determined to spend as much quality time with my mom as I can. It’s hard to get her out of the house – she tires easily – but she is still very sharp and fit enough to do at least some walking outside each day. I’m a terrible correspondent, but I do appreciate hearing about what’s going on with you.

Live in the moment. Make memories of them with your kids. I’m slowly beginning to understand that I don’t have to feel guilty or even respond every time my mom complains about something. I’m learning to just say, “I’m so sorry mom, that must be hard for you. It will be alright.”

Love, Susan

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The last time I saw Susan was when she brought her mother on a 400-mile trip to see my mother.

Eventually my messages from Susan began to dwindle. But her caring always shining through and she always diminished her own problems by saying they were far less than my own.

Hi Judy,

My head is spinning just trying to keep up with all you manage to do in a day. It is so sad to hear about your Mom and Dad – and so amazing to hear how you have come through it. I’m glad you have your music, your soon to be book and always your huge, generous spirit and sense of humor. Hope you are as proud of yourself as I am of you. From what you’ve described, it sounds like there are moments of extraordinary beauty and sweetness amid all the misery, and thank God you have the heart to appreciate them. I’ve been preparing my mom for losing her dear friends but sparing her the details.

Susan’s brother moved in with her. He was out of work and down; Susan mentioned how worried she was about him. It turned out that he became the caregiver for their mother – something she never mentioned to me.

Hi Judy! I haven’t had much time to write. It is hard, hard, hard having mom and brother in this tiny house. We are fine, we are managing, but it takes all my emotional strength. I’m so sad to read your email. I now know much more intimately what you must be going through, and based on my experiences with my Mom.

Although I often didn’t hear from Susan for months at a time, she was very comforting to me when my parents were dying.

I hope your Dad’s suffering is over soon so that you can give some needed time to taking care of you. Dare I ask how your husband and the kids are coping? Please tell me they are supporting you and making your burden a little lighter.

I’m glad you and your dad have your music as comfort, but I hope you are not keeping this vigil all by yourself. I’m thinking about you both and sending love. Love, Susan

Gradually, I lost touch with Susan. I was caught up in my separation and divorce, as well as my cataract and subsequent eye problems. I always sent her general updates and shared other parts of my life with her. Susan occasionally wrote a brief message and still extended her offer for me to visit. How I wish I had!

Hi there. Sorry to be away from email for so long – managing mom is becoming a full-time job. (You’ve been there, and then some, so I won’t elaborate). Hope you will be able to go away for at least a few days this summer, perhaps on your own. Sending you big hug, happy energy, and wishes for better times to come. You deserve them. Much love, Susan

Susan might have called me her “canary in a coalmine.” It eventually became true when she entered her own dark tunnel as she dealt with her mother’s care.

Judy, you have been on my mind for weeks. So sorry not to have written for eyes, birthday, and of course your move today, which I hope went well. Things have been awful up here – mom was rushed to emergency room two weeks ago with what turned out to be a bad case of pneumonia. She was intubated for about a week, then extubated, then moved to a great rehab facility. She has recovered from the pneumonia, but seems to have lost her mind in the process. It’s a very tough time, and the doctors want to send her home since she refuses to cooperate with any of the therapists. She won’t talk, thinks the docs are trying to kill her and is refusing food. We need a Miriam. Both my brother and I are exhausted, and life goes on.

Only a few months later, Susan wrote:

January 2013

Oh, Judy. I think of you all the time, feel horribly guilty for being so out of touch, and truthfully, have just been too busy coping with my own situation to make room for my friends who obviously have situations of their own. Please do follow Sam’s advice on the eyes. You can’t afford to have them operating sub-par.

Things here have been very difficult. Mom has fully recovered from the pneumonia of a few months ago, but now has cognitive deficiencies. She is still very much a presence in our lives. My own health is a worry – I’ve done something to my back. As I say, it’s been a challenging time. We are strong. We will get through this, too. Please take care. I love you and send a big, electronic hug. This too shall pass, right? Love, Susan

May 2013

Dear Judy – I’ve got five minutes before I go back to mom-care and student edits to say hello, hope eyes finally improving (can’t believe what you’ve been through for what is supposed to be simple operation!) and that I’m crossing fingers on peaceful, financially viable finalization of the divorce. WHAT A YEAR FOR YOU! As always I marvel at your strength and good humor, and it is so good to hear how well the kids are doing. You should be very proud, and if your mom could understand, she would be very proud of you.

My mom is in and out of dementia (actually, I guess that’s the definition of dementia) We are dealing with her delusions and hallucinations, which is very hard, especially at night when she wakes us up with them. Some moments are still very good and clear, and I try to treasure those.

Things will be a little calmer when semester ends, though more time at home with Mom will probably dement me. We’ve got some good hourly helpers, but it’s very expensive. At any rate, I’ll try to be a better correspondent. I promise! Please take care of yourself. Much love, Susan

Before Susan died, I had two last messages from her. One alluded to her being ill, but I thought she had the flu. Her last message was to offer condolences to me after my mother died.

Even if Susan didn’t write to me, I continued to send her shared messages and updates about my life. The day before I saw her obituary, I had sent her a message. It never entered my mind that she was dying. I thought she was busy teaching and dealing with her mother’s care.

October 2013

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Hi Jude – I’m here watching with you. Been very ill myself – details when I’m stronger. My mom is as healthy as a horse, but dementing rapidly, though some days she’s incredibly clear.

–

Sending love and peaceful thoughts to you and your brothers. Your mom couldn’t have asked for a more faithful guardian of her wishes. Jude, my brother, mom and I send our love and tears and look forward to a time when we can share some wonderful memories of both your mom and dad. Don’t forget to take care of yourself. Love, Susan

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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.

Tagged acceptance of loss, Aging Parents, Beginning a blog, blogger, blogging, breast cancer, burden of caregiving, Caregiving, caregiving responsibilities, childhood friendship, coping with grief, death, death of a close friend, death of a friend, dementia, 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, siblings and caregiving, Susan Rasky, Susan Rasky's memorial at UC Berkeley, therapeutic writing, writing | 6 Comments

HOW WE DON’T CARE – PART 2

Posted on February 17, 2014 by Judy

Story behind HOW WE DON’T CARE-PART 1

Click the blue links below to play audio:

HOW WE DON’T CARE INSTRUMENTAL

HOW WE DON'T CARE

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HOW WE DON’T CARE

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What’s new with you?

It’s been awhile since you’ve told me

I have nothing left to say

It might be too late to give it a try

‘cause now you can’t look me in the eye

I’m doing fine although I’m smiling

Inside it isn’t quite the same

I can’t take much more of hiding these tears

it seems my disguise is not what it appears

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We try to show how we don’t care

How we don’t feel, how we don’t share

And it’s really nothing new

It just gets harder every time to say I love you

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Sometimes I feel like this time it’s over

Will this be just a passing storm?

Somehow I wonder if after the rain

can our love survive this pain?

So what’s on your mind?

Will you cry when you leave me?

Or is it that I’m just crying alone?

I thought that our love I could always count on

Did we wake up to find that love has gone?

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We try to show how we don’t care

How we don’t feel, how we don’t share

And it’s really nothing new

It just gets harder every time to say I love you

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A picture from my younger days – I was about 13 years old in this one.

When I wrote my song “How We Don’t Care,” at the age of 19, I had no idea that the charade of pretending not to be hurt would become a theme that followed me later in my life.

I spent a lot of my youth chasing friendship and suffering because of it. My insecurities and high expectations taught me my first lessons about loss and disappointment in life.

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A picture from my younger days – I was about 13 years old in this one.

Hiding my hurt feelings began in high school. I had become close with a friend unlike any other. I adored her and when she hurt me, I was devastated. It seems trite now, but for many months I openly wept and suffered greatly.

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It wasn’t until three years later when I was 18 that I allowed myself to open up again. I was elated when I became close to my friend, Cheryl. But then I felt hurt by her, and that familiar feeling I had in high school returned.

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Because I want my story to be complete, I’ve decided to share a portion of my cassette recording of this song from 1980. My younger voice sounds like someone else. I find it beautiful that this haunting song waited for me so I could sing it again 34 years later.

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Click the blue link to hear a recording of this song when I was 20:

HOW WE DON’T CARE – Cassette Recording from 1980 by Judy Unger–

I wrote my song “How We Don’t Care,” as I struggled to deal with the ups and downs in our friendship. Although we tried to mend things, we were never as close. Eventually, we drifted apart completely once we were both married. After Cheryl moved away with her husband, we didn’t speak for years.

I did reconnect with Cheryl after our many years of silence. I never had the courage to mention our rift. It would have been helpful perhaps to hear Cheryl’s perspective about why our friendship disintegrated. But in 2008, Cheryl died from breast cancer. I miss her so very much and treasure the beautiful memories I had with her.

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Judy & Cheryl camping

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When I began my re-learning my songs in 2010, “How We Don’t Care.” was one of the first songs I was excited to record. I absolutely loved the chords and melody. The verse and chorus had two distinctly different rhythms. Of all of my song compositions, it was one of my favorites.

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Below is a link to my first story about this song when I recorded it four years ago:

#48 HOW WE DON’T CARE

My song “How We Don’t Care” touches my heart even more deeply as an adult woman. I know it is because I hid my feelings for decades during my marriage.

The “disguise” on my part and the lack of eye contact on his part, left our relationship permanently scarred.

I was emotionally separate and distant. I lowered my expectations and shoved away my hurt feelings to avoid conflict; he did, too. The walls that we both put up were an impediment to intimacy. For me, every hurt led to thicker and thicker scar tissue, and I became more and more numb.

The difference between my song and my marriage was even sadder.

When I wrote my song as a young girl, I actually still cared despite my hurt feelings. But the contrast in my marriage was that after years and years of numbness, I eventually convinced myself that I really didn’t care!

I decided I didn’t need intimacy. I didn’t feel I deserved anything better. I was so determined to accept my situation that I refused to allow for any feelings at all. I focused all the love in my heart upon my children. And my parents also alleviated my emptiness with their attentive love and support.

I had children with challenges and the security of marriage was the only way I could cope. I felt there was no other choice.

My song triggers a lot of heartache for me. As I grieve the end of my marriage, I remember a young girl and boy who were once so much in love. I cry for both of them: The lonely girl, who became a broken woman and the angry boy who grew up into a very unhappy man. The broken woman took a chance at restoring her soul.

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She grieves for the unhappy man. He was faithful. After many miserable years of work and constant stress when he came home, now he is truly alone.

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This picture is from my happier days as a young girl on vacation with my parents.

It was my music and songs that caused my heart to stir again with feeling. And when my parents faded from my life, I did not want to accept numbness anymore. My children did not require, nor benefit from my constant devotion either.

My true feelings were terrifying at first.

There were so many things I was angry about. Even though he never told me or admitted it, my husband was angry, too. He simply suppressed his anger by being very dismissive and cold. Our marriage had weathered many challenges and the truth was that I was separate from him and had no desire to reconnect.

Even though marriage offered security, I didn’t want to live with someone I disliked anymore.

It was the discovery of my self-worth that gave me the courage to change my life.

–

Tagged acoustic guitar, adjusting to divorce, arranging music, avoiding conflict, childhood friendship, communication, composing, composing music, coping with divorce, creativity, distance in a relationship, escape through music, facing divorce after a long marriage, feeling numb, Friendship, friendship rifts, gray divorce, guitar, healing music, hiding feelings, How we don't care, impending divorce, inspiration, Judy Unger, lack of communication, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Music, music as therapy, not feeling, Ordinary Life, original songs, poor communication, Pretending not to care, separation, singing, songwriting, suppressing feelings, suppressing tears, WE DON’T CARE, writing | Leave a comment

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

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

–

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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