myjourneysinsight

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.

–

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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© 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 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.

–

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.

–

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.

Tagged "sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, cataract surgery, child's death, composing, creativity, death, death of a child, dementia, first cataract, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, high school memories, inspiration, intense sadness, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, original songs | 1 Comment

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.

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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!

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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

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