myjourneysinsight

I AM THE SANDWICH – PART 2

Posted on February 17, 2013 by Judy

Seeing what I wrote three years ago reminds me that my former life was definitely a ‘hero sandwich.” My current life is less complicated and I am thankful that I have music and writing to soothe myself.

Below is a link to:

I AM THE SANDWICH – PART 1

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My life completely turned around when I began my rediscovery of music and writing. Today, I received a message from WordPress congratulating me on the third anniversary of my blog. On my first blog anniversary, I was so enamored about my journey that I created a special post filled with pictures. Here is a link to it: ABOUT MY STORY

On this third year, I had completely forgotten about it!

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I truly am a member of the sandwich generation. The year when both my parents lived with me was definitely the most challenging time I experienced as a sandwich. During that time seven years ago, my mother was ill and I also had three children that required a great deal of my attention.

At this moment, I am responsible for two teenagers. My father died eight months ago and my elderly mother is in a nursing home. There are constant challenges for me as I wade through divorce after 31 years of marriage. I am squeezed so much that occasionally it is unbearable.

I also realize that I have a different take on things. Perhaps it was because I experienced the death of my child that I have less fear to follow my convictions. I’m certain that the process of seeing my parents’ decline also brought me to a place of courage. It enabled me to end my marriage.

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Two years ago, my mother fell and broke her hip; I was told she needed surgery to repair it. I refused to allow her to have that surgery for many reasons. A year earlier, I had listened to doctors who insisted that my mother have shoulder surgery after a fall. As a result of that surgery, my mother had complications and ended up on a respirator for two months. It was a miracle that she survived; she had an immune disorder and was very fragile. Her hands were always tied because she was an uncooperative patient.

Refusing hip repair surgery was a gut-wrenching decision to make. I was told she probably wouldn’t survive the weekend, and she was placed on hospice. I was very thankful that she was not in pain.

Well, not only did my mother survive, she was even able to walk again! Her hip fracture healed. Unfortunately, her dementia continued to advance and she can no longer converse. I am grateful she is comfortable; she smiles and recognizes people whom she loves.

My mother thrives because my brothers and I pay for her to have a companion at the nursing home where she is. Her companion’s name is Miriam. I have written about Miriam many times on my blog. She is very special to me.

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“No Hospitalization”

After my mother recovered from her hip fracture, my father and I were in agreement about creating a “no hospitalization” order for both him and my mother. He was adamant that neither of them would ever suffer in a hospital again.

For my mother, it meant she would never again face the nightmare of restraints to prevent her from pulling out tubes. For my father, it gave him great relief. He was furious about the “so called” non-invasive procedures that had caused him agonizing pain; doctors had extended his life in a way he considered to be torture.

On the morning of my father’s 87th birthday last May, he was unable to be awakened. Only a week before, he actually told me that his birthday wish was to be dead. I followed my father’s instructions and did not allow his nursing home to transport him to a hospital.

I didn’t realize that my father’s wish was such an aberration. It was very clear that the nursing home preferred to send my father to a hospital to die.

My goal was to keep him as comfortable as possible in his bed at the nursing home until his death. It was a huge challenge because there was great resistance to providing him with adequate pain medication. I wondered why it had to be so difficult.

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My father suffered a lot the year before his death.

My father suffered greatly before his death.

“My heart pounded as I waited”

I was shopping and loading my car up with groceries when Miriam called me. Her voice was filled with terror when she said, “Judy, the nursing home just called 911!”

I quickly hung up and told her I’d call her back. I immediately called the charge nurse at her facility and was placed on hold to wait for more information. Questions swirled through my mind – why hadn’t I been notified sooner? What had happened to my mother’s “no hospitalization” order? My heart pounded as I waited.

Only the day before, my mother and I had gone out to lunch and she seemed fine. As I waited, I pictured the charge nurse running to stop the paramedics from transporting my mom to a hospital.

It actually happened. The paramedics were instructed not to transport my mother just as they were getting ready to take her to an ambulance.

It turned out that my mother had a violent coughing spell. It caused her to vomit a small amount. Her vital signs dropped after that, although she was fine a few moments later. But the charge nurse was new; she had already called 911 because she panicked.

It turned out that my mother’s “no hospitalization” order was a surprise to many of the staff there.

I had no idea it was so rare. For me, it was a no-brainer. Hospitals were torture chambers for both my parents. Even my mother-in-law had begged me to help her get out of a hospital shortly before her death.

The charge nurse came back on the phone to reassure me that she had stopped the paramedics. I grilled her about why I hadn’t been notified of a problem sooner. I was upset and tried to understand, but it wasn’t easy.

I was still sitting in a parking lot with groceries in my car. I decided to drive to her facility. As I pulled out of the parking lot, Miriam sent me a message. She said the paramedics had left; my mother seemed fine and was sleeping.

I ended up driving home and wasn’t sure what I’d do after that. I was exhausted and had a lot of groceries to put away; all of the ice cream had already melted. In only a few seconds, I went from enjoying my day to feeling quite stressed.

This was a perfect story about my life as a sandwich. I attempted to use humor to dispel my aggravation because I was relieved that my mother was okay. Later in the day while I was in the shower, I received a voicemail message from the head nursing supervisor. She told me she was very sorry and it wouldn’t happen again.

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My mother no longer has her hair colored; she is too agitated to allow it.

“The Next Day”

My story might have been over at this point. But it is not. The next day, I took my mother out to lunch again with Miriam. My mother looked fine and I celebrated that she was still alive and not in pain.

But Miriam needed a lot of reassurance from me. She encountered many opinions from the staff at the nursing home. She had no idea how to respond to what she had heard and was quite worried.

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It upset me so much that I felt the need to write.

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This is what “no hospitalization” means to me:

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It means that I don’t want my mother to needlessly suffer. But her ailments can still be treated. It is not the same as a “do not treat” order.

It does not mean that I want my mother to die.

It does not mean that I believe her life is unimportant.

I simply don’t want her life extended in a way where she would suffer. Especially with dementia, there is no purpose for her to ever be intubated again. There is no hospitalization if she has a stroke or heart attack.

If she broke her arm, I would probably allow for treatment at a hospital. The nursing home would discuss this with me first. Currently, my mother receives monthly gamma-globulin infusions that extend her life.

When this happened, Miriam listened to a lot of ignorant statements from the nursing home staff. She told me they discussed the situation aloud in front of her.

Here was what she heard:

“If Shirley has a no hospitalization order, why does her daughter complain to us when her mother has mouth sores or red eyes?”

“If Shirley has a no hospitalization order, why does she receive gamma-globulin infusions? What is the point?”

“If Shirley has a no hospitalization order, why does her family provide a companion?

Thankfully, I have a blog where I can freely express myself.

I had courage when my mom broke her hip. Now I have courage to follow what I believe in. I am shocked that having this order is considered something rare and “outside the box.”

There are those who believe in spending countless dollars to extend the suffering of terminally ill patients. I am proud of my willingness to go against medical professionals who believe they know what is best for my mother. I am so sorry for elderly people who do not have an advocate!

I have chosen my path and even if no one at my mother’s nursing home understands my reasoning – I stand by it.

I love my mother and celebrate her quality of life.

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This picture was taken the day after 911 was called.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com. 2013. 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", Advocacy, Aging Parents, broken hip without surgery, Caregiving, dementia, elderly directives, end of life decision, father's illness, inspiration, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, no hospitalization order, nursing homes, refusing to go to a hospital | 5 Comments

ONLY TEARS – PART 2

Posted on February 7, 2013 by Judy

Click the blue links below to play audio:

Only Tears Home Recording 1-3-17

Only Tears Instrumental 2015–

ONLY TEARS

We were children; we grew up so fast

We were confused; our plans were so vast

With uncertain careers

I want to touch you

But I only feel tears

We were concerned; our future was scary

We were so close; soon I will marry

Childhood disappears . . .

I want to touch you, but I only feel tears

Oh, my friend, it won’t be long

Before our touch is a memory

One day we’ll be older; we’ll know where we are

We’ll still feel our love, though our lives may be far

We were so crazy and I love you today

Will we stay close?

You might move away

With the passage of years . . .

I want to touch you, but I only feel tears

Oh, my friend, it won’t be long

Before our touch is a memory

One day when we’re older; we’ll know where we are

We’ll still feel our love, though our lives may be far

Now that we’re older, our stories are clear

I’ll feel you with me; you may not be near

Our love perseveres

I want to touch you

But I only feel tears

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Music and memories intertwine for me. I can clearly remember when I was twenty.

I lived a lifetime during a single day back then. At the beach with my friends, playing my guitar – I was complete. All of us knew those days were made in heaven.

There was a favorite 70’s song that I always played during that time. It fit in perfectly with the words: “Please, don’t let this feeling end – it’s everything I am, everything I want to be . . .”

Those lyrics were from the theme song “Ice Castles,” also called “Through the Eyes of Love.” My friends would take turns warbling through the verses and together we would all sail along on the chorus. We sang our hearts out and certainly wished those beautiful feelings would never end.

In 1980 six months before my wedding, I composed my song “Only Tears.”

I have so many beautiful memories of singing my song. It was dedicated to all my friends – but I felt it was especially for my friend, Cheryl. She loved this song and I remember when I first composed and shared it with her. Her doe eyes sparkled back at me and I am emotional just remembering that moment.

I even sang my song aloud in the dressing room before my wedding took place.

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Then not long after I was married in 1981, my music ended . . .

Until almost 30 years later when I picked up my guitar again in 2010.

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At the same time I was finalizing my first audio book, I began to select songs for my second book. My most recent song, Angel in the Sky, especially gripped my heart. But I forced myself to continue onward because in addition to writing new songs, I wanted to redo some of the arrangements for my older songs.

I arranged my song “Only Tears” in 2010. I enjoyed experimenting when I first began arranging songs with George. My first arrangement had a country feel, complete with drums and electric guitar, but didn’t touch me.

I decided I wanted a new arrangement for “Only Tears” that would fulfill my sentimental vision for this song.

“Only Tears” was written during a golden time in my life, shortly before I was married. I sang my song whenever I was with my girlfriends, but my song was a special gift to Cheryl, who was my closest friend at that time. She loved my song and I even made her a painting that incorporated calligraphy of the lyrics. Many years later, Cheryl told me how she often looked at my painting and would always treasure it.

I was graduating college when I wrote “Only Tears,” and my lyrics expressed uncertainty about the future. Because I was getting married, I had some doubts over whether my friendships would endure, and that was the reason for my tears.

Four years after I wrote my song, Cheryl married and moved away. So my song actually was a prophecy, because ultimately I lost touch with almost all of my friends. Yet it was beautiful how later in my life, I reconnected with many of them, including Cheryl.

Cheryl died from breast cancer in 2008.

I found it interesting that I finished my new arrangement for “Only Tears” only a few days before the five-year anniversary of her death. A week ago, on the night of Cheryl’s death anniversary, I decided to revisit her breast cancer website (Caring Bridge).

The last entry on that website was one I had written; it was from 2009. When I wrote that message four years earlier, I expressed how sad I was that Cheryl would not see her fiftieth birthday. At that time, I had not yet begun to play my guitar again.

On February 1, 2013, I wrote a new message on the Caring Bridge website. And that same evening, I began to sing vocals for my new arrangement.

I also called Cheryl’s 91-year-old mother.

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I had hoped I could give her mother comfort by sharing how Cheryl would always live on in my heart. Sadly, the last time I we had spoken, her mother had deeply withdrawn into her grief.

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When Cheryl’s mother, Blanch, answered the phone that night, I was perturbed when she did not remember who I was. She said she didn’t feel well and hung up on me; it sounded like I had woken her up.

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After that, I decided to call Cheryl’s brother. He didn’t answer, and I left a message. As I hung up the phone, I was sad.

The loss of my close friend was something I was alone with.

There was another reason that my grief for her had surfaced.

A few weeks before, I saw on Facebook that Cheryl’s daughter had gotten married. I felt both joy and sorrow, because I remembered how excited Cheryl was over my wedding, she loved being involved with all the planning – and even cared more about it than I did!

I just knew Cheryl was terribly missed at her eldest daughter’s wedding. I was glad her children were moving forward in their lives. I was happy for her husband who had remarried.

When I worked with George on the new arrangement, my eyes were bothering me. I tried not to focus on it and allowed my music to heal me.

So it was on the night of Cheryl’s five-year death anniversary, that I began to sing vocals for my new arrangement. It definitely helped me feel better.

Singing “Only Tears” soothed my sadness because I could hear Cheryl softly whispering in my ear. I imagined that somewhere in a distant sky she was hearing my voice.

My grief was not lonely anymore. I was filled with love for her.

My original song sheet from 1980.

I had almost finished writing my post about my song. It was hard for me to believe that five years had flown by since Cheryl’s death.

My phone rang and I saw on the caller ID that it was Cheryl’s brother. I eagerly answered the phone – there was a lot of catching up for us to do.

When our phone call ended, I had to catch my breath.

It turned out that only a few days before I had called Cheryl’s mother, she had received a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer.

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http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/cherylkessler

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Feb 1, 2013

Dearest Cheryl,  I know you cannot read this, but on this five-year anniversary of your death I feel the need to write to you.  You are still alive in my heart. I think about you often and feel your presence. I hear your voice and your laughter. Sometimes, it’s so easy for me to picture us together. A smile spreads upon my face as I recall some of the most wonderful memories of my life.  A few weeks ago, I saw on Facebook that your oldest daughter got married. A pang stabbed my heart. I was so sad that you weren’t there. I know that your absence was certainly felt, how I wish things were different. But life and death are mysterious and there are many things I do not understand.  I remember how we used to dream about what the future held for us, as we wondered where our lives would go. Cheryl, I’m grateful for our memories. My tears are sweet and filled with love.

© 2013 Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Tagged breast cancer loss, Cheryl Kessler, childhood friendship, college memories, composing, creativity, death, death from breast cancer, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, inspiration, loss, loss of a close friend, loss of a friend, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, marriage and friendship, Music, oh my friend, Only Tears, original songs, playing my guitar, singing, songwriting, voice lessons | 3 Comments

SO LITTLE WAS REQUIRED

Posted on February 4, 2013 by Judy

Continuing correspondence on a grief forum: (My words are in bold)

I just thought of you, yesterday. I wrote on my blog about an eye condition I have been dealing with. I didn’t feel I was as empathetic as I could have been. Now I realize that simply knowing something might improve doesn’t extinguish each agonizing moment of the day while grieving.

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I’m having a hard time accepting that my eyesight is gray in one eye. Every minute bothers me. That was nothing like the loss of my child, of course. But it was a reminder to me of your misery.

I am so sorry that you are suffering every day. It truly is a life sentence. I wish there were some way it could be easier for you. But that would only be if I could bring your son came back to life.

Judy, having gone through this, I know you understand my pain. You are indeed empathetic. How could you not be? You have been dealing with your pain for a much longer time so you see it from a different perspective and sometimes others don’t understand that.

This is a journey that must be taken alone. I look at you as a house along the way that started out as a shack. Over the years it has grown into a mansion that can accommodate many to give them a safe place of understanding along the way. I believe Jason and your dad are standing at your side helping you to help others. Thank you for caring.

AN EXCERPT FROM TERSIA’S BLOG:

I so desperately need to articulate my pain and yet I cannot. Words are inadequate and empty. There are not enough adjectives in the English language to describe my indescribable pain and longing for my precious child. Yet, my cyber friend, Judy Unger has articulated my emotions pretty accurately. So in the absence of my own words I am posting Judy’s email to me.

Thank you Judy. Your words do help. What a horrible area to be experienced in – the world of grief….

Post where my message of support can be seen: I Miss Being Mommy

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Jason sitting on the floor of the coop where I’m now living.
He loved visiting his grandparents.

Below, I am sharing some lesson clips with my new voice teacher, Kimberly Haynes. I cannot find the words to adequately share how thrilled I am with Kimberly. The progress I’ve already made since taking lessons with her is spectacular. I record my lessons because it gives me tremendous pleasure listening to them and I absorb even more later on.

Kimberly has pointed out to me something that my post also articulates; she has noticed that I have a great deal of judgment while singing. I definitely want to say goodbye to my “inner critic.”

It might be interesting to hear that my habit of singing solely with “blue voice,” was something that Kimberly also did. She said I was the first student she had that did this. Now she tells me that Julie Andrews also used only her “blue voice!”

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Clicking the blue link will play audio:

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LESSON KIMBERLY 1/19/13 BLOG EXCERPT A

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LESSON KIMBERLY 1/19/13 BLOG EXCERPT B

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It was a beautiful Saturday morning as I entered Connie’s guesthouse for our hypnotherapy session. I hugged Connie before I sat down. Although it was sunny outside, I was in a dark place. It was difficult not to cry. My eyes were teary as I told her that once again I felt beaten down by life. It was harder for me to smile because my eyesight was bothering me terribly.

As I explained my challenges to her, I noticed that I didn’t have much compassion for myself; I was even a bit harsh. I told her that I had even written on my blog that my eye problem was an opportunity for me to find more empathy. I wondered why I had not viewed my struggles in a gentler way.

I told Connie, “I’m seeing things in black in white, while ironically my vision is gray!” I wished I could bring joy and color back into my life somehow. But at that moment, my eye problem seemed insurmountable.

Connie wanted to help me while under hypnosis. I moved over to the reclining chair for that part of our session. She counted and I closed my eyes. I could feel tears seeping out of the corners and running down my cheeks. Within seconds though, I was drifting and floating somewhere else and my tears stopped.

I heard her voice clearly. She said, “Allow for an image to form that represents black and white thinking.”

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There was no hesitation for me. As she asked me that question, I already saw a checkerboard of black and white squares directly in my vision. I described them to her.

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“My image is of the black and white linoleum floor in the coop apartment where I am now living. I look at that floor every day. Although I replaced most of the flooring elsewhere, I kept the checkerboard linoleum in the dining room. I wanted to replace it, but was reluctant for some reason.”

Connie asked me to explain more about that.

I explained that it had scratches, bumps and was worn out. I tried not to look at the flaws. It was part of my new life, but keeping it reminded me of the familiarity of my childhood home and helped me to feel better. I had lived in that coop from infancy until I was married at the age of 21.

I said, “I grew up and played upon that floor. My mother still visits and it comforts her to see that familiar pattern. That floor is almost the same age I am, I was a year old when the coop was built.”

As I described more memories to Connie, I realized how amazing it was that I could see that floor from my childhood in my present life. It was something that “grounded me.”

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Yet it represented not only the stable memories of childhood but also the very rigid ideas from my upbringing. My mother was very certain about what was “right and wrong.” She definitely saw things in black and white. My father was not as rigid, but he was fairly critical and I still hear his voice correcting grammar throughout my day.

Now Connie asked me go outside of myself and imagine that I was that black and white floor. She wanted to know if there was something that the floor would like to tell Judy. In the peacefulness of hypnosis, I allowed for whatever words came into my mind. I said:

“Judy’s appreciation for past memories translated into keeping me, and it was beautiful that she knew it would be comforting when her mother visited, as well. After five decades, I’ve been stepped on a lot and I have some wear and tear, but I am just like her. I understand her sadness. It isn’t always easy to replace old things, because holding onto something familiar lends comfort.”

There were a few moments of silence as I digested my own words. In speaking about black and white, I thought that even though my parents might not have approved of my divorce, they still would have been supportive of me. Before my father died, he told me that my happiness was very important to him.

I continued to drift peacefully in space until I heard Connie’s voice again. She asked me to find another image, a replacement image that would be an antidote to seeing things in black and white.

As I waited for an image to pop into my mind, I saw some flat two-dimensional images. They felt contrived and weren’t real for me. A few minutes went by and I hadn’t found anything I could latch onto. Connie patiently waited for me.

I felt judgment creeping in. Perhaps I wasn’t finding an image because I didn’t want to feel better. I started to panic. I wanted something colorful, but there was simply a black void within my brain.

Then it came to me.

I said loudly, “My image is the comforter set in my bedroom – Wow, I can see it clearly!”

Sure enough, I had a three-dimensional view now. There was my bed. Whether it was made or unmade, the colorful comforter with two large pillow shams made my room come alive for me. I carefully described them to Connie and was relieved that I had found an image.

I said, “I wanted a new bedspread when I moved in. I was very cold at night because the heater wasn’t working. A did have a few blankets, but I didn’t rush to buy a new comforter set because I wanted to find one that was special. I went to many stores, even expensive ones and nothing was really colorful enough for me. I waited two months.”

I continued, “Then one day while I was shopping at Costco, it caught my eye. When I saw it; I knew it was just perfect. Every day, I celebrate my new life and find pleasure with my colorful comforter!”

Just telling Connie about it had me smiling. It was the perfect image to counter the black and white in my life. This new purchase definitely represented adding color and sparkle to my life.

Connie wanted me to tell her more about those feelings.

I felt waves of sadness pushing upward as I described my old bed in my former house; I had kept the same bedspread for over fifteen years. Like many parts of my old life, I didn’t feel it was worth spending money to change it – there was matching drapery and I didn’t want to replace that either.

I explained how my old bedroom was larger than half of my coop. There was a huge walk-in closet connected to the master bedroom, as well as a second closet. The large bathroom area had two separate sinks. The windows overlooked a spacious backyard and a large swimming pool.

But my old bedroom was the place I hated to be. The TV was usually on while my husband was at his computer. Our dog would be yapping at me whenever I opened my mouth or came through the door. I usually drowned out the noise by wearing ear buds. Sometimes, I came to bed very late when my husband was asleep in order to avoid the noise.

But the rising pain in my heart diminished when I began describing my new bedroom.

“Oh, it’s tiny compared to my old bedroom. I hear footsteps coming from the apartment above me. When I make vocal recordings, there’s a lot of traffic noise, helicopters and fire engines – it’s almost funny sometimes. But I don’t care – because it’s my oasis. I feel safe and secure in it. It is truly peaceful and one of the best parts of my new life. My new bedspread is heavenly!”

I had thought my marriage provided security, but I felt far more secure in my new life. I didn’t have to suppress and stuff my feelings anymore. I was free to express myself now.

Connie asked me if I could become that colorful comforter and speak to Judy, what wisdom would I impart to her? I channeled myself into the bedspread.

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Suddenly my voice squeaked like a mouse and I could not speak. I could hardly get any words out as I felt my throat tighten. I gasped, caught my breath and said, “I would tell Judy, how beautiful it is that so little was required to give her happiness!”

I let out a sob. I couldn’t believe what I had just said. That a comforter had brought me happiness!

Then Connie gently asked me to continue.

My voice was still husky as I said, “I would tell her that if a comforter brought her happiness, then imagine how many other things in her life will also. She has so many new things to look forward to!”

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It was time to awaken from hypnosis.

As I opened my teary eyes, I was emotionally drained. But Connie was beaming at me. It was clear that she was very excited for all the revelations that my subconscious had uncovered. I was excited, too.

Before I left our session, I sat back down next to her desk. Connie shuffled through some notes she had written. I listened carefully as she read back to me my own sentences. My thoughts about those sentences are in italics below them:

Black and white is a familiar way of looking at things for me.

That is because I grew up with a lot of judgment about “right and wrong.”

It isn’t always easy to replace old things, because holding onto something familiar lends comfort.

I have fallen back into old patterns, such as overeating and biting my nails.

I was very thoughtful about adding color to my life with my new bedspread. I didn’t rush and knew exactly what I wanted. I had good judgment.

I did not change my life impulsively. Navigating my new life involved making thoughtful decisions to soothe my sadness; such as beginning voice lessons with a teacher I discovered a year and a half earlier.

So little was required to make me happy.

This statement is my favorite. It brings me to tears each and every time I read it because it is absolutely true.

Imagine how many other new things in my life will also bring me happiness. This statement definitely leads to better feelings. All my sadness dissipates when I am able to dream again . . .

I have so much to look forward to!

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Tagged black and white linolium, blue voice and red voice, child's death, coping with divorce, creativity, death of a child, dementia, finding happiness, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, hope, hopefulness, hypnosis, Hypnotherapy, inspiration, judgmental, loss, seeing things in black and white, separation, separation after a long marriage, separation and divorce, singing, songwriting, vocal techniques, voice lessons, writing | 2 Comments

IT FEELS SO DARK, THE SKY IS GRAY – PART 2

Posted on January 31, 2013 by Judy

I’ve had my share of hurdles in life. Sometimes, I wonder why challenges continue to nip at my heels; it’s been one thing after another for years. But I have always prided myself for coping well and maintaining a positive attitude.

Two weeks ago, something unexpected was thrown at me. It was insidious that it happened just as I was feeling better about life in general.

Navigating living separately from my husband after 31 years of marriage was already enough for me to deal with. But as I sat eating my lunch on a lovely Saturday, I experienced a strange sensation in my left eye and watched an inky black blob snake across my field of vision. It curled into many interesting shapes until it became a shower of tiny black dots. After that, the visual field in that eye became gray.

I drove myself to Urgent Care right away.

Two years ago, I experienced a severe burn on my arm. My father died last May. I’ve had three cataract surgeries in the last six months. My mother continues to deteriorate with her dementia.

None of those challenges depressed me like this one. This one knocked me to the ground.

I found myself lying there, and it was very hard to get up.

I was distraught because my left eye annoyed me every second of my day. It felt like gray gossamer webs were inside my eye. My brain screamed loudly, “You cannot see and this is intolerable!”

Three ophthalmologists examined me since my “incident.” What happened was that the vitreous gel in my eye shrunk and pulled away from the eye wall. It did not tear my retina (for which I am thankful), but there was blood involved. I was told that this was a normal part of the aging process and I would adjust to my large new floater. The blurriness was a result of the blood that would eventually be reabsorbed.

I was calm at all of my appointments except the third one. That day, I saw the eye surgeon who performed my cataract surgeries. I cried to him. He probably felt he was comforting me when he said my condition would eventually improve. But he said that I wouldn’t notice improvement for months and it would take a year before the grayness and blurriness diminished.

I put on sunglasses and cried as I drove home. My eye surgeon had made many optimistic statements, which I wanted to hold onto.

My condition was normal.

I didn’t need eye surgery for a retinal detachment.

Eventually, things would improve.

But at that moment, my vision was cloudy, so I wanted to close my eyes. I dreamed I’d awaken with decent eyesight. I couldn’t stop crying. Suddenly, I had entered a new tunnel of grief.

–

I plodded through each day and suffered more than I had in a long time. I wasn’t sure how I could overcome this!

I decided to write something that would utilize tenants from hypnotherapy. It was about ways that I could look at my situation. I began with simple sentences that I heard in my mind. I thought of ways I could reshuffle the words in order to help myself feel better.

My blurry gray vision.

I hate it! It hurts to open both my eyes and look at the world. I can’t stop crying. I want to curl up and go back to sleep. I pray I’ll wake up and it will be better.

Can I live with

my blurry gray vision?

My answer is, “NO! I cannot live with this.” But, I have no choice about it and nothing can change it. Yet, it is so annoying and distracting. It screams over every other thought in my brain. Why do I have to live with this? I have too many questions, and none of them are helpful.

How

can I live with

my blurry gray vision?

I have no idea how I can function with this. I am struggling. I want to cry and complain, but since I hate to do that – it’s best that I hide from the world. Too much patience is required for this. I want the time to pass so I can see again.

I wonder

how I can live with

my blurry gray vision.

There are many people in the world who have adjusted to a loss of eyesight – my own mother has macular degeneration. If they could adjust, then I could also. How fortunate I am that I have a condition that is likely to heal and improve.

–

A photo with my father, taken when I was 15. He died eight months ago.

All my self-talk wasn’t helping and I was still miserable. I listened for my inner voice. When I heard that voice, I received quite a lecture.

My inner voice told me this:

You keep telling grieving people to “hold on to hope” and “hang on.” Listen to your own words about how it will get better someday.

Your misery is a reminder that you did not have adequate empathy.

–

Healing from grief detached you from the suffering. Therefore, this is a lesson for you.

When someone is suffering, knowing that the pain might get better some day scarcely alleviates the agony in the moment.

Remember when you wrote that healing is about acceptance and change?

That is exactly what you need to do! The aging process is about accepting that our bodies will never be young again.

Stop looking at the gray and find color in a different way. Close your eyes if you have to!

–

Below is my correspondence on a grief forum that took place several weeks before my eye injury. My words are in bold.

Message on a grief forum:

What if you aren’t feeling God around you at all? I am very angry with him and have many questions. I ask my questions out loud all the time. Well, I yell them.

My faith is shattered.

I think it is fairly impossible to find faith when everything you believed in has been shattered. The death of your beloved son is senseless and tragic. Allow yourself to feel all of your feelings. Express them. Yell and scream; cry and question. Don’t let anyone tell you it is wrong!

Denying those feelings leads to numbness. You are moving forward in your grief now. This is part of it. You may never find your faith again. But you wrote shattered – not gone. One day you might decide to pick up the pieces. When and only when you are ready.

Thanks, Judy. This process is getting harder not easier…. the more time, the more pain. It hurts to breathe. I lost my Mother when I was 18 and was devastated…. but this loss has crushed my soul.

I think there is a horrible realization that comes after the first year. Perhaps it has come to you already.

We live in a world where people think you can get on with your life and get over grief quickly. It is impossible to do this with the loss of a child. I have connected with many bereaved parents. My take is that the first year is a horror with all the “firsts” – the first Mother’s Day – the first Birthday – every holiday is torture.

Then comes the second year – it isn’t better. That is when the horrible realization comes. It is worse – not better. How is that possible? It continues into the third year and on and on. The years go by. One day that horrible realization turns into the sad fact that there is no going back. Acceptance still seems impossible and our child never ages. Each milestone hurts, especially when friends the age our child was grow up. I would think “he would be graduating this year, or driving, or going on his first date.”

I was told 7 years until the agony subsided. It is hard to hang on. Surround yourself with people who understand. Allow yourself any moment of peace or comfort. I have always said that my survival of grief was my greatest achievement in life. I don’t know that many people survive this kind of loss intact. Your soul is amputated, crushed and mutilated. You are still bleeding.

One day the bleeding will stop. Just keep reminding yourself that your son is holding you close and wanting you to survive this. Don’t believe that by finding comfort and moments of peace, you are forgetting him. Do whatever you can to survive and feel better.

I am certain you will emerge into sunshine. Grief is different for everyone and perhaps it won’t take 7 years. For me, the process of healing started slowly before that, but I wasn’t willing to acknowledge it. Look for signs of healing and you will see them. But now it is too soon.

Love, Judy