myjourneysinsight

I MAY BE LOW, BUT I’LL NEVER LET GO OF MY DREAM

Posted on September 14, 2012 by Judy

The clock on my nightstand and how I see the world right now.

Clicking the blue links below will play audio clips. The top one is of my new guitar track. The one below is a voice lesson with my vocal coach, Peaches Chrenko where I discuss with her my soon-to-be-arranged song I’ve named “My Dream.”

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MY DREAM – GUITAR INSTRUMENTAL by Judy Unger

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PEACHES LESSON – 9/12/12 ABOUT MY DREAM

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“The Tunnel”

It was dark and I acknowledged it. Even though I couldn’t see, I had a sense of how to navigate in the darkness. I maintained faith that I would not fall, and I ignored all pain.

There was every reason for me to stop and sit down. But if I did that, it would only take longer. I hated the tunnel, so I refused to stay still because moving forward was the only way out.

I kept telling myself to keep going and one day, I imagined I saw a pinhole of light. As it gradually became larger, I felt myself surge with energy – all of my faith had paid off; it wasn’t going to be much longer.

Suddenly, the light flickered and was gone. It turned out that my tunnel was far longer than I had thought. I would need to grope and stumble for a while longer. Now, I could not ignore the pain anymore and disappointment swelled and screamed inside of me. Tears began to pour from my eyes, because it felt like it was too difficult to keep going.

I fell down and cried. As I lay there, I was ashamed because I knew this was my choice. Although I had certainty that my future would be beautiful, I searched to find a purpose for this additional time in the tunnel. The darkness was pressing upon me and there were no answers I could think of. With sadness, I began to crawl forward again.

Suddenly, I felt myself magically lifted up. I felt clarity with the sudden brightness that was ahead of me. I strained to see what had begun to illuminate my tunnel.

It was my dream.

It glowed and embraced me. I closed my eyes and allowed it to propel me forward. I would get there. Music accompanied me in the darkness and all of my pain was soothed.

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“The Blanket”

She remembered when love was like a blanket. In the beginning, they were both wrapped tightly and snuggled in it. Their faces brushed so closely together that she could feel his breath upon her cheek.

Over time, things began to slowly change. She realized that although they were covered with the blanket’s warmth, now their faces were turned away from each other. It was more comfortable that way. But even when they were not facing each other, their bodies still touched. They often rubbed each other’s toes with their feet.

With the passage of more time, they began to pull at the blanket in order to find comfort. While sleeping, they would both take turns grabbing at it. He would become upset if she pushed it off and lay on top of it. She would wake up and find herself cold without a blanket nearby; then she would pull it back.

Eventually, they both adjusted. But she realized that neither of them found the blanket to be comfortable anymore.

When it was time to leave, it felt to her as if all of the years of adjustment had caused the blanket to simply become a fabric. It required unraveling in order for her to leave.

She began to pull apart all of the threads. She cried for each and every one. He did not show her that he was crying, too.

When she pulled apart the last thread, she turned to leave. As she went through the door, she wrapped herself tightly with an imaginary blanket so the memory would sustain her.

In this picture I’m saying, “Hey, I’ll jump into anything – even if I have a flabby stomach!”

Email Update:

Today, I found out that my second eye surgery has been postponed. I also learned on Monday that I would have the additional cost of $1,000 in order to correct the astigmatism in that eye, which I have chosen to do. My eye surgeon has concerns about my astigmatism and wants to take new measurements for my left eye.

In order to allow for my eye to be correctly measured I cannot wear the hard contact lens that allows me to see for three weeks. I am also still adjusting to vision in my corrected eye. It will be another month before my eye surgery, so I am in limbo.

There are plenty of things I need to do as I prepare myself to move temporarily to my parents’ coop with two of my children. However, I’m not supposed to be lifting things or stressing myself. Emotionally, my living situation is fraught with awkwardness and excruciating sadness.

Although I am very frustrated by my eye situation, I keep reminding myself that it is only temporary. I plan to continue to move forward and stay positive.

With love, Judy

In this baby picture I am saying, “Please don’t tell me I’m going to grow up to be a 52-year-old woman who has cataracts and performs with a guitar. Oh my god, and living in the same place where I grew up on top of that!”

Message from someone grieving on an Internet forum – my reply is in blue:

I listened to your song “Hang On,” Judy. It is beautiful and your voice is pure and true. But right now I hurt so badly that I can’t see this place that you sing about. Yet it is comforting to know that it exists. I want to jump over all that is to come and be there. I wish we could cheat grief of the agony it causes. I would gladly raise my hand and say, “Yes! I am a coward and I want to avoid this at all costs,” if it were offered. The pain is unbearable at times and I would jump to the head of that line. Thank you for your comforting words.

You are very expressive when you write your feelings. I am certain that will help you through this. I only wrote sporadically while I was in deep grief. Many years later, reading those words helped me to see my progress.

I have often said comparing grief is usually not comforting. Well, I am in that place now because divorce cannot compare at all to the grief over the loss of my child and most recently, my father.

Yet at this moment, I am in a dark tunnel. I feel your words easily, about how I wish I could avoid this and jump ahead. Yesterday, I was told I couldn’t have my second eye repaired for another month (cataracts). At this moment, I have only one eye that sees, for which I am still adjusting. I am 52 years old and was surprised when I found out a few months ago that I had cataracts! It makes everything harder, because I need to move out due to my impending divorce. I still am sleeping in the same bed with my husband. We are civil after 31 years of marriage, but my house is filled with so much pain. I am very concerned about my children who all live at home, even though they are older (21, 18, and 15).

I always felt so lonely in my grief, because my husband didn’t connect with me. Losing my father four months ago has also left me feeling very isolated. But, I would never have wanted him to see me going through this; that’s why I waited until he died.

I’m certain in a few months I’ll get my strength back. On the other hand, it is hard for me to comfort you because I know you have a very long road ahead of you. I am being honest when I tell you this – there is no shorter road. Some people never take any road and suffer until they succumb to grief. You will not succumb.

My songs are there to help me. I just composed a new one, which I’ve named “My Dream.” I plan to record it soon. If I didn’t have a dream, I wouldn’t be able to cope nearly as well. Hanging on is also applicable for me right now. I must remind myself to hang on through this tough time.

I wish we could both jump forward. Perhaps there is something to be gained from this time in pain. I believe it will allow me to become more inspirational and compassionate. I plan to continue to express my honest feelings.

I also believe that healing does occur with grief. It never can go back to what it was before – it simply changes and we adjust.

The thing that I want to share, which inspires me through this tough time, is that healing is not about simply surviving. It is about finding joy in life again. I want that for everyone suffering and it is possible. It was and will continue to be for me.

Love, Judy

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Message from my editor, Carol:

Jeez, if you didn’t have bad luck, you wouldn’t have any luck at all! I find that when I get into impossible conditions, if I can continually remind myself that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel — and hope it’s not a train!

I also find I can get through anything as long as I know it will come to an end. Keep strong and hang on till the end. Things will straighten out. There’s a great wine called Moscato and another one that I can’t remember, but it has a gold stripe on the bottom of the front label, help me immeasurably some days. After the craziness, relax and take a sip.

Hang tight.

Carol

You are so right about all this. How funny that I did some writing this morning for therapy and it was all about “the tunnel” and hanging on! I just wrote a new song I’ve named “My Dream” and honestly it is what keeps me going.

I just keep reminding myself that this is all temporary. Right now, I can barely see my computer with an eye patch on. I hate thinking of this for a month, but it will pass.

I’ll share my writing soon.

Love, J

Ps. I don’t drink wine, but chocolate is always comforting.

There may be a compromise: some company is selling chocolate wine! I’ve seen it in both Ralphs and Vons. Give it a try. Have you tried Baily’s Irish Cream? It’s cream and chocolate to die for. (I’m not trying to turn you into an alcoholic; you have enough problems.)

Thanks, Carol. One day down, 23 more to go. I did it the hard way. I went through my day with blindness in one eye. I drove at night and closed my blind eye because everything was glaring at me.

I had to turn down a huge art job. My son’s school called me to inform me that a shooter at the school was apprehended. The nursing home called to tell me that my mother almost passed out and had a fever again. I received a singing job in two weeks. I recorded guitar tracks for my new song. I shopped for a new stove for the place I’m moving to. I met with someone I care about and offered my advocacy experience to help her with her child’s school district issues. I went to my son’s Back To School Night. I celebrated my daughter’s 19th birthday.

I did this all in one day with only one eye working. When I received a call about the shooter at my youngest son’s school I started laughing. They must have thought I was loony.

Judy

Ps. I did have chocolate today!

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© 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 "sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, cataract surgery, child's death, compassionate friends, composing, creativity, death, death of a child, divorce after a long marriage, dream guitar, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, guitar track, Humor, impending divorce, inspiration, loss, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Music, original songs, performing, separation, singing, songwriting, vacation, voice lessons | Leave a comment

MY LIFE BECAME CLEAR – PART 2

Posted on September 7, 2012 by Judy

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Clicking the blue links to play audio:

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Clear Guitar & Piano 5-15-18

Clear Acoustic 6-8-18

Link to my first story about this song:

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#264 MY LIFE BECAME CLEAR – PART 1

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CLEAR

Not long ago I was a child, then a young girl,

now I’m even older

A woman so wise, I realize

Life went by quickly, I blinked my eyes

When I grew up, I became sad

Life beat me down; I felt broken

Though it may seem a little extreme

I turned my life around, to follow my dream

I carried on; I lived with heartache

I was so numb; I wasn’t awake

It all changed, I let go of fear

beautiful music I could hear

I opened my eyes, life became clear

As I grow old, I’ll keep my smile

All of my tears gave me compassion

I was asleep; my pain was so deep

I turned my life around; with joy I now weep

I carried on, inside I wept

I cried for the losses I could not accept

It all changed, I let go of fear

beautiful music I could hear

I opened my eyes, life became clear

When my life ends, I won’t be afraid

I’m grateful for the gift I was given

I celebrate, it’s never too late

I turned my life around, got up off the ground

happiness I found

No reason to wait

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This is one of the last pictures I have of my father. It was taken three days before he died. It is blurry and from my niece’s cellphone. It perfectly displays my father’s love toward my mother despite his suffering and her dementia.

A picture of my mother with her companion, Miriam. This was taken two years ago and she appears to me to be much sharper and alert. Dementia has ravaged her.

I remember when I was perhaps six or seven years old I could look up from my pillow and see the ceiling. I would connect the dots and sometimes I even imagined I saw images as I examined the random textures. Then one day, everything became blurry. By the time I was eleven, an eye doctor pronounced my near-sightedness to be so extreme that without glasses I was considered “legally blind.” I have a prescription of 1400 diopters and I rarely meet people with one larger than 1,000. Later on, I learned that the term “legally blind” only applied if one’s eyes were not considered correctable.

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So at the age of eleven, I was given a choice. I could try an experimental regimen of eye drops and bifocal glasses or wear hard contact lenses. My parents decided to allow me to wear contacts. At that young age, I was an aberration and all the children in my elementary school were fascinated to know that I had “a piece of glass in my eye.” Everyone always wondered if my lenses could move behind my eye.

When I had my first cataract surgery last week, almost immediately I could see everything sharply in the distance. What especially amazed me was how large objects were around me. I kept reaching to touch things that appeared to be closer than before.

When I went for my post-op appointment the next day, my ophthalmologist explained that I was now seeing the world with a normal eye. He explained that a nearsighted eye was elongated; there was even a term for what he described, which I don’t remember. The gist was that my repaired eye saw everything 40% larger than my other eye.

That discrepancy left me dizzy and confused. My eyes were not working together and it would be three weeks before my next surgery. I also no longer had the advantage of having bifocal contact lenses. Only a few months earlier, I had gotten new contact llenses and each one was $250. Now I would need to have reading glasses handy. I had become just like my mother, who used to carry her reading glasses around her neck. Otherwise, I couldn’t see my own fingernails or read numbers on my cellphone.

Certainly, I was not about to complain or feel discouraged. I focused my entire aura upon acceptance and gratefulness that I had a treatable condition and these procedures would lead to improvement.

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My mother is younger than I am now in this picture. The background has not changed at all within their old coop.

I tried to take it easy and began to miss the therapy of my occasional women’s doubles tennis game. For over 25 years I usually played twice a week. A good friend went shopping with me a few days after my surgery and helped lift the larger items into my cart. My children brought everything into the house.

It wasn’t easy for me to relinquish things.

My life with my “soon to be ex-husband” held challenges. Although things were civil, sometimes my breath was squeezed out of me, as I felt grief over the present circumstances. There was often an ominous undercurrent with his presence. Only the day before, as a joke I thought I could name my blog post “Sleeping with the Enemy.” I prayed that would not happen. The most awkward part was that for decades we never used our names and called each other “honey” instead. Every time he addressed me that way, my heart jumped with pain.

I knew I had to move, but I did not want to overwhelm myself with stress. I planned to give myself a few months because I felt it would be better for my children that way.

I needed to go shopping. I hadn’t been outside much for days and the two refrigerators in our home were both empty. My family required a lot of food. On top of that, I had invited my mother for lunch and I wanted to buy her something she loved, a kosher hot dog. I drove to my usual place, Costco.

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In the near future, my mother would probably be put on a diet of pureed food. She disliked it and often didn’t eat much as a result. I wanted her to have some quality and pleasure in her life, yet at the same time there were now health concerns. Only a few weeks before, she had been treated for pneumonia. A pulmonologist wanted to order a swallow test because there were concerns that she was aspirating her food and that was causing her to have a severe cough.

This was a dilemma for me. For her to have the swallow test was possibly traumatic. I thought that perhaps I should just allow for pureed food and skip the test. I decided to allow for the swallow test and felt stress surrounding making this decision.

I looked forward to my mother’s visit for lunch. Her companion, Miriam, was now my close friend. Miriam was very sympathetic to my situation, as she was dealing with something similar in her own life.

As I pushed my cart toward my car, I began to feel sorry for myself. I realized that I had overdid it; my cart was hard to push and packed as it usually was. A large package of paper towels fell to the ground, and an older man reached down to pick it up for me. I almost cried as I thanked him for helping me. Before I put things it my car, I paused and took a picture of the shopping cart.

I told myself that I would only carry in the perishable items. Unfortunately, it was too hot in my garage to leave the two, large watermelons in my car. I brought most everything into my house and considered it my exercise. Instead of tennis, I was carrying lots of groceries! I would ask Miriam or one of my children to help me with the rest.

My phone rang. It was Miriam and she informed me that she and my mother would not be joining me for lunch. My mom was ill and coughing terribly. She also had a fever.

I finished putting the last item into the refrigerator and called the nursing home. They told me that blood tests had been ordered for my mother, but she refused to allow any blood to be drawn. She tried to bite the technician. With dementia, everything was so much harder!

I sat alone and ate a small slice of pizza, which was something I normally avoided. I noticed that I could hardly taste it.

I went into my bedroom and lay in my bed. I could hear my most recent song composition “My Dream” in my mind. I closed my eyes and softly hummed to myself. Within seconds, my music was soothing my aching heart. I opened my eyes and looked up at the ceiling; I realized that with my “new” eye it was clear and sharp.

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It looked so close that I reached my arm up imagining I could touch it.

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I am with my mother in this picture taken over 25 years ago.

I love this picture, where I’m wearing a bikini. I guess I could consider that “my dream,” too!

Message from a friend (My words are in blue):

I am so proud of you. I really admire your strength. I’ll keep praying for you. I wish I had your courage. I talked to an attorney several months ago and she wanted $15,000 up front for a retainer. My husband and I haven’t been intimate in about 5 years. I don’t even feel like we’re married. I get more affection from the 2 dogs.

You’re right. It’s hard sleeping in the same bed with someone who’s distant from you. If I want to eat out or go to the movies, I have to go with a girlfriend or my kids.

Honestly, you might want to sell your house – take half that equity and leave. You could buy a small condo and live a new life, too.

I am hoping to inspire people to have courage. I have no idea what my future will be, but staying in a sad situation is hopeless. I deserve better and so do you.

Thanks for the inspiration, Judy. I’ll be 60 years old next year, but feel like 80 today!

Our thoughts actually can be reframed. Instead of telling yourself you feel like 80, try telling yourself you feel like 40. Do nice things for yourself and watch how you will feel much younger. You could live many more years. No reason to waste your life because of fear. The unknown can’t be worse than the known.

Love, Judy

My friend, Susan, sent me this beautiful card. I am blessed to have many wonderful friends.

Excerpt from card:

“What you have been going through would challenge the strongest of people. Both dealing with an impending divorce, plus your dear father’s passing is a double whammy. Yet your strength and resilience is truly remarkable. Instead of shutting down in deep despair, your creativity flourishes with new songs such as With Me.”

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In this picture, I was probably about three years old. I still can remember the feeling of being held. That feeling keeps me going.

Tagged "sandwich generation", acknowledging grief, acoustic guitar, adjusting from grief, Aging Parents, beautiful music, Caregiving, child loss, child's death, compassionate friends, composing, composing music, courage to change, creativity, death, death of a child, dementia, discouraged about healing, Empathy and Grief, facing divorce after a long marriage, finding happiness after losing a child, Friendship, grief, grief advice, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, happiness after death of a child, healing and grief, healing from grief, healing music, hope, hope for healing, hope of healing, impending divorce, inspiration, is happiness possible after losing a child, Judy Unger, living together while separated, loss, loss of a child, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, music and healing, Music grief bereavement, music healing, one day I'll be gone, optimism, optimism after loss, original songs, overcoming grief, piano chords, see me in every smile, singing, songwriting, staying positive, surviving grief, voice lessons | Leave a comment

I WAIT BEHIND A CURTAIN

Posted on August 31, 2012 by Judy

Just for fun I thought I’d grab a picture from my high school days. I want those eyes back! Where did my eyebrows go?

After I came home from my first cataract surgery, my oldest son (21) kept examining my eyes. He told me he wanted to take a picture so I could see the difference. My repaired eye is on the left. It’s quite dilated!

Soon, I hope the curtain of blurriness will lift after my cataract issues are resolved. But the true meaning behind my post title is my dream of stepping out from behind a curtain onto a stage. The dream that I carry is that someday I will become well-known in my pursuit of helping people suffering with grief or other challenges in their lives. I believe I will be embraced by many people for my honesty. I look forward to singing with joy and spreading my message of hope.

My dream is most certainly keeping me going during a very difficult time in my life.

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I clearly remember my birthday party when I turned four. In this picture, I’m playing “Pin the Tail on the Donkey.” Lately, I feel like I’ve been walking around with a blindfold and a pin!

I am writing for my blog because I was told to “take it easy” for the next few days. Therefore, as a respite I am going to enjoy the therapy of writing an update about my life.

Saying “I have a lot going on” would be an understatement. However, having a lot of challenges in my life certainly is familiar for me. It’s probably easiest for me to list things in black and white.

MY GOOD LIST:

1. My youngest son started attending a new high school and he is doing spectacularly well.

2. I made it through my first cataract surgery on my right eye. I get to say goodbye to my rose-colored glasses, which I purchased only three months ago. As I type this, even though things are a little blurry, I am elated at the amazing improvement.

3. I wrote song lyrics to go with my beautiful instrumental from last week. My song is called “My Dream” and it is helping me so much.

4. I am continually reminded that I am cared about by many wonderful friends and family members.

5. My audio book is growing closer to completion. It is now completely recorded, and 75% of it has been closely edited. My song vocals are also almost finalized.

6. Other than my eyesight issues, I AM HEALTHY!

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MY BAD LIST:

1. Two lawyers received large checks (Divorce retainers) from my husband and I this week. Perhaps this wasn’t so bad, as now I am relieved of negotiating with my husband. Both of us have told each other that we’ll let our lawyers figure it out. Sadly, that costs a lot of money!

2. I am very indecisive about my plans on where I’ll be moving.

3. The nursing home where my mother lives called to inform me that my father owes $6,000 in unpaid medical bills (The first I heard since he died in May). As retaliation, my mother’s pharmacy coverage is not in effect anymore, which could result in her eviction. This is a lot of stress, but I am going to figure it out somehow. A mistake was made and this is WRONG, WRONG, WRONG.

4. I am feeling very overweight and heavy. I want to get back to dancing through my days again. I know I will.

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Before having my cataract procedure, I closed my eyes and listened to my iPod. My newest song captivated me and I was enjoying a recording I had made the day before in my closet. As I was singing the lyrics of, “I wait behind a curtain,” suddenly the doctor drew the curtain back in front of me. The irony of that gave me a huge smile.

I received wonderful care and continued to smile throughout the procedure.

As the cataract on my eye was removed and a new lens implanted, I was wide-awake with my eye staring open. A kaleidoscope of colors intermingled with delicate veins flashed before me. The surgeon explained what he was doing while he tugged at my eyeball. I did not feel anything and was totally relaxed.

My father’s voice was clearly in my mind because he loved this eye surgeon very much. I’ll never forget how both my father and mother were thrilled with the results of their cataract surgeries.

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Later in the evening, the surgeon left me a message on my cell phone. He said, “I’m just checking on my best patient ever.”

That was his joke to me because I told him I would be “the best patient he ever had” before the operation. As I listened to his message, I felt my father hugging me.

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I am sharing more pictures I recently found of the many family vacations I experienced as a child.

I’ve always hated wearing glasses and found a picture of myself wearing them when I was younger. I started wearing hard contact lenses at the age of 11 because of my severe myopia. In this picture, my parents had just come home from a trip to Israel – my mother’s first time on an airplane. My grandmother, who is next to me, stayed with my brother’s and I for several weeks.

Love these checkerboard pants I used to where!

“You will emerge”

My message to a grief-stricken woman on a grief forum (in blue):

At this juncture of you life, words offer little comfort. I wrote to you recently and told you how well I remember the pain after almost 20 years. However, I need to clarify something. Remembering the pain is quite different from suffering with it.

You are experiencing an “amputation of your soul.” When one has their soul amputated, it is just that. A piece will always be missing. It is not visible, and eventually you will heal and adjust. Right now, blood is pouring out of your heart and soul without any stopping.

I questioned God, too. You will be doing that a lot, I’m certain.

That process is probably the most isolating thing a human can face. No one can help you. Not your husband or your son or anyone. I remember how I searched for someone to understand; my husband who was grieving did not want to ever talk about it. I looked for others who had lost a child, and although it helped in some ways, it truly didn’t take away my pain. They did not lose my beloved son, Jason. He was my first child and he lived for 5 years with a congenital heart defect. He was delicate and sick. I poured my heart and soul into his care. When he died, I didn’t know where to put my energy and devotion. I had a two-year-old son at that time that was quite challenging. When Jason died, my world was filled with his constant screaming.

The reason I am writing to you is to offer you hope. This horrible process you are going through will continue. I wish I could tell you that it will magically end, but it doesn’t. It continues forever. What will stop is the agonizing pain. It changes. It becomes tears of joy at remembering beautiful parts of your son’s life. And at some point, you will laugh and smile again. For a while, you might even feel guilty about it – thinking that you love him less because you are laughing instead of sobbing. Please don’t.

Trust me, you will go on and you will help others because you are a good writer. Grief is something very few people want to talk about. It is something hidden, and most people want to pretend it isn’t there. How simple it would be if we could just “get on with our life.” The problem is, life continues to go on for everyone and everything around us. The black hole of grief swallows us and there are many people that never emerge. They drown themselves in drugs and alcohol and die.

You will emerge. Just keep hanging in there.

Love, Judy

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Judy, thank you for your words of comfort. I wonder if I am going to be able to survive this. I spent most of the day in bed. That was the first time I felt so debilitated and helpless. I don’t want to have that ever happen again and I know it will and it scares me because I have just started this journey. I was no good to anyone. I couldn’t help my son or my husband because I couldn’t help myself. My soul was screaming out for my son and I just can’t understand why a God I believe in, wants me to suffer so much agony. We are not evil people. We have not hurt anyone. Why is the God I believe in, a merciful God, doing this to us? No answers. No comfort.

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Tagged acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, Caregiving, cataract surgery, child's death, compassionate friends, composing, creativity, death, death of a child, first cataract, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, health, hope, inspiration, loss, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother's illness, Music, my dream, original songs, rose colored glasses, singing, songwriting, writing | Leave a comment

I CARRIED ON

Posted on August 25, 2012 by Judy

I look worried in this picture taken from my preschool days. God knows what I had to be worried about that young!

Clicking on the blue link below plays a new guitar instrumental piece, which I composed last week:

I wished I could write about the feelings. I coped as best I could, but often felt overwhelmed. It did not help that I could not see very well. The therapy of music became less so, because I began to focus on minor flaws within my song arrangements. When I listened to my recent song creations, I was amazed because I wondered how I was able to create anything while under so much stress.

For three weeks, I wore glasses that only minimally corrected my vision. Finally, three days ago I was allowed to wear my contact lenses again. Being able to see again dazzled me, and I even became dizzy at first. In only another week, I would have my first cataract surgery.

Sadly, I realized that in order to cope I had returned to Zombieland. I had sworn I would never go back there, but now I was in familiar territory. There was no way to get any tears to come out. Despite feelings of intense sadness where pressure on my chest would squeeze, not a single tear would form. Instead, the pool of tears would gather in my throat. Then I’d feel pressure that forced them back inside. I would gasp, take a deep breath and remind myself that everything would be okay.

It certainly seemed like there was far too much pressure. I felt pressure from things related to my father’s death, pressure around my sick mother, pressure from my children and pressure related to moving and divorcing.

But most of the pressure was what I put upon myself.

There was an absence of pleasure, even when listening to my music. It relaxed and soothed me, but nothing really felt pleasurable. Food certainly was a comfort, but the resulting weight gain tortured me. It was harder and harder to smile. It occurred to me that perhaps I was deeply depressed.

Then I made a connection. Depressed sounded like pressed and reminded me of pressure. I surrendered, and accepted that perhaps I needed to change something in order to feel better. I knew that writing usually helped me. I plodded through my days as I waited for inspiration that would allow me to write something meaningful.

Finally, I heard the mysterious voice that often spoke to me in my mind. Occasionally, I thought it was God or the pure love given to me by my parents. I truly believed that it was “Judy of the Future,” but it didn’t matter. The voice was always wise and helpful.

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A picture from my childhood with my two older brothers – they are closer to me now that my father died and my mother has faded.

“My Dream”

I want to share my dialog with my inner voice. The inner voice is in italics.

I noticed that lately I’m very critical of my vocals and song arrangements. I love what I’m doing, but I do hate focusing on flaws.

What about fixing your music do you hate? The process? The time? Why does it upset you?

I am afraid that even with my best corrections, it won’t matter. My music and book will not sell well enough for me to support myself. I am losing time by continuing to work on it so hard.

Would you say the improvements you’ve made to your stories and songs are noticeable or not?

It is actually very apparent.

Is it possible that the ability to fix is a gift, and that is the reason you have improved so quickly? Did you ever imagine that you would be the singer for your songs?

No – never in a million years.

Perhaps, the ability to hear mistakes and correct them is a blessing for you.

You’re right. It is the reason I’ve improved. And I continue to learn and learn.

What is the pressure about?

I want to move farther along in my journey. I want to get to the castle, which is always in my vision. My current life is filled with pain and the castle represents something that is peaceful. I wish I could flash forward to a time when the pain was all behind me.

Do you really wish for that? If you could give up this year of your life to be one year older and beyond the “pain” – would you want that?

No. I do not want to give up one minute of my life. I wish instead to live for today and not think about a destination anymore. I can never get this time back once it’s gone. I love what I am doing, and removing the pressure will help me. Please tell me how to take away the pressure.

Only you can take away the pressure. If you prefer to feel peaceful then tell me: What does peaceful represent to you?

I want to live in a place where I do not feel criticized; where my self-worth isn’t constantly questioned. I want to be in a place where I feel valuable. I know I will help many other people by being an inspiration.

Why do you have to journey to a castle to feel that way? Perhaps the most critical person in your life is not who you imagine. What if you stopped being so critical of yourself? What if you stopped questioning your self-worth?

That is true. I must be gentle and forgive myself for ending my marriage. I haven’t been reveling in my courage. The truth is, I have moved on – even though I am physically still in the same place. I understand now.

Remember the antidote to your pain is your dream.

The voice quieted. I played my guitar softly and beautiful chords began to appear. I went into my closet to record a new song. I decided to name it “My Dream.” The lyrics will form when they come to me, though my music speaks for me without words.

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This past week would have been my parents’ 62nd anniversary. My mother’s lack of awareness due to her advancing dementia has turned out to be a blessing in some ways. She is not suffering with heartache over my father’s death or feeling pain around her childrens’ struggles. The card above was written only four years ago, and so much changed so quickly with my mother’s dementia.

I have many, many new pictures to add to my blog after cleaning out my childhood apartment. I am going to continue to share them.

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I definitely feel it’s better that my mother is not aware of what is going on with me. This picture was taken 20 years ago

I could think of many puns around this, but have less humor than usual these days.

These family vacation images evoke so many feelings. This picture sums up how I always felt chubby. I am serious because I am searching to catch a lizard. I used to tease my dad that he needed a bra.

My mother was always very close to my children. When she visits, it is often sad for them now.

I love my hairstyle in this picture from my Junior High graduation.

Seeing myself in a choir gown brings back many beautiful memories.

Message from a grief forum:

I am having such a horrible time. My life is no longer recognizable. The last few days have been so horrendously bad. I go from crying to walking through the day like a zombie. I try to be strong for my family but the foundation is cracking. I wish I could understand this. I wish I knew why my son isn’t in this world any more. He should not be in the cemetery. I just know that I will not be able to do this. The pain is horrible and the memories of what was and what would have been wash over me like acid and I ache. I ache and ache. I don’t want to go back to work. I don’t want to hear people tell me how sorry they are, when what they are really saying is: thank God it wasn’t me. If I didn’t have my husband and other son, I would want to die.

My reply:

In some ways, death would be easier.

I experienced a severe burn on my arm last year. I told everyone that it hardly hurt in comparison to grief over the loss of my child. There is no adequate description of the AGONY. I felt the same way – my children were my only reason to go on living.

It is horrible and unlike other people saying they are sorry and thankful it’s not them, I am sorry and wish it weren’t so – because I remember it all so clearly. And that is after 20 years, too!

But you will get through it. And someday you will feel better. Right now that seems incomprehensible, so just hang on. And keep writing. And crying. And cursing. And doing whatever you can to cope. Even when you feel like it isn’t possible.

Love, Judy

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This picture is of my first-born son, Jason. It was hard for me to grasp at that time how serious his congenital heart defect was. He lived five years. The mother above lost her son in an instant. Sudden loss is so difficult for many, many reasons.