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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THE DOOR INSTRUMENTAL-Copyright 2012 by J, Unger

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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.

© 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.

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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:

MY DREAM INSTRUMENTAL – Copyright 2012 by Judy Unger

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.

© 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.

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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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I love “tea-bag quotations.” I often save them and this one was very special for me. The word “tune” and “unknown” stand out for me.

© 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.

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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.

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