myjourneysinsight

WHEN I FIND PEACEFULNESS

Posted on November 2, 2012 by Judy

This old photo from my skinny days as a teenager reminds me that I’m still willing to dive into things. I remember how standing on that diving board was scary, but I still jumped!

Link to Song Page with more about my song RETREAT

“I withdraw and suddenly I feel you surround me”

There was no question that I had withdrawn. I didn’t feel like writing, because I couldn’t write anything positive or share my true feelings. I stopped singing. When I occasionally sang and played my guitar, my children told me it disturbed them.

Sometimes late at night, my guitar beckoned me. I softly fingerpicked beautiful notes and experimented, searching to find a progression that would lead me to musical heaven. I kept playing the same few chords over and over. It was the beginning of a new song, but it didn’t progress.

I calmly went through my third eye surgery. On Monday, the cortical chip was removed. This time, I had little memory of the surgery. At my prior cataract surgery, I chose to have zero anesthesia and suffered with a massive headache when I left. My surgeon remembered and told me he wouldn’t allow that again. As I left the hospital he said, “I gave you enough medication to take down a horse.” I stumbled home clutching Miriam’s arm. Miriam was my mother’s companion and I could always count on her. She was like a sister now.

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When I came home after my eye procedure, I was so touched to receive an edible fruit basket from the wonderful moms in my “Special Mom’s group.”

Within only a day, I could tell that my eye was much better. For a week, I had a headache and It felt as if my eye was being squeezed. The surgeon told me that my cornea was swollen due to the little piece of cataract (cortical chip) that was left behind. He felt it best not to wait to see if it would be absorbed.

The day after the removal, when I saw my surgeon he told me that all swelling was gone. I could finally move forward after three eye surgeries.

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If I turn around from the desk where my computer is, this is what the inside of my coop looks like behind me.

I directed most of my energy toward solving issues related to “my new abode.” There were many things I needed to do and I tackled one thing at a time. It was very important for me to prepare myself for a possible art assignment.

I was determined to somehow get back to finishing my audio book; I was so close to finalizing it! Most of all, I missed working on new song vocals and arrangements. Because music was an IV for my soul, I felt myself withering inside.

The day after my surgery was over, I called George to finish working on the arrangement for my song “Retreat.”

This post carries titles and subtitles from my song “Retreat.” I recently updated my instrumental arrangement for that song and it can be heard by clicking the blue link below.

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I eat now at the very same table in the exact room where this picture was taken. I definitely feel my parents’ love.

I hated feeling negative and unhealthy. My eating was not under control. I wasn’t allowed to swim or play tennis until all my eye surgeries were over. Although I missed my weekly tennis games, I truly did not feel like exercising or even seeing friends.

During my recent eye procedure, a nurse told me that my irregular heartbeat had worsened since my prior surgery. I believed her. Despite my attempts to calm myself, the pounding returned. It plagued me most at night and in the early morning. The sensation was so uncomfortable that I felt even more anxious.

My primary doctor gave me a referral to a cardiologist; the soonest appointment was in two weeks. I was determined not to allow stress to damage my health. What really aggravated me was that obviously I wasn’t able to prevent it.

Most of my stress related to my pain about the dragon.

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This picture is of my mother on the same walkway where I’ve taken many pictures at my old coop.

“I long for you and miss you so”

Last week, my mother visited the coop. It was only a few days after I unpacked, and my mother’s companion, Miriam, brought her over for lunch.

Two years ago, my mother cried if I mentioned taking her back to see her former house. She had lived there from the time it was built in 1960 until she moved in with me in 2008. Both my parents lived with me for a year until they entered assisted living. When I was growing up, my mother’s life revolved around her husband and children. She took great pride in her garden and was an avid cook. Every day, she read the newspaper and certain comics. I did the same and together we clipped the same coupons to take on our weekly shopping outings.

I certainly understood why my mother might cry to be reminded of her former independent life. But that was when she still had the awareness that she had deteriorated. Now her dementia had progressed to the point where she was too childlike to even mourn her former life. She wore a diaper and many lunches were cut short because of toileting issues.

Despite that, I did wonder how she would feel. My intuition told me she wouldn’t be sad. I even took comfort in knowing that she wouldn’t understand why I had moved into the coop. Her dementia had even spared her from any emotional turmoil related to my divorce.

Miriam called me to say she was parking. Our plan was that together we would lift my mother and her wheelchair up the three steps into my patio. As Miriam approached, I could see my mother was beaming. Her excitement was apparent and she was definitely aware of her surroundings.

As soon as we were inside I said, “Mom, can you believe this place is clean now? Dad never let me clean it out while he was still alive!”

I always tried to remind my mother that my father was gone. She often mentioned him and did not seem to grasp that he had died. I never knew what she understood, but I spoke to her respectfully and imagined she could grasp a shred of conversation. –

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The day my mother visited, so did my dearest friend and former housekeeper, Rosa. For many years, Rosa told me she was so worried about how I would deal with losing my mother – she knew that I was very close to my mom. In this picture, Rosa is so happy that my mother recognized her. On the table, are many of the photographs I’ve shared on my blog.

My absolute favorite moment was when I pushed her wheelchair into farthest back bedroom. That room was my former bedroom until I moved out when I got married. For the last three decades, it was called the junk room. My father eventually locked it and did not allow anyone to open the door.

I took a picture of my mother and it captured the moment. Her mouth gaped open with surprise, bordering on shock. Now the room was no longer filled from floor to ceiling with junk; it had polished hardwood floors and new paint. It was definitely not a junk room anymore and had become my teenage daughter’s room.

My mother did not stop smiling for the entire visit.

I wanted to celebrate my mother’s visit. I wished I were able to relax and celebrate, but as soon as she and Miriam left I went back to the business of problem solving and sorting through my “to do” lists.

Below I am sharing more old photos. These photos are of my parents while on their honeymoon in Yosemite. What made them even more special were the sweet comments they both wrote on the back of many of the photos.

This is the cover to a booklet of honeymoon photos of my parents. The writing on the right side says, “After I wrote the remarks; Lee went through and added.” Reading their adorable repartee gave me such a smile.

It’s hard to imagine my mother complaining of a bad hair day!

In this picture, my father is feeding a deer. My mother wrote on another similar picture, “I caught the dear.”

My mother wrote those exact words above, but this is my father’s writing below hers. His joke was that he was talking about my mother instead of the bear.

My middle brother said to me the other day, “Jude, I’m so glad you like living at the coop. I couldn’t imagine going back to live there. I know we grew up there, but it’s really old and there isn’t much space. It’s not a great area, either.”

Of course, he was right about it being old and not very large. I had no illusions that it would be easy to move into my former childhood home. I was going to write a detailed “Good/Bad List,” but decided it would be boring to read. I am also tired of all the lists I have been dealing with lately.

I could honestly write that the most difficult adjustment for me has been taking a shower. There is very little room to move in comparison to the shower at my former house where I could actually step out of the water. The reason that’s noticeable for me is because sometimes the water becomes ice cold or burning hot in the coop. I am wedged into a tiny space where I cannot escape and screaming is not good for my singing voice. I am sympathetic to my childrens’ complaints about it, but have told them that we share the water in this building with other units; there isn’t much that can be done about it!

In this picture, my mom is standing at the same window where my computer faces right now.

THE DRAGON

This was written ten weeks ago:

I hated the dragon and wanted to escape. There was no mistaking his entry because it always caused me pain. The creature roared and fire shot from his nostrils. The interior of the home where I lived was filled with tinder. With the dragon’s arrival, embers burned everywhere and I choked from the thick haze of smoke. I put out the smoldering areas to prevent fire from engulfing everything I had. The realization came that it was important to get out before the flames consumed me.

I was not afraid of the dragon; I just avoided him whenever possible. I knew he was wounded and in tremendous pain. Although I was sympathetic, I wished I never saw him again. Tears squeezed my eyes shut, which was a relief because I did not want to see so much pain.

Ten weeks later:

I was grateful I had finally escaped and fled to new and peaceful surroundings. But still there were certain times when I returned to his lair. Each and every time was draining and stressful. The dragon was even more furious and blamed me for all the ashes.

A long time ago, things were different before my lover became a dragon. When he began to change, I accepted and understood. I did not believe I deserved anything else and felt safe because the dragon was tame. He protected me, but my loneliness and isolation became oppressive over time.

I had found peacefulness, but often felt his presence in my new surroundings. Unfortunately, I brought much of my armor with me. It was difficult to free myself because I was now a prisoner to my sadness.

I cried because although he had become a dragon to me, I knew he still had a heart beating inside. It was horrible for me to see his wounds. He was bleeding, even though he pretended he was fine.

But then I realized that I was bleeding and pretending I was fine.

RETREAT

Retreat is where I go when I am sad

All my tears let me know

I long for you and miss you so

Retreat is my escape from the world

I withdraw and suddenly

I feel you surround me

At those times, I’d wish you were near

and then, you’d appear

but you were only in my mind

only in my mind

you were only in my mind

Retreat is when a song

soothes my soul

A melody fills my heart

reminding me we’re not apart

Retreat is where I find peacefulness

My music has begun

to be my true companion

At those times, I’d wish you were near

and then, you’d appear

but you were only in my mind

only in my mind

you were only in my mind

only in my mind

–

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2012. 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 Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, coping with divorce, creativity, dementia, divorce, divorce after long marriage, divorce and separation, Friendship, gray divorce, impending divorce, inspiration, loss, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, moving with divorce, Music, Ordinary Life, original songs, separation, singing, songwriting, writing | Leave a comment

YOU HOLD ME UP SO I WON’T FALL

Posted on October 26, 2012 by Judy

My artistic rendition of my new bedroom; it’s so quiet and peaceful! –

Clicking the blue link shares my song story about “With Me,” which inspired my post title:

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Story behind WITH ME-PART 1

Link to performances, stories, lyrics and recordings: WITH ME

Soon there won’t be any more lesson clips for me to share. My voice teacher, Peaches, will be moving out-of-state. A discussion about my current life can be heard by clicking the two blue links below. There’s plenty of laughter!

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LESSON #1 – 10/20/12 blog excerpt

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LESSON #2 – 10/20/12 blog excerpt

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“Smiling from space”

Moving was so exhausting that it left every part of my body sore. I remembered how when I was younger I participated in an 18-mile “walk-a-thon” fundraiser. That last mile was like walking on hot coals, and now my feet felt the same way.

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As tired as I felt from being on my feet so much, I realized that anticipating moving was harder than the actual process. I discarded items that hadn’t been used in over five years. I donated or trashed 50% of my possessions. Disposing of clutter was cathartic. Once again, I lamented that I didn’t clean and do this years before without moving!

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I tried to be sure to leave equal items for my husband. I sorted the food that he and my oldest son might eat. I left almost all of the household furniture, but took the smallest sofa that hadn’t been destroyed by our two cats. There were cups, dishes and silverware I separated. I took the blender and he got the toaster.

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My big day began on a Sunday morning. I was tired before the professional movers even showed up. It was because that morning I was still opening cabinets and tossing items into bags. Although I knew I could go back later on, I was determined to help clean our large house. But I had no idea where I would put everything!

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The movers were impressed that I marked all the items with yellow papers taped to them. While they brought furniture and boxes outside to a huge truck, I collapsed in a beach chair and watched them from the garage.

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If I thought I was tired watching the movers load up the truck, my fatigue only increased once we arrived at my coop/apartment. I was paying for them by the hour and tried to direct things quickly. Bags and boxes piled up everywhere, but I made sure there was a pathway to navigate through.

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Keeping track of the boxes that held “important items” was of the highest priority for me. I wanted to be sure I’d find my phone charger, toothbrush and computer disks.

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The refrigerator was the most challenging aspect of the move. It took half an hour for the movers to get it into place. Because I anticipated not having a cold fridge for a while, I brought a small dorm refrigerator as a temporary measure. Ironically, it was the one my parents had used when they were in assisted living.

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Finally, the movers left. I was too tired to eat lunch and collapsed on my bed. It was my parents’ old bed, probably about twelve years old. I planned to nap and then I’d start unpacking.

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My teenage son was hungry, and I heard him yelling from the kitchen asking what he should eat. I told him to find something in the pantry, which I had begun stocking earlier in the week. There was peanut butter, jelly and bread to work with.

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Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I shuffled from my bedroom and opened the front door.

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There was my brother, Norm, and sister-in-law, Jo. I began sobbing and said hysterically, “What are you both doing here?”

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They replied, “We’re here to help you and we brought lunch. Let’s eat!” I sat down as they brought out salad, pizza and chicken.

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I wasn’t tired anymore and would rest after they left. As I enjoyed my food, I told my brother that our parents would have been very proud of him.

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I just knew my father was smiling down from heaven at that moment.

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My older brother, Norm, is holding me in this picture.

“I tried to find humor”

I unpacked methodically doing stretches of 4-5 hours at a time; in between I briefly rested. The floor was dirty and there was a lot of dust, which didn’t help. My eyes felt wobbly and blurry.

I was simply determined to get things to a level that was comfortable – without perfection.

Within only two days, I had unpacked the kitchen, bathroom and my bedroom. My office area waited. I had Internet, but it disappeared when the handyman unplugged things near my computer. Both of us tried to figure out the problem and I finally gave up and called the cable company. When it was reset over the phone, I cried while thanking the man who helped me. He explained how I could reset it myself next time. I made a mental note of that.

I was determined that I wasn’t going to be helpless forever.

My ignorance was apparent and I tried to find humor in it.

The day we moved, I waited the recommended amount of hours before plugging in the refrigerator. But after six hours, it did not seem cold and I panicked because there was a huge puddle below it. All day long, I brought out towels every few hours to dry the constant drips. I was concerned about what might happen while I was sleeping, but was too tired to do anything.

When my handyman arrived mid-morning, I showed him all the water on the floor. After a few minutes he laughed and said, “It looks like the water on the floor is coming from the ice here in the bin that melted.”

I couldn’t believe it. The refrigerator had been moved while it was still filled with ice!

Then he chuckled and said with his Irish accent, “It didn’t get cold because you needed to push the “on” switch that is right here on the inside of the door.”

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I guffawed. My goodness; how I couldn’t wait to write about my ignorance! But there were too many things for me to do to even consider writing about anything. It would have to wait until I had unpacked more things.

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Unfortunately, I really didn’t feel safe putting away food items in the kitchen. There was a rat on the loose. For several weeks, it left droppings in the drawers and was very unsettling. I had set up traps two weeks before moving, but no luck. The day before the move, I relented and bought some poison. The thought of seeing a dead or dying rat made me cringe, but I felt I had no choice.

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My list for the handyman continued to grow. Every towel rack fell off the wall when I hung a towel on it. Those racks were probably as old as I was; how could I expect them to hold up after over fifty years? Below is one of my “To Do” lists.

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LIST OF THINGS TO HAVE FIXED OR TAKE CARE OF:

Get computer working. Internet is there – YES!

Figure out how to print, scan, and fax.

Buy a color printer that works.

Go shopping for basic foods to put in the empty refrigerator. WAIT!

Replace bathroom towel rack that fell off and chipped the bathtub.

Have leaky bathtub faucet fixed.

Have leaky shower faucet fixed.

Toilet continues flushing for 10 minutes afterwards.

Fix icemaker on refrigerator.

Hang new light fixtures (which I need to buy).

Outside (contact management) fix broken rain gutter.

Landscaper – add some plants in the patio and clear out all the trash.

Call the dish network to come back and hook up T.V.s’

Figure out where to put the printer, scanner, color printer and everything else in boxes.

Buy some other lights, too.

Hang pictures, god knows where and which ones. Too many!

Bolt china cabinet and hutch to the wall so it doesn’t crash on top of someone.

Change insurance policy.

Contact everyone to give out my new address; especially credit cards.

Buy address labels.

Take my youngest son to 3 different appointments next week.

SET UP A RECORDING STUDIO IN MY BEDROOM!

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On the left, is where the medicine cabinet is supposed to go. It’s been on back order for 3 weeks. On the right, is where the towel rack fell off.

Despite all the problems, I loved the adventure of it all. I had no regrets and accepted everything. It was amazing how familiar everything felt. I easily imagined myself as a young child walking the hallway and switching on the lights.

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I especially loved my new bedroom.

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Where I used to play guitar at my other house, the master bathroom. Now it is empty.

My new set up has lots of space to practice and eventually record. The lithograph behind my guitar is one my mother picked out from an artist we both liked two decades earlier.

I did have some moments where I felt my calmness fray. I was overwhelmed with physical pain and wasn’t tolerant of my childrens’ complaints. I couldn’t imagine working any harder or unpacking any faster. They weren’t happy about the kitchen being in boxes and were too busy setting up their own rooms to help me. I became quite irritated, but it was balanced out by their excitement over setting up their new room. I was compassionate about how difficult this change was in their lives, because they had never moved before.

My irritation also evaporated quickly because of an amazing sensation of freedom. There were a thousand metaphors I could think of to describe that feeling. Later on, I would write many stories about it.

I pictured myself being on an island like in the movie “Swiss Family Robinson.”

I loved that movie as a child. Unfortunately, I was worried about theft and felt like I needed to be prepared for home invasions. I pondered about what to do for home security. What certainly alleviated my fear was the presence of my father; it was overpowering.

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“I didn’t need to hear his voice on tape to remember his love”

When my two children weren’t home the next day, I turned on an old answering machine on the kitchen counter. It still had some messages on it from my father.

They were to his granddaughter who had lived there for two years. She was Norm’s daughter and had recently gotten married. When Norm and Jo were over on moving day, I played the messages for them. My sister-in-law began crying. I didn’t cry and smiled instead.

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A picture of Norm and Jo from ten years ago

I pushed the play button, and my father’s unmistakable voice filled the kitchen. As he recited a litany of instructions, I imagined he was speaking to me. He droned on and on explaining boring details, but his love and concern came through with every word.

As I listened to my father’s voice, I looked over at the sea of boxes for me to unpack and felt calm. I decided to unplug the machine and put it into a box that held my father’s memorabilia. I would save it.

A few minutes later, a technician arrived to install a wireless modem and a phone line for me. He left and told me everything was working. I felt stupid, because I hadn’t checked the phone line. I wasn’t sure which box held the telephones, but suddenly came across it. I plugged one into the jack and it didn’t work. I tried another phone and it didn’t work either.

I was frustrated because I didn’t want to use my cellphone for the zillions of calls I had to make. Often I was on hold for half an hour. I had many things going on with both my mother and father’s estate. There was no end to documents that needed notarizing. On top of everything, I had misplaced the most important document of all: my mother’s Power of Attorney.

Now I felt like crying. I thought perhaps the phones I brought were the problem. One of them was part of a cordless set and I hadn’t brought the main unit! I was annoyed with myself.

I went back and took my father’s answering machine/phone out of the box and plugged it into the jack. It didn’t work either. As I unplugged it, the machine announced robotically, “All messages erased.” My heart skipped a beat. I put my head down on the counter and softly cried.

Then I lifted my head up with determination.

There was always a reason for something. This was about starting afresh. My father never threw anything out; he was a hoarder. I tossed the answering machine into the trash.

I didn’t need to hear his voice on tape to remember his love.

I was surrounded by it. When I needed anything notarized, it was free. Before he died, he insisted on paying the difference for a premium policy at the Automobile Club. It entitled me to free notary service. Each time I used that service, I thanked him.

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In this picture my father is holding Jason at his circumcism ceremony.

“I doubted it was covered”

It was now three days since I had moved in. My bedroom was perfect. It held a wonderful spacious area for my guitar and music stand. Soon I’d set up that space with equipment to record vocals and my second book.

The kitchen was organized now, but the refrigerator still wasn’t cold. Aha! So this was more than my not pushing a switch. I wondered if it was still under warranty. I couldn’t find the warranty paperwork because I hadn’t unpacked the boxes in my office yet. I decided I’d just call the phone number listed on the door. With reading glasses and determination, I copied down all the numbers I’d need.

I called and the voice on the other end asked me for the model and serial numbers. The refrigerator was purchased in 2006 and was six years old; I doubted it was covered by anything after that length of time. I was put on hold while she checked on my warranty. As I waited, the memory flooded back to me.

My father was sitting next to me. His voice was very firm as he said, “I want you to buy the extended warranty. I am paying for it. Buy as many years as it will let you.”

I remembered how he insisted I do that on all purchases for the last five years.

He was unwavering and always pestered me to be sure I had followed his instructions. We owned two refrigerators and my husband had one with a long warranty also.

The lady came back on the line and said, “Yes, this is covered until 2014. We can schedule the repair for today.” I hung up the phone and tears poured down my cheeks as I went back to unpacking more boxes.

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I am outside the coop for this picture taken before going to my high school prom. It looks exactly the same today. (Even though I don’t!)

“Peacefulness, even with stress”

On the fourth day, the repairman came to repair the refrigerator. I was so thankful I had brought the small dorm fridge as a standby. I packed as many items in it as I could.

The repairman said he had good and bad news. The good news was that the repair was free; all the parts being replaced would have it working like new. The bad news was that it might take a week for those parts to come in. Nothing mattered to me anymore. It was all temporary and fine.

I decided every hurdle was a test and I had passed them all.

The day before, my feet hurt standing in line at Kmart for 45 minutes while waiting to copy keys. I had plenty of copies somewhere, but couldn’t find them. I had gone back to Kmart because the mattress pad I purchased the night before never came home with me. I had to wait in line again while customer service checked their security cameras as proof before getting me another one.

Blood was dripping from my finger as I waited. I had cut my finger by brushing against something sharp while I was walking through the store.

I still smiled at the clerk helping me.

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The same headboard can be seen in this picture from forty years ago of my mom and our family dog. One of my paintings is on her right. My parents decorated their coop with most of my artwork.

In one more day, my mother was coming from her nursing home to visit me and have lunch. She had not seen the coop for at least five years. I wondered how she would handle it with her severe dementia.

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Last night, my bedroom felt comfortable as I undressed; I was exhausted. I played my guitar briefly and collapsed on the bed. Sleeping in this different room and bed alone after so many years of marriage hadn’t been as earth shaking as I anticipated.

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Originally, I thought my post and writing would revolve around the experience of sleeping in my parents’ bed.

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I still had the rapid heartbeat in the darkness. As I lay there, I felt the thumping begin to settle down. A warm calmness enveloped me. It was so quiet and peaceful. Finally, my heart slowed down and beat softly, instead of pounding. It was all clear now.

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I was home.

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Tagged acoustic guitar, adult sibling relationship, Aging Parents, childhood memories, coping with divorce, divorce, divorce after long marriage, divorce and separation, facing divorce after a long marriage, father's love, Friendship, gray divorce, GRIEF RELATED, impending divorce, inspiration, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyrics, memories of my father, mother daughter relationship, mother with dementia, mother's illness, moving back home, moving with divorce, Music, new life, original songs, separating after a long marriage, separation, singing, songwriting, voice lessons, with me | Leave a comment

MY TRUE COMPANION

Posted on October 19, 2012 by Judy

A dog’s eye view of the outside of the coop/apartment I am moving to. This is a picture of our family dog from forty years ago. No more pets for me now. It’s interesting after so many years that the building is still the same color!

Link to Song Page with more about my song RETREAT

“I withdraw and suddenly, I feel you surround me”

I had retreated from the tunnel’s opening. It was right in front of me and the light was dazzling my eyes. But the absence of sound was deafening, and I felt like my head was exploding. I had to break the silence. I retreated back into the darkness and remembered there was a perfect song to help me.

I went to work with George and told him I wanted to create an instrumental version of my song “Retreat.” We had worked on it a few months earlier; it was a moody and complicated song with two distinct rhythms. The mystery of my song was who appeared to me. For now, I believe my music has definitely surrounded and soothed me.

I love sharing. Below are two recordings of my song in progress; one has my vocal and the other is my instrumental that is half completed. Click on the blue links to play an instrumental version of my song:–

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Once I brought music back into my tunnel, I felt better. I listened to my beautiful song as I fell asleep at night in order to stay calm. But in the darkness, my heart still pounded wildly and I had that feeling of inevitability. I thought I would write some descriptions of that feeling.

Inevitability was when…

I had absolute certainty that I was going to throw up and could no longer hold it back. There was a horrible tight feeling in my stomach; my hands were icy, my face hot and my heart was pounding.

I was on a roller coaster that was rickety and going up, up, up – at the very top there was a hesitation before it began plunging and there was no stopping it.

I checked into the hospital to deliver each of my children knowing there was plenty of physical pain to face before coming home with my baby.

I thought about my own death, someday.

I knew that each night counting down would mark the very last time I slept in the same bed with my husband whom I would soon be leaving after 31 years of marriage.

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Writing for my blog is quite a distraction because I have so much left to do. But it is not a waste of my time. I write for many reasons.

As a writer, my mood and how I see things is very much affected by when I write. To actually write about feelings as events occur is extremely touching for me. I have raw emotions that I am certain other people could relate to. Writing something later on is completely different, because I am more detached. But while things are happening, sharing is my way of expressing myself with complete honesty instead of holding it in. For such a long time, I did not share my true feelings with anyone.

I like to use lyric lines for my post titles, and I was unsure trying to choose which one to use for this post. I had so many ideas that I decided to write about all of them. Therefore, below are many ideas for titles and the reason why I considered them:

NO WORDS (From my song “No Words”)

This morning was the last time I would be eating breakfast with my husband. He planned to go away for the weekend and I was moving out while he was gone. He would return to a house that was empty except for our oldest son. The post title of “No Words” would have been perfect. We both said little to each other, and no feelings were revealed. But inside, I had many words I could not bring myself to say.

I held everything inside. For such a long time, I avoided him because I couldn’t handle the added stress he brought to my life. But as the minutes ticked to the very end, I avoided looking at him. His eyes were filled with pain and mine were half closed. The day before, I had lifted too many boxes and was stiff. I shuffled around the kitchen and served him the last breakfast I would ever fix.

If I could have actually said my true feelings, I might have said, “I‘m so sorry that I’ve hurt you this deeply and caused you so much grief. I wish it weren’t this excruciating difficult. Although I chose this path, I still have good memories and will miss many aspects of our former life together. I still care about you.”

WE TRY AND SHOW HOW WE DON’T CARE (From my song “How We Don’t Care”)

This title is exactly how we both operated for years. Both of us stopped showing our hurt. He was angry about household things and I was indifferent. There was zero affection, although we called each other “Honey.”

I’M FILLED WITH COLD INDIFFERENCE (From my song “Through My Music”)

I hate to describe myself this way. But it is with complete honesty that sometimes it has been the only way for me to cope with emotional anguish. Detachment from pain allows for respite. Unfortunately, it left me in a zombie mode with no attachment to pleasure either. I had to have cold indifference in order to pack this past week and empty our house. Every item I looked at carried a memory of our married life. Moving was hard!

I TRIED SO HARD TO ACCEPT (From my song “Memory of Love”)

Being an artist and appreciating the beauty of nature with my eyesight has been essential for me. My cataract surgeries have affected my vision. The whole process of learning to see with different eyes has been challenging, and I remain hopeful that I will adjust. It wasn’t too hard for me to accept it, because when music entered my life, it blessed me with something that would help me through any challenge I might face. That included eyesight problems.

LOSING THE LAUGHTER (From my song “Laughter and Tears”)

I loved seeing Peaches Chrenko every week for our voice lessons. I recorded our discussions and often shared those clips on my blog. She is moving out-of-state and I am going to miss our laughter and time together so much. But more than anything, I’m going to miss Peaches. Her support and encouragement really enabled me to improve as a singer/songwriter. One day, I dream of going to Italy with Peaches.

I MAY BE STRESSED (From my song “My Dream”)

This title would be self-explanatory. After I’ve moved, I plan to see my doctor to do more tests regarding my irregular heartbeat. I need to follow up on this while I still have decent medical insurance through my husband. Unfortunately, that will change soon.

THERE WERE SO MANY THINGS THAT I WANTED TO TELL YOU (From my song “So Real”)

This title is also very obvious. Soon there will be lawyers negotiating our divorce settlement. I can’t help anticipating that it might cause both of us to become angry at each other. Sometimes, I do get very angry. But it is extremely unhealthy and causes me to become physically ill. So I accept, understand and take comfort in knowing that I am moving from anger to peacefulness.

ONE DAY, YOUR PAIN WILL GO AWAY (From my song “Hang On”)

I believe this line is the one I need to remind myself of the most. I hear it every moment of my day. Not only will my pain go away, but I will also be very happy!

I loved the guitar I had for many years; it was an Epiphone. My guitar that I now play is from Ireland, a Lowden.

Email exchange with my cousin, Dorothy (my words are in blue):

Dear Judy,

I am thinking about you and hoping your eyes are better and things are going well for you. My daughter never lets a Saturday go by without a prayer for you. Since she has such a good heart, her prayers usually work. I hope it has for you.

Love, Dorothy

Thanks, Dorothy. I believe in her prayers and please let her know how touched I am.

Her prayers definitely work, because I feel very blessed with where my life is heading. I am close to getting there. I called today and arranged for the movers to come this Sunday. It is going to happen! I wish my eye wasn’t bothering me, but I plan to see the doctor soon and hope it has healed more.

Love, Judy

Dear Judy,

I am happy that your life is moving on. I pray the days ahead bring you only the best of health and peace and success in whatever you chose to do. I will pass your message on to my daughter.

Your eyes are still healing so on Sunday try not to lift anything to heavy. I know it will be hard but keep thinking of your eyes.

Love, Dorothy

I’m seeing the doctor on Friday and will let you know what he says. I haven’t been feeling too well and today I did music, which helped me feel better.

Love, Judy

Judy, in a few weeks you will be settled in and you can begin to rebuild your life. I know with her prayers, it will be a good one. You are in for great surprises; you have always succeeded with what you have done, however, for now take care.

Love, Dorothy

Dear Dorothy,

I don’t think if will take long for me to settle in. It feels very comfortable being in the home I grew up in. I can feel my parents’ love and presence everywhere I look!

My biggest surprise already has happened – that I found the courage to change my life. Everything else will be icing on the cake. I look forward to success in the form of doing what I love and my dream that I will be able to support myself doing that financially. The greatest gift would be to touch and help many, many people.

Please let your daughter know that she has made a difference already!

Love, Judy

I loved your e-mail. I will tell my daughter and it will make her so happy. You will definitely touch other people’s lives.

Love, Dorothy

Oh, Dorothy, you tell her! I know I will help people and look forward to it.

Love, Judy

Judy,

I don’t mean to be a pest, but take care. If you do, then you can take care of all the people who trust you to make a difference in their lives.

Love, Dorothy

I don’t think you’re a pest. I was a very bad girl today. I carried boxes and made 20 trips from my car into the apartment. I knew it was wrong, but couldn’t stop myself. I listened to my music on my iPod while doing it and it was like a workout dance. I am so sore right now.

I am nervous about my eyes and will see the doctor tomorrow. I am sitting at my computer now and feeling a bit teary. I saw my mom today and told her I was moving, but I don’t think she understood. She’ll visit me there next week with Miriam.

I heard my inner voice today. It said, “You are valuable and the richest woman in the world.” It made me feel better. Thank you for caring about me.

Love, Judy

You are valuable and you are the richest woman in the world, and these are the reasons you have to take care of yourself. Remember the longest journey starts with the first step.

Love, Dorothy

I sure miss playing tennis – it has been a long stretch for me to not play because of my eye surgeries. This image is from a claw-like device that is hanging on the fence where I play. It retrieves tennis balls from bushes. The manufacturer is UNGER. I have decided to keep my last name.

Email update about my eyesight:

Dear friends and family,

It has been one week since my second cataract surgery. From the beginning, I didn’t feel too great after the surgery; my left eye was slightly foggy. The day after surgery, the surgeon told me I had a minor complication called a cortical chip.

When I saw the doctor today, he said my cornea was slightly swollen and it would be best to surgically fix my problem. Even though the procedure is considered minor, this time I will accept sedation!

My surgery is scheduled a week from Monday. The surgeon said my complication is very rare, and I’m the first patient he’s done this with in five years. I did become a little choked up and said that maybe I wasn’t his best patient because I had possibly done something that caused this. He firmly told me that it wasn’t my fault.

I am moving Sunday and will be living at my parents’ old coop in North Hollywood. I’ll continue to send updates. Thank you for caring about me.

With much love, Judy

–

: This image is from a lesson I videotaped with Peaches when we first started working together 2 1/2 years ago.

Tagged acoustic guitar, cataract surgery, cataract surgery complications, cataracts age 53, composing, coping with divorce, cortical chip complication, divorce, divorce after long marriage, divorce and separation, facing divorce after a long marriage, gray divorce, grief, guitar, impending divorce, inspiration, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, moving with divorce, Music, original songs, separation, singing, songwriting, writing | Leave a comment

I’M READY TO LIVE ON MY OWN – PART 1

Posted on October 15, 2012 by Judy

Today, my older brother and his wife helped me move most of my belongings into the coop apartment where I plan to officially live starting in another week.

I am standing on that same walkway in this picture from when I was 8 years old.

Link to more stories about this song: THE UNKNOWN

–

“The tunnel”

The light at the opening to my tunnel was blinding me. I had closed my eyes because they hurt. I finally stopped crying and gently wiped away my tears.

I was lying on the ground. I kept repeating three words over and over again. They were: temporary, adjust and accept.

I had cried over my frustration of not being able to move. But then I realized that I had stopped moving not because I was stuck, but because it was simply not time for me to exit.

I had sprinted to the opening so rapidly, far too soon. This was the time to rest and gather my strength. I understood now.

I felt empty because the music that had accompanied me had stopped; it was so quiet. I listened carefully for my inner voice, but it was also silent. As I rested, I began to feel stronger. I decided that I didn’t need to hear anything. I maintained faith that the silence would end soon.

One day, my world would be filled with more songs than I could ever imagine. Gorgeous new melodies would accompany me through my life.

–

I love the memories a photo can inspire. I know as I looked over that wall at the Grand Canyon – I was imagining I could fly over it. I can’t believe I ever had hair long enough for pigtails!

“You deserve to be happy”

It was Saturday, the day before my birthday and three days since my eye surgery. For several days I didn’t feel well. The queasiness finally subsided, but I was disappointed that I had lost control of my eating once my appetite returned.

I hated the way my eye felt. There was a funny sensation near my lower eyelid. It was as if my eye had a loose piece of jello in it. The blurry area caused me to keep my eye half-closed. I wished I knew how long it would take for the cortical chip to be absorbed. I was grateful that the dimness was starting to lift, but the lump was definitely annoying.

My next appointment with the surgeon wasn’t for another week. Staying positive was a huge challenge for me, and I didn’t feel like smiling much.

I looked in the mirror and could see I wasn’t at my best. My hair was wildly sticking out and my gray roots were annoying. How I hated dealing with those roots every three weeks! I just told myself that I had to let go of caring about my appearance during this trying time in my life.

In the morning, I was glad I had an appointment with my hypnotherapist, Connie. Before I drove, I put on dark glasses like the ones my aunt used to always wear.

Connie had remembered my birthday. My smile returned when I read her sweet birthday card. It had a picture of a bird soaring on the front. She wrote a personal message to me and my favorite line was, “You deserve to be happy.” I certainly agreed with that!

I didn’t know what Connie could help me with; I had so many things going on in my life.

I told Connie how much I had missed having voice lessons with Peaches for the last three weeks. Much of the time during those lessons, Peaches and I laughed hysterically and that laughter sustained my soul. I realized how much I needed it after going three weeks without it. Peaches had cancelled our lessons and didn’t give me a reason, so I was concerned. But she finally called me and we had a lesson in the afternoon. When I saw her, I hoped to find out what was going on.

I was not allowed to lift anything for two weeks after my eye surgery. Most of the time, I was working on audio editing for my book. It was tedious.

My ear was so critical when listening to audio stories and music that I wasn’t enjoying listening anymore. No wonder the joyful feeling had stopped. I felt empty.

There were no major revelations for me during hypnosis. I felt stressed and forced myself to let go so I could escape into the calmness and peace. As I drifted off, I thought about what it meant to let go.

Letting go was something I was living with every moment of my day.

I was letting go of possessions I didn’t need, letting go of my old lifestyle and routine, letting go of worrying about my husband’s needs, letting go of missing my parents, letting go of my former eyesight, letting go of memories that brought me sadness – it was an unrelenting and constant process for me.

However, all that “letting go” did not allow anything to enter in.

That was why I was empty!

–

My mother is posing at the entrance to the carport of the coop. I love her outfit.

“Sharing my new life”

A few moments after I came home, my mother and her companion, Miriam, joined me for lunch. Miriam offered to color my hair for me, which I appreciated very much. As she dabbed hair color over my gray roots, we caught up on things. My mother sat next to me in her wheelchair and I was grateful to see her.

My mother certainly loved me and I was soaked up her radiant smile as she examined my face. Before my hair color was even applied, she said, “Your hair looks beautiful.” I wanted to cry when she said that!

–

I wasn’t sure whether my mother comprehended what was going on in my life. She would often say words that made no sense and I usually nodded and pretended I understood. She didn’t seem to notice that there were boxes everywhere.

When my parents lived with me, I knew it was sad for them to be reminded of their former life. My father hardly maintained the coop apartment, and he would sort through a tiny box for hours, oblivious to being surrounded by mountains of trash.

I had mentioned to my mother on a few occasions that we could go back to the coop and take things she might want. There were clothes and many items she had left there after she became ill. I thought perhaps she missed the old neighborhood where she had lived for so many years.

But her eyes became clouded and sad when I suggested it. It was clear that she did not want to think about how much her life had changed.

My mother could not go back.

The apartment remained practically untouched through the five years while my parents lived with me to the time they both entered skilled nursing. A granddaughter lived there for a few years, and she lived amidst the clutter. My father was adamant that she not move a single thing.

Whenever I visited that cluttered coop, it was as if time had been frozen. Since my father hated to throw anything away, the dining room table was cluttered with items of daily life: coins, stamps, receipts, and endless papers. I could easily picture my mother cooking in the kitchen. All of her knickknacks and recipes were still on the counter.

In a week, I would be sleeping in my parents’ bed, in their old bedroom.

I wondered now how it would be for my mother to see her old apartment. It had taken ten dumpsters to dispose of my father’s trash due to his hoarding obsession. It now had refinished hardwood floors, which I had discovered under the old carpet a few weeks earlier. She would hardly recognize it.

But she would certainly remember the dining room with the black and white linoleum tiles I had grown up with.

–

I found this picture of our family dog, Teddy. It displays the black and white floor perfectly!

In a few weeks after I was situated, I planned to invite Miriam and my mother over. My mother’s dementia had advanced considerably this past year, and I wondered if seeing the old apartment would still make her sad.

I hoped I wasn’t being selfish and that she would be ok seeing it. The truth was that I really wanted to share my new life with her.

–

This photo is from a Super 8 movie. I was able to take a snapshot when it was converted to a DVD. My mother is holding me as an infant after coming home from the hospital. My older brother, Norm, is behind her.

“Bye, bye Peaches”

I went to my voice lesson and was overflowing with things to share with Peaches. I had finished recording a vocal for my newest song “My Dream,” and was very pleased with it. I had two other songs I was working on that required more vocal takes and I wanted her input.

There wasn’t enough time to even do music with all the catching up between us. I anticipated that Peaches was going to give me some heavy news.

Peaches told me she was leaving the area and starting a new life also. Once again, it was interesting for me how many parallels our lives had. She was going through a door into a new life just as I was.

I was happy and hopeful that she would have a better life. But at the same time, I was having trouble accepting that I wouldn’t be working with her in the same way anymore.

This required more letting go for me.

I left our lesson and my emptiness became larger.

–

The book I found in my nightstand that my mother gave me in 1987.

“Remembering my mother”

It was evening now. I wasn’t sure what to do. My eye was bothering me and I didn’t want to do any more work on my computer.

I needed to spend more time packing, but couldn’t to anything that required exertion. Other than my bedroom dresser and a few kitchen areas, there really wasn’t much left for me to do.

Then I remembered my nightstand. It was filled with many books, and it had been a long time since I’d read anything. With my poor eyesight and preference for music, I wondered if I would read again.

But many of those books were special, and I planned to save them anyway. WIth a box nearby, I opened my nightstand and emptied the books onto the floor. There were many I could discard, and I considered that I might read some of those special books again. With my new life and a quiet bedroom, it was intriguing to consider.

There was a tiny book. I opened it and gasped. There was an inscription on it from my mother to me and it was for my birthday. This was no coincidence. There was definitely a reason for me to find this book.

I began to read it. I heard my mother’s voice and felt my father beside me. My emptiness began to fill up with their love.

My mother had given me the book in 1987, which was the year Jason was born. She must have known I needed courage to face dealing with his heart defect. I wondered if she could have imagined that I would be reading this book so many years later while going through a divorce.

Every year on my birthday, she would admonish me weeks ahead of time that it was very important for us to go shopping so she could get me something special for my birthday. The year before, I was sad when I thought of that, so I went out and bought some new earrings for myself.

In my mind, I pretended that she had given them to me.

As I read the book and tears streamed down my cheeks, I decided she had given me the best birthday present ever this year.

–

A picture of me with Norm when we were younger. He is seven years older than I am.

“My actual birthday”

Every week, my brother and his wife joined me, my mom and Miriam for lunch at a restaurant nearby to my mother’s nursing facility. Before my father died, he had loved seeing us and now it was a special ritual with my mother. For many years, I saw my brother, Norm, and his wife, Jo, only a few times a year – even though we lived in the same city. Now I was seeing them weekly and we had also become much closer with my father’s death.

My brother listened every week to my travails. Having gone through a divorce many years before, he kept telling me from experience that I needed to get out of my home as quickly as possible. He insisted that sleeping in the same bedroom with my husband was toxic.

–

Another picture from a family vacation. My other brother, Howard, is on the left side.

The week before he said to me, “How about on your birthday? Jo and I can get you moved in and we can do it in one day. We will help get you there!”

I accepted their offer. My plan was to use professional movers a week later. They would bring over the heavier pieces of furniture, my teenagers’ beds and the refrigerator.

It was Sunday. Norm and Jo first took me to lunch to celebrate my birthday, and my youngest son joined us. My son decided on his own that he wanted to come along and help.

After our lunch it was time to get to work.

My oldest son had already moved many boxes for me a few days before my eye surgery. My entire art studio was there, waiting for me to unpack it, but I had no idea where I would put everything. The black and white dining room floor was covered with boxes.

I was not allowed to lift anything, and I sprinted after my brother and pointed to the boxes and items we would take with us. Their car filled up quickly with my clothes and because my van had plenty of room, I decided to bring additional boxes from my closet. I could not discard any of those items even if I seldom looked at them. There was a box of seashells and then there was a box that held items related to Jason. I could put those items in the storage area near my parking space at the coop.

I drove my minivan and Norm and Jo drove their car. We parked in the carport and they began unloading the boxes and clothes.

I told my youngest son to bring certain boxes over to the storage unit. He hesitated and told me he didn’t want to carry one of the boxes. He said, “Mom, it’s just too sad for me to carry the box that is about Jason.”

I let him know I understood. He asked me what was inside, and I told him it was filled with items that held memories of Jason. He paused and reconsidered; then he went to pick it up. I lifted the lid and showed him Jason’s lunch box, tiny underwear, and ceramic hand print. My son was a large boy of 15 and he marveled at how small Jason was.

–

He stood up and wrapped his arms around me to give me a big hug.

–

In the upper right corner it says, “Fix ding on the wall.” My son accidentally marked the new paint on his wall while trying to move his game chair around. His video game system is his obsession and he’s excited to figure out where to put it.

“I was still able to smile after all”

It had been a long day, even though I hadn’t lifted anything! I was too tired to have them help me unpack any boxes. For some reason, the weather had become hot again. We all collapsed.

All four of us sat in the dining room. I was so appreciative of what Norm and Jo had done for me. My brother and I reminisced about the life we had once lived in that coop. Jo became teary and mentioned that it felt unbelievable not to see my parents living there anymore.

My youngest son was enthused about his new room. He asked me for a pen and paper so he could draw a design for his room. When I saw his drawing, I was impressed and asked him if I could share it on my blog. I was surprised when he said I could.

As we were leaving, my son took a few pictures for me. I decided that turning 53 wasn’t so bad.

–

I was still able to smile after all.

–aa-
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