myjourneysinsight

THE SONGBIRD – PART 1

Posted on August 24, 2012 by Judy

A digitally enhanced image I created from a photo that was shared with me by a good friend.

She was a delicate songbird; a sensitive creature treasured by her parents. In their nest she snuggled, loved tenderly. She never ventured forth to fly and didn’t know how. Her parents told her it wasn’t safe to leave the nest and she believed them.

She had so much joy for life and sang songs that filled the forest with beautiful melodies. She didn’t mind the nest at all and as she grew bigger, she simply danced around on nearby branches. Her songs attracted many other birds that wooed her; she ended up choosing a mate that loved her songs the most. They created a nest on a nearby branch.

She never felt the need to fly. One day, she was puzzled that she had stopped singing most of her melodies. She didn’t understand why her nest felt sad and empty even though she had a mate. She wasn’t sure what to do, and thought perhaps if she filled her nest with babies her songs would return.

Soft lullabies soon filled the forest as she tenderly nurtured her first baby, and then another one that followed. But when her first baby became sick and died, she was certain she would never sing again. She curled up in the bottom of her nest, and her other babies snuggled close to her. Slowly she stirred, and although she could not sing, she pretended she could. Then she poured every ounce of love in her heart into her babies.

The years went by and she became an older bird. Now her babies were quite large and challenging. The nest was very crowded, because in addition to her own family she also had her parents. But even though she didn’t use her wings to fly, she used them as a large canopy to comfort her family.

Just when she became too exhausted to continue, suddenly another nest appeared for her parents to be taken care of. She was very thankful and continued to diligently check on their nest whenever she could.

Sometimes, she tried hard to remember the enchanted forest from her childhood. Even though she had little faith, she often looked at the sky and searched for a sign. At her lowest point, she closed her eyes and prayed for her sadness to lift.

She wasn’t even aware that her prayers were answered until the time when she was given hope. As the blessing of hope was sprinkled softly into her soul, she felt herself sparkle inside. It became time to sing again. At first, her song melodies were hesitant and hoarse. But gradually, her voice became stronger and more confident, and soon all of her songs returned.

It was with her happiness, that she had the realization that she was blessed. She wasn’t sure why or how it had happened, but she knew that it came to her when had completely given up.

The more she sang, the more oppressive her nest became. It was time. She took her large babies and started to let them know how being in the safety of their nest was not what life was about. She wanted a better life for them. Although her babies were quite large, she knew that they could fly even though she never had. She told them it was worth the risk and gradually they began to practice. As she watched them, she was pleased.

She thought she was too old to remember the beautiful forest vistas, but now she realized that she still had joy for life. Since she had never flown, she wasn’t sure what would happen if she allowed herself to jump into the sky. Although it was scary, she wanted to take the chance even if it meant plummeting to the earth below.

She realized how unhappy she was because she preferred to fall out of the sky rather than stay forever in the safety of her nest.

As she readied herself to fly, she was sad for everyone who thought she was abandoning her nest. She loved her large babies, but knew they would still be a part of her life even if she flew. It was harder to leave her mate, but she was certain they would both be happier over time. He needed to fly also.

When she imagined herself flying, it was breathtaking for her. It sustained her throughout her difficult days as she mustered up the courage she needed to spread her wings and leap into the sky. She didn’t want her children to see her sad and afraid. Even if she fell she hoped they would always remember her courage.

Now she could dream about flying and she was joyful. As she prepared herself to soar, or maybe even plummet, she had certainty about where she would be flying. She planned to fly to a destination where she could share her blessing of hope. Her message was how it was possible to sing again and to fly even when life held heartbreak.

It didn’t matter anymore to her if she fell, because she had already flown so far in her dreams.

–

© 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, comforting music, composing, creativity, dreams, escape through music, freedom, god and music, gray divorce, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", healing, healing and grief, healing music, inspiration, inspirational, loss, lovesong, lyric development, metaphors, music and healing, musical inspiration, original songs, Poetry, singing, Songbird | 2 Comments

I CLOSED MY EYES

Posted on August 15, 2012 by Judy

I took this photo in the early morning as I went outside to get my newspaper. The dazzling light is more blinding for me these days with my cataracts. My surgeries are scheduled, with the first eye to be done in two weeks, and the second eye to follow three weeks later.

SOON I WOULD SEE AGAIN

It was getting harder to see. My eyes did not want to open. In my solitude, I tried to stay positive, but clarity and focus eluded me.

Sometimes, I squinted in the distance to find the castle. It was usually there and although I was certain it was closer, I needed to search carefully to see it. But every time I raised my face upwards, my eyes closed because the light dazzled my senses. Then one day, the castle simply disappeared in the haze.

Still, I knew that it was ahead of me. Although it was a steep climb, I didn’t need to see the castle to get there. But as I continued to struggle upward, it became too exhausting. Finally, I had to lie down on the ground. I began to cry. My eyes hurt and I closed them. I didn’t want to look at the world’s blurriness anymore.

Amazingly, with my eyes closed I could see. I escaped inside my mind and music permeated me. I was flying and soaring over beautiful lush landscapes. Gorgeous color, sights and smells surrounded me. My music was like a symphony and as it swelled, I could feel my heart burst with joy.

The song that was playing was called “Clear.” The line I heard over and over was, “I opened my eyes and my life became clear.”

Soon, I would see again. God had sent me my song to remind me of that simple truth.

–

Clicking the blue links play an audio clip.

CLEAR #2 INSTRUMENTAL

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If you have an extra moment to listen, have a huge laugh listening to a discussion of my music with Peaches Chrenko, my vocal coach. I also share an update about my life.

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PEACHES LESSON A – BLOG EXCERPT CLEAR #2

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PEACHES LESSON B – BLOG EXCERPT CLEAR #2

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n this picture, I’m with my childhood buddy, Steven. Both of us are dressed up in Halloween costumes.

Steven is in front of my coop. The walkway is almost the same 40 years later.

A picture with Steve from 2011. We correspond by email almost daily about music.

Below is something I decided to share on this post because it speaks to my acuity. As an illustrator, I had excellent up-close vision. My current eye problem is related to seeing distance. I am hopeful that after my two upcoming cataract surgeries, I will see clearly again and marvel at the beautiful colors in the world.

When I was in high school, I was allowed to have one page of notes for a biology test. When I found this page in my father’s memorabilia after he died – I was incredulous at my patience. I wrote on both sides of this paper, and my writing was so teeny tiny that it was unbelievable!

–

A close up.

–I end my post with some email correspondence. My words are in blue.

Message from a grief forum:

My beautiful 34-year-old son died yesterday. I am walking around in a fog. I can’t sit, I can’t stand, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I don’t seem to fit anymore. I sob uncontrollably at times and feel very bitter and angry with others. I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I can survive. My husband says we will get through; we have to. I can’t see that happening. I need someone to tell me that this pain will go away, that the ache will subside. I just want to curl up in a ball and pull the covers over my head.

My reply:

Your description of shock and intense grief is exactly how I felt. I am crying for you now. Of course, it does not feel survivable. Hearing that “time heals” is useless when every moment is like torture.

Even though I can tell you that the ache will subside, this process is the hardest thing you will ever go through. You can never go back to how it used to be. Eventually, some of this might make sense – but until then, you are simply living something that is worse than any horror movie imaginable.

It is very soon for you to think of healing, but it is a good sign that you want to get through this. You are motivated. So I am going to give you hope because you are going to heal.

Unfortunately, you are now in a tunnel of torment. But you are going to find a way out. Your son is going to lead you. Hold hands with others who are grieving so you are not alone. Many, many hands are going to lift you up if you reach out.

Love, Judy

Message from a grief forum:

I was a good daughter throughout my mother’s four-year decline, I was there for her and advocated for her; I always told her I loved her.   A little over three weeks ago, she was hospitalized after being non-responsive at the nursing home. The second day there she didn’t look like she would survive. The next day she was awake and more aware, though unable to speak. I got her to eat and then she aspirated on some water I gave her and declined quickly after that.

That night, at 3 a.m., I got a call from the hospital that she was declining. I wondered whether I should go there, but I decided not to — I just couldn’t bear to see her failing anymore.   Then, at 7 a.m., I got a call that she was declining further and I told them only to provide comfort care. A little over an hour later, she died.

  I know there’s no going back, but now I torture myself with whether this was the one time when I put myself before my mother, that I tried to protect myself (you can see how well it worked!) and wasn’t there when she took her last breath.   A little over a week before, even before she ended up in the hospital, we had a long moment where I felt like we were saying good-bye to each other, as if she had started the transition. Yet I can’t help but feel, at times, like in the end, I failed her… 

If you listen carefully, you will hear your mother’s voice in your mind. She will comfort you.

She will tell you that a single moment of avoidance of pain does not define you or make you a “bad daughter.” Avoiding trauma and seeing death was something you had to do. You were protecting yourself. That is something you don’t need to beat yourself up about.

Of course, everyone wishes at those moments to be courageous. Perhaps at another point in your life, you will be able to handle things differently. I believe that will happen for you. In grief, there is so much pain already and it is important to be gentle.

Please forgive yourself. Cherish your mother’s memory by listening carefully to what she would tell you. She is right there within you.

Love, Judy

Message to a family friend:

Glad I could share those pictures!

I’m going to be okay. I have not doubted my decision to divorce at all and have suffered for a long time trying to get up the courage to tell my family. It’s so interesting that when I wrote my song “Set You Free” – it was for my father, but it had a lot of deeper meaning for me!

I devoted myself to many people for a long time and my kids are now older (15, 18 and 21). Having a companion for my mother has saved me. I am blessed by having Miriam, who adores my mom.

When I discovered my love for writing and music, I realized how empty my marriage was. I accepted it for decades, but decided that being alone is much better for me. I have confidence that everything will eventually be okay for him, too.

Thanks for caring and I’ll let you know how my eye surgery goes.

Love, Judy

Her reply:

Dear Judy,

Life is finding and accepting our meaning for being alive. No one can give it to us and ultimately we each have to discover our own way. But, we cannot in the process isolate ourselves from our loved ones. They are on their own adventure and following their own path. Loneliness occurs when we wrap ourselves in our own thoughts and needs exclusively. You have been a cherished child. You have faced losing both beloved parents simultaneously. Let your family into your heart. Try and talk to them. Your children will be your children as long as you live and they never will stop needing you. You cannot be replaced. Do not close off from those whose love is engraved on your heart. You are not alone.

–

My response:

Oh, I’m not leaving my children. I deserve companionship and I am not truly alive when I am in the company of someone I don’t enjoy being with. It isn’t fair to him either – he deserves to be with someone who appreciates his company.

I’m sorry, but I believe my heart is open to the world. Perhaps I was a cherished child, but now I am a cherished adult woman who knows her own value. I have not been hugged in 10 years. Why should I live that way? My husband would never have changed anything because like most people he is afraid of change.

Now that I am helping you to understand my situation, you must realize that I accept my past and have no regrets. I am simply discovering my own way by leaving the isolation I’ve lived with for decades.

I embrace the world now by writing, sharing and singing. Also, I will have two of my children with me. They are leading their own lives and I will always be there for them.

I might be alone, but I am not lonely.

Love, Judy

Message to my high school music teacher, Frankie:

I am not in a good place right now. Very, very down. I went to have dinner with a good friend – to celebrate her birthday. While driving home, the lights were blinding me and I had a full-blown panic attack. I almost had an accident. It was a close one. I won’t be driving anymore at night.

Love, Judy

Dear Judy,

Staying away from night driving is crucial with your current eye problem, as you learned. I also have cataracts that need surgery, but most of my driving is during the day, fortunately.

You are in the midst of eye difficulty, paternal loss and marriage break-up. Any one of those in a person’s life would be a major event. It is understandable that you will have rough days. Please take care of yourself and know that you will come out on the bright side of all of this.

With warm hugs and lots of love,

Frankie

Thanks, Frankie. You are so right. I am quite used to having major events in my life. They just keep knocking at my door. I was able to be stronger when I could see things. It’s been challenging even to use my computer. The light hurts.

The marriage break-up is sad and it is hard watching my family adjust. But they seem to be and it is far better than when I had to keep it all inside.

Thankfully, my music helps me. I feel your hugs.

Love, Judy

–

This is how I see things, lately.

Tagged "sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, cataracts, childhood friendship, composing, creativity, Friendship, grief, GRIEF RELATED, guitar, inspiration, loss, lyric development, lyrics, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, original songs, performing, singing, songwriting, voice lessons | Leave a comment

JUST ANOTHER NIGHTMARE

Posted on August 7, 2012 by Judy

A picture taken a year ago during one of our monthly dinners.

Story following up two years later regarding my friend, Marilyn:

#557 WE HAD TO SAY GOODBYE

sup·port (transitive verb) and (noun)

Keep something or somebody stable, bear weight, give active help and encouragement, help in crisis, and give assistance or comfort

Many years ago, I learned that support groups were beneficial. There were definitely some aspects that weren’t pleasant, but the connections I formed from my willingness to find people with similar circumstances have stayed with me.

Ten years ago, I participated in a weekend retreat called “Healing the Mother’s Heart. At that time, I was struggling with challenges related to my children. I met a wonderful group of women after that weekend. I came home with a roster and somehow I ended up becoming the planner for our first reunion. At that time, I was excited when I discovered how to create my first email group on a computer.

My story about that retreat is at: #24 MY RETREAT FROM WITHDRAWAL TO REFUGE

There were twenty women at our first dinner, and we even passed out nametags for that first gathering. Gradually, the group shrunk and by then we all knew each other’s names.

It was incredible that after ten years, our group continued to meet every month. My friendship was solid with the 6-8 women who remained. There were beautiful memories formed when we occasionally went away for an entire weekend. We all cherished the respite from our stressful lives and watched our children grow up over those ten years.

Of course, there were challenges faced by all of us, but none seemed as disheartening as Marilyn’s current struggles. For over two years, she had battled perplexing health issues. Most of them seemed to be related to a thyroid disorder; and she was quite a trooper. But then came a diagnosis that was horrifying. She said that it helped her to make sense of the myriad of symptoms she had suffered with for so long.

She had bone cancer, multiple myeloma. Within a month, she could hardly walk because the bones in her hip had significantly deteriorated.

I wanted to make sure that Marilyn was at every dinner. Because she could not drive anymore, all of the dinners were planned close to Marilyn’s home. She lived half an hour away from everyone else.

I often carpooled to those monthly dinners with another upbeat mom named Lynn. My friend and I worried so much about Marilyn, and often looked for ways to lift Marilyn up.

Last weekend, things really did not bode well for our group. I received a text message from Lynn that her husband had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer. It was unbelievable and shocking.

Her 42-year-old husband was a picture of health. He had no symptoms, other than a small lump on his neck. Right away, she knew “carcinoma” told her it was serious. Lynn told me that looking up his form of cancer on the Internet showed a very bleak prognosis.

Her message came when she was driving to meet me for a weekend get-away. She and her family would be joining me and another mother. Lynn wrote, “This might be the last time we can get away for a while.”

I visited Lynn’s hotel room later on that night. Her husband had openly cried earlier. Their two young children were very quiet and subdued.

My friend was in a place of horror. Within a moment her life had changed forever. The complacency of living without fully appreciating one’s health can evaporate in an instant.

She and her husband were facing the worse case scenario. She felt that at best, the cancer would be advanced Stage 2. In a few days, they would know. Her husband would be having a scan to determine whether the tumor had spread. She said, “If it’s in his lungs or brain, he’s a goner.”

Her husband mentioned that his chest had been hurting; his face was ashen and contorted with worry.

The scan would be on Wednesday and results were not expected until later in the week. He would need surgery and possibly lose part of his tongue. It would be very painful. The primary tumor might not even be found, and if that happened – it would not bode well for his chances of survival.

Telling my friend or her husband not to worry seemed useless. I could not know at all what they were going through. So during that weekend get-away, I held Lynn’s hand and listened. She and her husband disappeared for an hour while I stayed with their two children and practiced my guitar.

The next day after I came home, Lynn sent me a text message. It read: “I was going to attend this support group that is specifically for oropharyngeal cancer, but it would be too hard for my husband to go. He’s so fragile right now. I think we’ll wait until the following month. We’re not up to hearing other people’s horror stories.”

I sent her a message back instantly. I wrote, “I’ll go with you.”

She wrote that she would wait until the following month.

–

I wrote, “Don’t wait, you might make connections and gain valuable information.”

My friend decided to call a facilitator of the group to find out more information. She was elated to discover that the meeting she might have missed was a special night with a guest who would discuss the benefits of diet for cancer patients.

Lynn sent me a message thanking me and said she would take me up on my offer to go with her. It was a topic she definitely was interested in.

On Thursday, we had our monthly dinner. Marilyn used a walker instead of crutches. Marilyn had been in the hospital the week before. But that night, she looked radiant and relaxed. She was my hero and inspired me to live every day of my life with joy and appreciation.

Lynn then broke the news to all the other moms. Her husband had his scan on Wednesday and the doctor called back that very same day. The primary tumor had been found and it was on her husband’s tonsils. Although it had spread to a few lymph nodes, there were no other tumors found. His brain and lungs were clear.

She said, “We are prepared for this fight. It will be tough but it is not unbeatable. We are celebrating the beautiful news we just received.”

It was so touching when she shared that her coworkers, who were all struggling teachers, had pooled money together to buy her a $400 juicer. My friend’s passion for creating healthy smoothies to cure her husband, extended to bringing another blender in a box to give Marilyn. With it, she included many recipes. Prior to our dinner, she poured a smoothie for Marilyn, which she had prepared before leaving.

–

Lynn’s husband is holding his new blender.

Lynn and Marilyn didn’t see me wipe tears away from my eyes during our dinner.

I prepared myself to attend an oropharyngeal cancer support group a few days later.

This picture was from a weekend get-away that was seven years ago.

I shared this story with Diane Simon Smith who was the facilitator at the retreat where my Special Mom’s Group all started. I received this message back from her, which I’d like to share:

Hi Judy,

Thank you so much for sharing your beautiful writing with me. I am so moved by your telling of this very special group of women, which YOU have been so instrumental in keeping together. These connections are precisely what I hoped to prime when doing the retreat. I am also so very sorry to hear about Marilyn and Lynn’s struggles. Please give them big hugs for me. Do you have mailing addresses for them?

I know that the decision you have made to divorce has not come easily. You are embarking on a new chapter of your life. I wish you all the best and I know you will always be sustained by your friendships, your music and your writing.

You are a very brave, loving woman.

Thank you sharing with me.

Warm regards,

Diane

February 2016

My title for this post was written to convey the shock – when life goes from being normal to becoming a horror. Those words are a lyric line from my song “Saying Goodbye,” and express the feelings I had after my child died.

I am adding this update to my post from three years ago. I realize that anyone reading this older post might wonder what the outcome was for Lynn’s husband and my friend, Marilyn.

Marilyn did well for two years and this past year she has taken a turn for the worse. Her bone cancer has wickedly returned and she is trying new and experimental drug treatments at this time.

I can share that Lynn and her husband are celebrating that he has been in remission for two years now. His odds for survival continue to get better with the passage of time.

Her husband is back in shape now, although he cannot run like he did before. His taste buds and salivary glands are impaired and the effects from his treatment are permanent. But both he and Lynn are so grateful for his survival despite this.

During his treatment, Lynn stepped up to make a huge decision. Her husband was wasting away because he had great difficulty swallowing due to radiation near his throat where the tumor was. He had lost 60 pounds within a few months and could not even sit for a few minutes without falling down due to his weakened condition.

Lynn told him to agree to a feeding tube or she would have to fight to get a court order for one. He weakly agreed and that night she called his doctor to set up the procedure quickly.

She is certain that feeding tube saved his life.

Even though the horror of his chemo treatments and radiation seem to be in the past, Lynn would easily admit that life would never be the same as it was before cancer invaded their lives.

Tagged beautiful memories, cancer, close friendship, Daily Life, friends, Friendship, health, inspiration, loss, multiple myeloma, Ordinary Life, oropharyngeal cancer, support, support groups, tonsil cancer, writing | Leave a comment

ANOTHER YOU – PART 3

Posted on August 5, 2012 by Judy

Clicking the blue links below will play my song:–

ANOTHER YOU #3 INSTRUMENTAL

My world was becoming blurrier and when I wore glasses I often felt like I was on the other side of a dirty window. I wished I could just open that window! I never liked wearing glasses and could hardly see out of them. On Friday, I played tennis with glasses on for the first time in my life. My perception was so altered that I could not get my serves to go in. As ball after ball looped out, I laughed and then cursed.

Inside, I wished that it were time to go home.

Occasionally, I felt overwhelming sadness but I countered it with the joy I received when hearing my music. Sometimes, I pretended I was a conductor and swung my arms through the air while listening to my newest song recording. I played it over and over, as often as I could. When I wasn’t physically listening, I could still hear the song’s beautiful notes resonating through me.

I had wanted an arrangement of my song “Another You” that truly captured my emotion. It was one of the first songs I arranged with George and although I did a second version – neither one moved me. But now, my newest version of “Another You” was so sweet that I felt tears well up when listening to it. I had composed “Another You” when I was 19 for my friend, Cheryl, when we were both in college.

The timing was interesting; Cheryl’s birthday was in August and I always thought of her then. Five years had gone by since she died of breast cancer. This year, she would have been 53. It was time for me to call her mother; an anniversary of the heart was the perfect time to let her mom know how Cheryl was still deep within my heart.

I had promised Cheryl that I would always stay in touch with her mother. The last time I had called, her mother was definitely discouraged about life. I was concerned about her and hoped things had improved since the last time we spoke.

As I was thinking about making that call, my daughter knocked on my door. She had her best friend visiting her; she had known her most of her life. Seeing their joy was so beautiful that it caused a lump to form in my throat.

After my daughter went out of the room, it was very quiet. I was sad and suddenly heard Cheryl’s voice in my mind. I always loved hearing Cheryl’s voice and realized I missed her so much.

She said, “Oh Judy, I am so sorry for what you are going through. I can feel your sadness and loneliness.” With her words, tears began to pour from my eyes. The droplets swelled and then cascaded down to my neck. I closed my eyes and tried to regain my composure. She was right; I was lonely. It occurred to me that there was no person I really enjoyed spending time with anymore. I simply preferred to be alone. I wondered if it would always be that way.

But then, Cheryl’s words were like a warm and comforting hug. She spoke softly and said, “Jude, you will have beautiful days again. I know it and you know it, too. It will be with someone who adores and understands you. But more than that, you will feel joyful and time will be precious with that person. When that happens, you will remember my words. The memory of love never leaves.”

I began to cry softly. My chest heaved silently and I shook. I believed her.

–

Traveling back in time – 32 years ago. Clicking on this makes it larger.

A few days later, I called Cheryl’s mother, Blanch. I was relieved when she answered the phone. There was a lot of catching up to do. I shared many things with her and she was supportive. It was interesting for me to hear that she was not surprised about my impending divorce; she said she knew I had been unhappy for a long time.

–

I loved hearing that Cheryl’s children were doing beautifully; her oldest daughter had recently become engaged. It was one of those “life moments” and I felt a pang imagining what it meant for Cheryl to be gone from her daughter’s life.

I hadn’t realized that Blanch had recently celebrated a milestone birthday – she was 90 years old and her family had made her a party. Before I hung up, I let her know that Cheryl was always in my heart. Blanch said she knew I had called because Cheryl’s birthday was approaching.

Blanch said she wanted to give me some advice. I listened as she said, “You know, I never want to bring any of my family down. So I hide my tears and cry when I’m alone. It’s very important to go on living and protect those you love from the sadness.”

Of course, I understood that well. I had survived that way and eventually the tears stopped. Yet looking back, living in a zombie mode wasn’t really living – but it was certainly better than feeling the anguish.

I told Blanch that I never expected I would find so much joy through my music and writing.

And Cheryl would always be with me, too.

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