myjourneysinsight

HOW SPECIAL YOU WERE

Posted on October 5, 2012 by Judy

The tunnel was dark and filled with stifling heat. Most of the timed I was soaked in sweat. Still, I moved forward with determination and accepted all pain. No matter how discouraged I was, I reminded myself that with each step I was getting closer to the end.

My music accompanied me in the darkness and buoyed me; it was my magical elixir. I felt peaceful because all of my songs spoke to me with their wisdom. When I suddenly saw a pinhole of light, I began to step up my pace in order to reach the end. I was relieved because this time it did not flicker away as it had a month ago.

As the light grew brighter, I felt myself begin to smile. My soul stirred with wonderment and happiness again. An autumn breeze cooled me and my heart felt light. In the past, seasonal change brought a familiar ache, but this time I was filled with promise and peacefulness. The brightness ahead of me became more intense, so I closed my eyes and pictured myself exiting the tunnel. My arms were outstretched and I was singing as I emerged. It was so glorious that there were no other words I could find to describe that moment.

It was eighteen years since I had last moved. My art studio held many areas for me to sort through. I dreaded the process of packing, and I found many excuses to put it off.

I had thought I would never paint again, but only the day before I corresponded with an art director regarding a new project. My art career still had a pulse! Although I preferred working digitally, there were times where I still painted. Once my cataract surgeries were over, I would need new close-up glasses. But my optimism about being an artist returned and I was certain I would be able to paint again.

Initially, it was excruciatingly difficult to tear myself away from working on my audio book and songs. I was so close to finishing everything. But packing was the only way I would be able to move forward so I could exit the tunnel I was in. Finally, I had to accept that I would not finish my book before moving.

If I received the large art assignment, finalizing and finishing my book would be even further delayed. I decided there was a reason for this. The right time to publish and promote my book would happen, even if it were later than I wanted. I was steadfast and certain that my journey would lead me to a time when I would emerge from obscurity and my life would take a completely different turn. The part that I looked forward to the most was helping many people with my comforting music and words.

Yesterday when I began packing up my studio, it was hot. I sweated and carried heavy boxes into the living room. My hands were blackened from going through so many dusty items. But then I discovered something I hadn’t expected. It turned out that what I had dreaded was soothing. It felt really good to clean drawers out and throw useless items away!

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I was purging.

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Truthfully, I was a little anxious about whether I would be able to find things later on when I needed them. I also had no idea where I would put everything. I was going from a large house into a small two-bedroom apartment without much closet space.

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I planned to make the living room where I was moving into my art studio/computer area. I could easily live without a couch and television; my two children would make their bedrooms into their own living spaces. For sure, it would be challenging sharing one bathroom with my two teenagers. I created a third bedroom the same way my parents did when I was young; I had a wall built that divided the living room. As a result, my studio would be fairly small.

A beautiful picture of my parents went they were first married.

I started by emptying two, large file cabinets. I sorted through piles of photo reference, organized printed samples into folders, tossed away cardboard shipping supplies (I sent everything digitally now), and put an amazing array of small items into boxes. Although it was tedious at times, I listened to my music as I worked. The time passed and I was inspired by how productive I was.

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As I packed, I relived so many memories. It wasn’t hard to let go of my identity as an artist, because I far preferred my music and writing. But it was hard to let go of ellipse guides, large pads of marker paper, and many items I knew I’d probably never use again. With every item I examined, I remembered the painting related to it. Although it was difficult at first, after awhile it became easier and I began to feel lighter. I planned to give many of the items to students who would appreciate my donations.

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The next day I took a break. I had begun to feel the seasonal change and longed to breathe some fresh air. I hadn’t gone outdoors much during this past sweltering summer. On a whim, I decided to do something special for my mother and her companion, Miriam. I wanted to take them to a restaurant named “Inn of the Seventh Ray.” I had never been there, but heard that it was delightful and situated in a canyon.

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I called Miriam to let her know I was in the parking lot and she met me there. After helping my mother from her wheelchair into my minivan, Miriam gently inserted hearing aids into my mother’s ears. My mother beamed with joy and babbled to me in the front seat.

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As I drove, Miriam and I caught up on things. I was grateful to have Miriam to talk to and was glad she was now my close friend. I shared with her that I felt like I would soon be emerging from my tunnel. My second cataract surgery was in only one more week. I told her I had found out the day before that my new eye measurements showed I didn’t have an astigmatism. I was elated because I would not have to pay the additional $1,000 fee now. But I was concerned during my pre-op appointment when the nurse commented that I had a strange heartbeat. As he listened with his stethoscope, I felt my heart flutter and did not like the feeling at all.

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My irregular heartbeat was first discovered five months earlier when my father was dying and before I announced to my husband that I wanted to divorce. I was told that the extra beat was in rhythm and not considered dangerous.

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Still, I had hoped it went away. The nurse suggested that after my surgery I address the condition with my doctor.

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As I left the nursing home, I put on my latest song arrangement to share with Miriam and my mother. Music was my magical elixir and gave me so much pleasure. Earlier in the week, I had worked on an older song – it was one that I had written when I was 19 for my husband before we were married.

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I listened to my song’s lilting melody and a feeling of nostalgia overwhelmed me. I remembered how I felt when I wrote it at the age of 19. My songs held so many lessons for me.

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At that time, my feelings were so pure and innocent; I was unsure about whether my love would endure. I was married prior to my big wedding at the age of 20. My own parents were married for 61 years, and I was dedicated and committed to being married. My marriage weathered many challenges over a period of 31 years.

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I wondered why I had chosen to work on that particular song. I had no answer except that this song made me feel young again. For such a long time, I had avoided singing love songs. But now, I planned to improve all of my older songs and I looked forward to creating new arrangements for many of them.

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Working on my music was like breathing for me. My husband never understood the joy I received from my music. He was rightfully worried about my lack of income, and did not see much future in music as a possible second career for me. I was actually relieved now that I had freed him of those expenses.

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This past week, George was especially kind to me. We had worked together now for two years and he told me that he often found himself humming the melodies to many of my songs.

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We worked on my song “What You’ve Meant To Me.” First, we refined the original arrangement with some spectacular improvements, and then we created an instrumental by adding the melody line. I looked forward to singing a new vocal for it, because my voice had improved a lot since the year before when I last sang it.

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Clicking the first blue link below will play the instrumental version:

The link below is to another story about this song:

WHAT YOU’VE MEANT TO ME

This beautiful song will be included in my second book. Even though I haven’t even finished my first book, I am already excited about my next project!

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Finding these old photos after my father died, has given me great joy. It is amazing to see my mother this way – I love it!

The drive was beautiful as we drove through a shady canyon. My car gently swayed as I followed the curves; my mother was quiet while Miriam and I continued to talk. Miriam mentioned that a close friend of hers was also suffering with the end of her marriage and she said, “I hope you don’t mind that I lent your CD to my friend. We listened to it together and she said that after hearing your music, she felt much better. She asked me if she could keep it for a while, so please make me another copy when you have time.”

I smiled and told Miriam I was honored. This was the third time over the past week where I had heard such nice words about my music being soothing. I was especially touched when a good friend thanked me for helping her through a horrible migraine. Her exact words were, “Judy, my head was exploding but I just kept hearing your song, Hang On. It became my mantra until the headache passed!”

When we arrived at the restaurant, Miriam gasped with delight. My mother’s wheelchair bumped over a cobblestone path and her eyes were sparkling with delight. Our table was perfect, overlooking a shady and peaceful canyon. There were several trickling fountains, and the cascading water sounded almost musical. Our meal was delicious and delectable as we savored the experience.

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I noticed how my mother was radiant and aware of my presence even if she couldn’t converse because of her dementia. Although she had little language, several times during our outing she was able to thank me clearly. That made it even more wonderful for me. I was so glad that I had made time to do this for my mother. I imagined myself singing the lyrics to her of “How special you were in my life, in my music.”

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At the gift shop where we had out lunch, I snapped these photos.

When we were leaving, I mentioned to Miriam that in the morning I had looked on Craigslist for boxes; there was a listing, which was on our way home. They were of good quality and $30 was an excellent deal. If I were lucky, the boxes would still be available. I called and was relieved to hear that I could still get them. The woman on the phone gave me directions to her apartment.

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When I arrived at a big apartment complex, I wasn’t sure which building was the correct one. I called back; the woman on the phone told me she had just moved in and wasn’t sure how to describe which building she was in. Finally, I found it. Thankfully, my mother looked relaxed and Miriam waited in the car with her. I bounded up the stairs, found the apartment and knocked on the door.

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The woman who answered had an exotic accent and was quite beautiful. I noticed she had a young son who was resting on a couch. The flat boxes were stacked near the front door. She said she would help me carry them to my car.

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As we gathered handfuls of boxes, I opened up to her. I told her that I would be living on my own for the first time in my life after ending my marriage of 31 years. In the several trips back and forth to my car she shared with me, too. I found out that she was also going through a divorce.

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I shared that I had weathered a lot in my marriage. I explained that my writing and music had given me clarity and joy. She seemed interested in the book I told her I was working on. I explained that it was about my music healing me from my grief. When I mentioned I had lost a child she said, “I can’t imagine how you could live through that.” It turned out that her young son was five-years-old, which was the same age that Jason was when he died. Tomorrow would mark the 20th anniversary of his death.

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It took some squeezing and adjusting, but everything was able to be stacked in my minivan. I thanked this young woman and then I impulsively hugged her. I thought about the idea that those boxes could tell an interesting story.

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I planned to share them with my husband when I was finished with them. He had a lot of things to pack in his garage. The fact that I had paid for them with my own money even felt good.

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I could hear her voice as I drove my mother and Miriam back to the nursing facility. This woman whom I had only spent ten minutes with touched me greatly.

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She had said to me with complete earnestness, “I had a big house and now that I’m in this small apartment, I am so happy. You are going to love it once you have moved into your own place. Trust me.”

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I sure did.

-a

© 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, Art and Illustration, Caregiving, child's death, composing, creativity, dementia, divorce after a long marriage, Friendship, gray divorce, inspiration, lovesong, lyric development, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, moving with divorce, Music, Ordinary Life, original songs, seasonal change, separation, singing, songwriting | 2 Comments

WHEN THE CLOSET IS BARE

Posted on October 1, 2012 by Judy

I began packing my things today. I plan to move in mid-October after I have my second cataract surgery on October 10th.

Clicking on the blue link below plays an instrumental version of my song The Door:

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On Wednesday, I performed at my temple. I was one of several people providing a “workshop,” and I had one hour to share my music and optimism. For several days, I selected and practiced 8-10 of my songs so I could sing them smoothly. I know all of my songs by heart and there are a lot of chords and lyrics for me to keep track of with almost forty of them!

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Only eight people showed up for my workshop – and five of them were friends of mine. I didn’t mind.

My friends were eager to hear me play and I loved singing my heart out.

It surprised me that I became too emotional to sing my song “Set You Free.” That particular song had many layers and held deep meaning for me. I choked through the tears and plucked my guitar until I was able to sing again. It took almost a full minute for me to recover. Four months ago, I performed “Set You Free” at my father’s funeral and now I appreciated how calm I was on that day.

My good friend, Sonia, was there to watch me. She has always been extremely supportive of my writing and music. Sonia is a Holocaust Survivor and I have written stories about our friendship:

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REACHING OUT and ILLUMINATING HEARTACHE

That very same evening Sonia invited me to join her for dinner with a few other friends. Sonia is very direct and honest with her words; sometimes I am taken aback by how she says things. When I joined her at the restaurant, she insisted I was her guest and that she was treating me. I didn’t allow it and she said, “Well, then I won’t ever be inviting you again!” I hoped she didn’t mean that.

A year ago, she told me with complete candor that I must play my song “Alabaster Seashell” at her funeral someday. Her request was so touching! I quickly answered, “Of course,” but it was too surreal to even imagine it.

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Because of my good friend, I also attended a very inspirational lecture last week. Sonia was part of a panel of ten speakers. The lecture was entitled “One Amazing Community” and an advertisement for it read: “Come hear ten amazing people tell their uplifting stories. Learn how they turned tragedy into triumph.”

The room was filled with well over a hundred people. It was electrifying to hear each person speak and every story was absolutely amazing. When it was Sonia’s turn, she sounded calm and assured even though I knew she had been very nervous beforehand.

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It was quite a coincidence for me that Sonia’s family had been slaughtered at the same time on the Jewish calendar as when my son, Jason, died. She grew up as an orphan and the main emphasis of her story was about how she educated herself. She did it with dedication and perseverance and was rightfully proud of what she had achieved.

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I ate up the stories and words told by each panelist, but my attention became riveted with one particular anecdote told by a young woman. Her name was Luda and she had Spinal Muscular Atrophy. When I attended the grief organization, Compassionate Friends, I remember well a mother who grieved her infant child that had died from SMA. Luda explained how she was fortunate to have Type 3 SMA, which allowed her to live beyond her teens.

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Her anecdote began with the mention of a “large and scary brown door.” How interesting that she mentioned a door. For over a week, I had begun singing vocals for one of my songs, which was named “The Door.” My ears perked up and I wondered where she was going with her story.

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Luda had an apartment and was a graduate student. She said that her happiness and gratefulness came from the fact that she was able to live independently, without relying on anyone to help her get around. Her appreciation of that was boundless.

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What was inspirational was that she did this while being confined to a wheelchair and with the use of only one hand. The door she mentioned was one that blocked her way every morning after she exited her apartment. It was heavy and with her one arm she just couldn’t find a way to turn the handle.

She described how she would wait and listen – hoping that someone would be coming from the other side to open the door for her. Her heart would pound as she waited and prayed she wouldn’t be late for class.

It tested her patience, but she was determined to solve this problem on her own. She beamed as she said, “One day, I decided that I wasn’t going to let this door stop me anymore. I purchased a rope and I was able to figure out a way to loop it over the handle. Then I put the rope in my mouth and pulled on it with my teeth – after that, I could push the door open!”

She added, “I decided that the door represented an obstacle in my life that I was able to solve. There are always opportunities in life to overcome challenges, and that leads to personal freedom.”

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I loved her story. I thought about my song “The Door” – my lyrics were about my reasons for leaving and the truth that I had already left in my heart.

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But I was struggling because my door seemed overwhelming. With my eyesight compromised, I was frustrated. Although I knew it was courageous, going through the front door to end my marriage was probably the biggest step I’d ever taken in my entire life.

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Lately, it was getting harder for me to be patient with my eyesight. I couldn’t think of moving until all of my eye surgeries were behind me. As a result, I was still sleeping in the same bed with my husband and several months had gone by since I’d announced that I wanted to separate. Once I went through my door, I would be leaving the pain behind that confronted and assaulted me on a daily basis.

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Luda was right about finding personal freedom by overcoming obstacles. Although she had patience and waited for a moment where someone might help her, it was her determination to take action that made the difference. Luda lived with daily challenges that I couldn’t even imagine. If she was able to smile so broadly and appreciate her freedom, then I certainly could also!

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A few days later, I began to sort through my clothes. It was the beginning and a good place to start. My determination became action!

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I would not have much of a closet in the coop where I was moving. I planned to discard more than two-thirds of the clothes in my closet.

I had many sentimental items, even though I hadn’t worn them in years. I decided I would save the black dress my mother had once borrowed from me. What really confronted me was how many items were far too small. There were tennis outfits that hadn’t been worn in over a decade. I was heartsick about my current state, because I was heavier than I had been in many years. When I began my blog, I had begun to lose weight very easily. I was euphoric with the entire process of opening up. But that changed with my clarity and awareness that I was living in a very sad situation. Not long ago, I wrote notes out to describe the emotions that I experienced with the revelation that I could turn my life around and end my marriage.

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I love this image because I remember well how exciting it was to backpack into the wilderness. I want to view my new life the same way.

My musical life provided an interesting script for me this past week as I continued to record vocals for my song “The Door.” It was a challenging song to sing and had an extended range of high and low notes. The lyric line about restoring my soul felt awkward, even though it expressed my feelings. I felt I could certainly find a better lyric line.

I searched for a replacement rhyme that wasn’t as awkward. Nothing came to me. I decided to just go into the studio and sing. Sometimes when I sang, I just closed my eyes and let the words fall out of my mouth. My subconscious always held the answer for me.

It finally was revealed. When I recorded a replacement lyric line last week, my song felt much more solid. My subconscious spoke to me with:

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“I knew I was worth more, so I went through that door.”

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Clicking the blue links below plays recent discussions about my music with my vocal coach, Peaches Chrenko:

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Peaches Lesson 9/20/12 Excerpt 1

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Peaches Lesson 9/20/12 Excerpt 2

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With this picture, I see myself being the one in front and ready to slide. My brothers are both behind me and my mom is lurking in the background. My mother is still alive and although I’ve lost her to dementia – I still feel her behind me, especially now. Both my brothers have reached out to me also.

I was tired of feeling lousy. It was within my own power to help myself feel better. A good start would be to stop overeating. I was only punishing myself. I knew my husband and children viewed me as being completely selfish. They didn’t have the foresight to think things might actually be better in the future.

My husband was a good man and he deserved someone who would give him companionship. I wasn’t leaving him for someone else. I just wanted to be in a place of peace. I couldn’t live with his suffocating unhappiness and lack of affection anymore.

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I was worth more.

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A recent card from Sonia.

Tagged changing your life, composing, divorce after a long marriage, ending a long marriage, gray divorce, inspiration, loss, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, moving out, Music, optimism, original songs, overcoming challenges, performing, separation, singing, songwriting, the door, voice lessons, writing | Leave a comment

I’LL SAY A PRAYER

Posted on September 26, 2012 by Judy

Clicking on the blue link below will play an instrumental version of my newest song, which I’ve named My Dream:

Despite my seeing with one eye, I carried on over the past week. I attended a funeral for a good friend’s father. My friend, Marge, was so thoughtful and arranged to have someone drive me. The woman whom I spent the day with was someone I already knew. Her company was delightful and it was very meaningful for me to gain insight from her. She had gone through two divorces.

Before the graveside ceremony, I took a walk to find Jason’s grave. In only ten days, it would be twenty years since my son died.

I remembered how I could not find his grave the last time I was there. This time, there wasn’t a fallen tree covering it. Still, I walked and walked and knew I’d be close to it when I reached an area with other childrens’ graves. For ten minutes, I walked in circles up and down a hill. Just when I was about to give up, I found it.

My heart skipped a beat to see Jason’s familiar gravestone. I noticed how the grass arround it was overgrown; I dusted the stone off so I could read his name. For several minutes, I closed my eyes and allowed the sunshine to warm me. I imagined I could remember his voice and strained to feel his presence.

There wasn’t any pain, only peacefulness, as I carefully walked back to rejoin the funeral service I had come to attend.

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I was very close with my mom throughout my life.

I was dreading the phone appointment from the Social Security office. I had called two weeks earlier to inquire about my mother receiving a death benefit due to my father’s passing. The person on the phone wanted to speak to my mother and told me to bring her into a Social Security office. I explained how difficult that would be because she had severe dementia and was in a nursing home. I decided instead to set up a phone appointment. I would bring her to my house and give it a shot – maybe she would miraculously answer some simple questions.

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My mother was on Medi-Cal, and thankfully her nursing home cost was covered. The amount of the death benefit would pay for less than one week of her companion’s care, which my brothers and I paid for.

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I was very close with my mom throughout my life.

I was so blessed to have such a wonderful companion for my mother. Her name was Miriam. Miriam brought my mother to my home a few minutes before the expected phone call. My mother looked relaxed and beamed at me with love, although she was gaunt and appeared tired.

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I spoke very slowly and carefully as I explained to my mother that we would be receiving an important phone call. I let her know she would need to answer some simple questions. I wished I were a better actress so none of this would have been necessary. That way I could have pretended to be my mother on the phone and saved a lot of trouble. But six months earlier, I had tried to switch her Social Security bank account over the phone. The agent I spoke with caught on quickly and told me my voice was “too young” to be my mother. I was such a horrible liar!

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A perfect opportunity for me to share a photo of myself when I was 10. I was about to perform in a play and my role required me to cry. I was told that I was very convincing.

I was direct and watched my mom’s expression as I tried to explain the reason for the phone call. It hardly seemed worth it. I surprised myself when I said, “Mom, dad died four months ago.”

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She looked startled and replied emphatically, “Let’s wait. I know he’s coming and will be here soon.” She tried to stand up from her wheelchair as she said, “I need to go to see him.”

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A beautiful picture of my parents, before they were married. They were married for 61 years before my dad died this past May.

At that moment, the phone rang and I was surprised when the lady said that it would be fine to only speak with me. I answered all of her questions. Then I asked her, “Don’t you need to speak with my mother? She’s right here. I thought that was the reason for this appointment.”

She was very empathetic and told me that it wasn’t necessary. But she said she could certainly say hello. My mother was watching me intently, so I decided to let her say hello. This lady from Social Security was so caring that I began to get quite choked up.

As I held the phone to my mother’s ear, her hearing aid began whistling. I couldn’t hear what the lady asked her, but my mother answered with, “Well, whoever you are – you’re young like I wish I were!”

I hung up the phone and reached over to squeeze Miriam’s hand. We were both laughing.

With relief that this was over, we all ate lunch together. As Miriam ate a salad, she also fed my mother carefully. My mother was now on a pureed diet due to the results of the “swallow test” she had been given the week before.

Being with Miriam was so comforting during this time in my life. Every day was fraught with turmoil, and my poor eyesight didn’t help. Miriam understood my pain so well as she struggled in her own life. She made me appreciate my circumstances because my children were older than hers and I had more financial resources.

Earlier that week, I shared my newest song with Miriam. She said that when she listened to it, she felt so peaceful and that it helped her. We began to talk about our dreams.

Miriam was very close with her father. Although he lived thousands of miles away and she hadn’t seen him in a long time, they spoke every day.

She said, “Whenever my father has hugged me, I always felt something amazing. His hug is warm and comforting; special in a way I cannot describe. I am safe. I have never, ever had that feeling with anyone else. I dream that someday I could discover that feeling again.”

I understood.

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“My Life Became Clear”

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In the waiting room, I closed my eyes and allowed the instrumental music of my most recent song composition to uplift my soul. I could listen to it over and over and each time the chords sailed in the chorus, my heart felt like bursting.

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When she called my name, I had to strain to be sure because I was still listening to my music. I grinned, because I often felt like a teenager with my IPod glued to my ears. If she only knew how soothing my music was for me!

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The optometrist had an Irish last name – Murphy. She had clear blue eyes and asked me how I was; I wasn’t sure how to answer her question. I told her, “I am in a living hell right now because I have only one eye that can see. And my eye that does see is so strong that I cannot read anything with it.“

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Well, we’ll address that today,” she said confidently.

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She thoroughly examined both my eyes. When she was finished she said, “Your eye that was operated on sees perfectly,” and then she added, “It will only get better, too, because it’s still healing.”

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Then she shared that she had also had cataract surgery while in her fifties. I thought I was such an aberration, but I kept hearing it wasn’t as unusual as I thought. She said, “I wasn’t as nearsighted as you are, but I have loved the results from my cataract surgeries.”

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It turned out that the whole purpose of this appointment was to decide how strongly to correct my remaining eye. It was an opportunity for me to have choices by wearing a soft contact lens to simulate the correction I would be having in two weeks.

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I was floored when she said, “By the way, I hardly see an astigmatism. By next week, it might be completely gone. You must be sure not to wear a lens though, for five days before the appointment for those measurements.”

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That meant five days of hell again, of seeing with only one eye. But I reminded myself that I had gotten through 13 days already, and those five days would take me to the finish line.

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Then she added, “Your surgeon was smart to redo these measurements. Doing things this way, has allowed you to try out several mono-vision options. And by the way, you were really smart to have not worn your hard lens before coming to this appointment!”

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I asked her, “Will I be charged for today’s visit?”

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She replied, “Normally, you would and I was going to check with my supervisor about it. But, there’s no need. You will not be charged for this at all.”

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Now I was really glad that I had waited to send my complaint letter!

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I planned to send it so I could avoid the $1,000 extra charge for that astigmatism correction, which I hadn’t been told about initially. If this eye had been my first eye, I felt I would have suffered far less because I could have worn my glasses. I also anticipated I would be charged for contact lenses that would only be worn a week. Being a warrior had wasted a lot of energy and was another lesson for me.

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The optometrist came back with a soft contact lens and placed it on my eyeball. I blinked and felt dizzy for a moment. My world came back into focus! I began to cry, but wiped the tears quickly so she would only think it was because of the lens.

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Before I left, she made another appointment for me to return in a few days. She wanted me to try another lens correction that would give me increased close up vision. Then she introduced me to a kind older man who instructed me on the proper handling of soft contact lenses.

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As I drove home, I was in awe again at how beautiful it was to be able to see with two eyes. I was completely choked with emotion.

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It was then when I clearly heard my father’s voice.

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He was chuckling and he enthusiastically boomed, “You see what a wonderful eye surgeon you have – I told you! It was a good thing you used him!”I was so glad my father was smiling from up above – instead of worrying about me. I drove and cried softly as I felt him hugging me.

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I celebrated having two eyes with eyesight, even though it would only be until the weekend. I came home to find a check in the mailbox that I had been waiting for. My smile became bigger when I received a call asking me if I could play tennis on Friday morning. I had missed it so much and it would probably be a month before I was able to play again. My day was just getting better and better.

It was the Yarzeit or Jewish anniversary of Jason’s death day. I put out a memorial candle for him.

I decided to attend services at my temple; this was something that I did so infrequently that I could count only a few occasions where I had gone into temple in the last 25 years. I sat with a good friend and she held my hand. Being able to see made such a difference. On the following day, my temple had invited me to share my music for one hour. How wonderful it would be to have my eyesight for that!

My gratitude for my life was overflowing. I cried tears of joy as I stood up to say a memorial prayer.

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EXCHANGES WITH A GRIEF FORM: (My words are in blue)

I wrote the message below as part of a continuing dialog with a woman named Sammi who recently lost her son.

Thank you for your kind words. It amazes me that you have been so compassionate and helpful to everyone on this forum, while struggling with your own agonizing grief.

I’m glad you shared that your son was an optometrist. I will carry that thought with me as you try to cope with his senseless death.

Your words about grief bring it all back for me, too. You are living through the endless replaying of your son’s life and death. I described it as “the opera of my son’s life and death.” Only someone who has gone through that truly understands the torture of it.

It would be a good time for you to find a grief companion. I know it takes effort, but you need to find someone who is currently going through this. Not a family member, of course. If you had someone else to stay close to with your feelings – you would have a hand to hold that will ease your suffering. There are people out there that are going through this as I write to you. It’s not enough to write to this forum. You must attend a support group and look to find someone you can partner with.

Remember this – because I believe that will help you more than anything. It will take pressure off of your son and husband. You can call and scream and take baby steps back into the living with someone going through this, too.

You will know when you are ready.

On Oct. 6 of this year, it will officially be 20 years since my son died. As the season is beginning to change, I celebrate once again how much I have healed. I will always carry the amputation of my soul inside of me but I am peaceful. My life holds promise and I am grateful for the gift my son gave me, which inspires me to help others.

Love, Judy

Your story is my story, the only difference being, your son was 5 and mine was 34. The sadness is overwhelming and the pain never-ending.

The reason I keep writing to this group after twenty years of grief is to inspire hope. Of course, you know how it went with losing your mother so young – I am certain that was horrible. Eventually, you adjusted. But this is different. It is beyond horrible!

The sadness is overwhelming and you will always carry the memory of this pain. But the pain will end. It will – I promise. Please hold onto that.

Grief is about crying, screaming and crawling. You carry on while the world goes on around you. I used to cry in my car whenever I drove anywhere. I would wipe away my tears and no one knew. This went on for years and years. I hated to wake up in the morning and wished I were dead.

But when the pain ends – you find yourself in a different place. It is a place of strength and appreciation. Perhaps when our life ends, the mystery will be solved and we will see our dead loved ones again. Until then, we are still alive and need to find a way to get through this. That is what they would want for us.

I am not a religious person, but I am going to pray for you. Even if the tiniest increment of your pain diminishes – it will be cause for celebration. Allow it and do not feel guilty!

Keep writing about your grief. Your own words will remind you someday of your progress.

Love, Judy

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I took this picture before leaving the cemetery. The image spoke to me. It was about seeing new growth on an older tree.

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HELPING ME COPE, MY DREAM GIVES ME HOPE

Posted on September 19, 2012 by Judy

When my oldest son was cleaning out my parents’ coop/apartment, he found this sign in my old bedroom. I’m glad he saved it for me. I am still smiling and posed for this in the patio of the place I plan to move to soon.

“Helping me cope, my dream gives me hope”

There was no question that this was probably one of the more difficult times in my life. It was certainly not the most difficult.

The word “temporary” became my mantra.

I was determined to stay positive and especially appreciated having my music as a blessing to uplift me. Our mindset definitely affects how we feel. For several days, I had been using so much self-talk that my mind was noisier than an auditorium. I had missed several important appointments, so it was clear that I was not “on the ball.” My mind was a chatterbox as my thoughts were all wrestling with each other.

I felt sad when I remembered how not long ago I looked forward to waking up and facing each day. But now, every morning when I opened my eyes I felt frustrated.

It was ironic that I had complained about my eyesight when I still had vision in my left eye while wearing a hard contact lens. The size discrepancy had bothered me between my new eye (after cataract surgery) and old one.

Well, this new discrepancy was so huge that it reminded me of when I had migraine headaches as a child.

I had chosen to be blind in my left eye that was awaiting cataract surgery.

I was able to replace the frustration I felt, with relief that this was not a migraine. It was TEMPORARY, but a month was a long time to exist this way. Yet I was determined to get through it.

I was very disappointed when my eye surgeon called and recommended postponing the second eye surgery. Only a few days before, I was told that my left eye had astigmatism and there would be an additional $1,000 charge to correct it. It was definitely time to have some chocolate.

The surgeon postponed things because he wanted to take new measurements of my left eye. Because I had worn a hard contact lens, it would take three weeks for my eye to return to its normal shape. This was a no-brainer – if I continued to wear a hard lens in order to see, then my surgery would only be further delayed. I immediately stopped wearing it, without even discussing that option with my doctor.

He said I could wear a soft lens instead, although with a prescription of over 1,400 diopters, a soft lens wouldn’t be that great. I would be contacted for an appointment. After several days, I called to find out why I hadn’t heard anything. It was so difficult to live this way! Finally, my call was returned and the soonest available appointment was ten days later, with no guarantee that lenses were in stock.

I was glad I had followed my gut instincts to move the process along. I could not afford to wait.

My children were angry with me. Over the past few days there had been several awful exchanges with each one of them, which left me emotionally exhausted. Seeing the pain that I had inflicted upon them became almost too much to bear. Although my family had sympathy for my eye situation, I had ruined their comfortable existence. I understood. I accepted it.

I was alone with my feelings. Sometimes I really missed my parents, but they would have worried about me far too much. My dad had died only four months ago. My mother might have sensed something was going on, but her dementia had worsened. When we went out for lunch, I openly discussed things in front of her with my brother. I was actually glad she was clueless and never imagined there would be a positive side to her dementia. Thankfully, she wasn’t grieving my father or worrying about her children.

I had wonderful friends who were all reaching out to me. It sure helped. But my home was not safe for me. It was filled with pain.

I did not handle conflict well. I began to imagine I was a young child who wanted to run away. The feeling of wanting to escape was actually scary because then I would hurt those I loved even more. That led to guilt, which was something I had been wrestling with over and over.

My self-worth was at its lowest point.

It was true that I didn’t have significant income, a regular job. I had passionately devoted myself to music and writing. My “noble cause” of inspiring other people meant little to my family. I was simply a menopausal and selfish middle-aged woman.

A few days earlier, my husband explained to me that every receipt would be examined and then he would reimburse me. It was extremely uncomfortable, but totally understandable. He opened his own checking account and transferred his paycheck to it. We no longer shared any credit cards.

I had gone from feeling anguish over hurting those I loved, to feeling angry. My anger had me imagining a new scenario. I would just leave everyone to manage without me. It would be less expensive not to lug food from Costco, nor to charge it on my very own charge card.

I realized that my anger had led me to a place of feeling vindictive.

Even though it felt like my heart was exploding with anger, I didn’t want to punish my children or my husband. It was totally understandable for them to be upset with the current situation. They were already hurting and I didn’t need to prove my worth to them.

The power of positive thinking definitely was needed now. I decided to replace the word “vindictive” with “strength.” This was an opportunity for me dig deep. Being half-blind did not make me helpless unless I allowed it.

And nothing was going to stop me from believing in my dream!

It was now time for me to open my own bank account.

My husband had told me to let him know whenever I would be taking money out. I had already discussed with him that I planned to open an account soon with $1,000. I called him as I was driving to the bank.

It was not a pleasant phone call and I had to wipe away tears before getting out of my car. Later on, he apologized to me.

I gathered my strength and went inside the bank. A nice young man came over to help me. I let him know that maybe I could receive an award for the most accounts. I had accounts with: my husband, my mother, my father, my children, my mother and father, and my older brother.

I told him I had eyesight issues, because I had to examine the paperwork within an inch of my left eye. Then I shared with him that the reason for this additional account was because I was going through a divorce. I could tell he felt sorry for me.

Another woman banker joined him for a moment. She looked over at me and said, “Did you know you have a great smile?” My eyes watered with her words – if she only knew what I was going through. I was amazed that I still could still smile.

When she left, I quietly confided to the young man that I could smile because of the music that filled my heart and elevated my life. When he asked what instrument I played, I told him I played an acoustic steel-string guitar. He said he loved guitar and looked forward to reading my blog and listening to my music. As I left the bank, I felt inspired. I had touched a stranger in the short time we spent together.

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This picture brings back memories of my having a puppy named “Teddy.” I am standing in front of the coop apartment building where I grew up, which is still painted the exact same color! I lived there from the time I was an infant until I was married at 21. Now I will be going back there at the age of 52.

After that, I went into a home improvement warehouse and spent two hours going down a long list of items that I needed in order to move. I filled up my shopping cart with a toilet seat and window blinds; I ordered a new oven and looked at shower door options.

My step was swift and confident and suddenly I felt energy surging within me. I realized that the intense ache and pain I had suffered with earlier in the day had eased. It was definitely due to my using positive thinking and word replacement.

I chuckled with some of the imagery that had helped me. At one point, I imagined myself crying on the floor and opening a can of spinach like in a Popeye cartoon. With that spinach, I had suddenly jumped into action with determination to move forward.

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I am in the same backyard as the picture that is at the top of this post. In this picture I am about 12-years-old.

After today, it will be the end of one week coping with two different eyes. I have only 19 more days to go until my second eye surgery.

Instead of being angry, I have decided that my husband actually did me a favor by pushing me to move out sooner and separate our money. I am not half blind. I am definitely strong and this is an opportunity for me to embrace it!

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I am not imagining myself running away anymore. Instead, I am preparing myself to board a tiny ship that will sail off to a beautiful and unknown destination.

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