myjourneysinsight

SHE FOUND HER INSIGHT

Posted on April 24, 2012 by Judy

A recent job of mine. The illustrations are to be used on the labels of four different flavors of iced tea.

Pictures can convey so much – updating my blog is always a joy for me. It isn’t easy for me to tear myself away from working on my audio book and songs.

Lately, I have had a steady stream of illustration jobs that continue to surprise me. Juggling music, writing and art allows me to take full advantage of my Mac computer!

My wonderful life is made possible by knowing my parents are stable and getting good care. I stay on top of things at their nursing home as much as possible.

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At a recent care meeting for my mother, tears filled my eyes when a nurse recounted the conversations she once had with my mother. We both were incredulous at how much my mother has changed because she is unable to converse much anymore.

When my mother became seriously ill and both my parents moved in with me, I know I was in shock. I remember sending out updates by email constantly to many people, and I hardly write updates like I did before. Now I am filled with acceptance as I watch them steadily decline.

I will share a recent email update at the end of this post.

Two weeks ago, it was Miriam’s birthday and we celebrated with a cake at one of our weekly lunches. Miriam is such a wonderful companion to my mother. I adore her, and I know it’s apparent from the photos.

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My father continues to be quite morose. He moans loudly and continuously because he is in tremendous discomfort due to his catheter. He dislikes painkillers, and occasionally takes Tylenol. Recently, his nurses began to give him Vicodin instead. Everyone around him always complains about his moaning, and probably couldn’t stand it any longer. Sadly, he stills moans and his glazed eyes do not look any less pained.

My father cries easily, and I often see him crying whenever he has a favorite caregiver as I drop him off. I am always touched to hear how he describes the special people in his life.

The woman he cried over last week was named Veronica. She was tiny – only 4 feet, 11 inches tall. But my father told me that she was strong enough, and she certainly made a difference to him.

Before I left his nursing home, I thanked her and let her know how much she meant to my father. Our conversation turned to music and before long, both of us were sharing how much we loved to sing. I said to her, “Even if it’s been many years since you’ve sung, Veronica, it’s never too late to sing again.” I sure hoped she would remember my words.

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I continue to utilize every aspect of hypnotherapy to control my thoughts and stay positive. Picturing myself as “blessed,” is a beautiful concept that allows me to continue smiling even though I sometimes struggle.

My dedication to my personal project (another description of my audio book) has not given me much exercise or fresh air. The weather became warm last week, and I made a commitment to take my mother on a special outing. My daughter and my mother’s companion, Miriam, joined me.

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It was Miriam’s idea – a month ago she told me that a year earlier my mother had mentioned that she longed to see the beach again. On the day that I planned to take my mother out, it was gray and drizzling. Though I debated about cancelling, I decided to follow through.

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This is rare – my daughter allowed me to share a picture of us together.

I ended up going to Marina Del Rey instead of Santa Monica, because I thought it would be easier to push my mother’s wheelchair. We walked around fisherman’s village and then ate at one of my favorite restaurants for lunch. We all sat outside overlooking the ocean and enjoyed steaming hot coffee while waiting for our food.

I could write pages and pages of my memories from beach outings with my mother. Throughout the day, I felt so much nostalgia remembering those times in my life. Despite her advanced dementia, my mother appreciated the outing more than I anticipated. She was relaxed and sang blessings in Hebrew as we walked near the marina.

–

As I drove home, my mom slid down in her seat, and the seatbelt was barely holding her in. We arrived back at her nursing home. Just before taking her out of my car, I reached over to kiss her.

I could see she was very tired; she had hardly rested as I drove home. I believe she didn’t want to miss a moment of time sitting next to me. As I kissed her, she said softly, “Thank you.”

I wanted to be sure I heard her. So I said, “Mom, what are you thanking me for?”

She answered clearly, “I had a wonderful time. Thank you.”

Those were the clearest words she had spoken all day, and were exactly what I needed to hear.

The beams of light that shone from my body could have illuminated a city at that moment.

–

April 18, 2012

Subject: Update on my parents

I realize I haven’t written an update about my parents for a while. In many ways, that is a good thing. There has not been a “crisis” or anything requiring hospitalization!

Both my mother and my father are struggling courageously with old age. They are not really together, but are joined by the fact that their circumstances have left them helpless and dependent one floor away from each other at their nursing home.

My mother is not in terrible pain; but her dementia has advanced to where she cannot maintain an intelligible conversation most of the time. There are no more phone calls where she can respond to my voice. She keeps having recurring bronchial infections, her coughing spasms exhaust her and she sleeps most of the time.

My father’s face is ashen and he moans continuously from what he labels “discomfort.” His catheter cannot be removed and he also suffers from recurring urinary tract infections. Most recently, his infection was a result of E Coli and is now being treated by IV antibiotics because it was resistant to his last round of oral antibiotics. Although he tells me he wishes he were dead, he still looks forward to our time together.

Thankfully, Miriam is quite devoted to helping me with both my parents. My father looks forward to visiting with me one afternoon every week, and my mother comes to lunch at my house every week. On the weekend, I take both of them out to lunch.

I am managing and have accepted that things are the way they are – there is no cure for old age. I remember how vital and active both my parents were for many years. They were always there for me and now I am there for them. I am thankful I have had them with me for so many years.

I realize I am not sharing like I had before. In the beginning of their decline, I believe I was in terrible shock. Now the process has become one of slow acceptance, with great sadness. But that has been alleviated so much by the discovery of my ability to create music and write. God has been good to me.

With love, Judy

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© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Tagged "sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, Art and Illustration, Caregiving, catheter, composing, creativity, dementia, Friendship, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, performing, singing, songwriting | 1 Comment

IT ALL SEEMED SO REAL – PART 2

Posted on April 11, 2012 by Judy

I have created artwork for each one of the 33 stories in my book. I love this picture of myself when I was 20 with my eyes closed in a dream-like state. The sky and butterflies are my original illustrations.

Link to performance, recordings and other stories about my song SO REAL

SO REAL

This morning when I woke up it slipped my mind

That you are not here with me anymore

I smiled at the thought of your gentle, warm laughter

And dreamt of my next carefree moment with you

It all seemed so real; it all seemed so real

Until I remembered, I thought it was real

Here I could feel; here I could feel

Until I remembered, your absence was real

This morning when I woke up it slipped my mind

That you are not here with me anymore

There were so many things that I wanted to tell you

I thought it could wait; there was plenty of time, ‘cause

CHORUS

This morning when I woke up I felt you close by

I still heard your voice and my heart felt so full

Then I recalled all the things that had happened

The moment was gone dreaming you might be there

I opened my eyes and the anguish overwhelmed me

I closed them again and I pictured your soul soaring free

It all seemed so real; it all seemed so real

I know it’s because I just wished it were real

All I could feel, all I could feel was my pain

Oh, how I wished you were real

During my bereavement, I had endless flashbacks that played over and over again. I could not control them at all. I believe that it was my mind’s way of trying to accept that my son’s death was real. The hardest part of each and every day was waking up. I would have to wake up and face the unbelievable truth that I would never, ever see my beloved child again. I would never hear his voice, feel his touch or smell his sweet hair.

–

When I said goodbye to my beloved child, I lost of a piece of my soul. During my deep grief, there were times I wanted to die. It was less about feeling suicidal and more about how difficult it was to go on living. It really did feel as if there was no end in sight. Sleep was my escape from the anguish of grief, and that was if I was so fortunate as to fall asleep.

–

My song, “So Real,” was about waking up to the awareness of what was unbearable to face. I did not want to wake up. I would lie in bed, wishing my life were over. I begged for relief from the anguish and wondered why I had to live with that level of pain. It seemed endless and I never believed it was possible that I would ever be happy again.

–

Those words I wrote above, were how I used to feel. Many things changed for me when I expressed my sadness through music and writing. I began to look at my survival differently after I healed.

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My son died in 1992 and my deepest grief lasted for at least ten years. After that I was devoid of emotion. I regret that I was so busy surviving that I forgot how to enjoy life. After many years of bereavement, I lived an existence of feeling “numb” without any emotional connection to life. I suspect that many people are in that place; also, very few people escape adversity at some point in their lives.

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I was so afraid to allow myself to feel again. But what really held me back from finding joy was that I didn’t feel my happiness was important – or even possible. I thought the achievement of simply surviving was miraculous; so it took time for me to accept that I did more than just survive. I was blessed. That is why sharing my message of finding happiness is very important.

–

Yet even with joy, I still feel pain. I believe that experiencing pain is necessary and part of the full spectrum of being alive. I turn my pain into music and song lyrics; after that, my pain is diminished. Recently, when I have had to deal with the unrelenting stress of my parents’ decline, I simply listen to my music and then I am soaring. My passion for music has me dancing throughout my day, enraptured by the beautiful melodies that loop inside my mind whether I am physically listening or not. My music continues to lead me to magical places. Even my most painful songs allow for the heartache to actually flow out of me as I sing the lyrics and play my guitar.

Below is a link to my story about Jason.

JASON MARK, HE LEFT HIS MARK

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I share this image I copied from an Internet news story lead. It just blows my mind how grief is perceived by those who are ignorant of it. How could anyone dare write that Whitney’s mother is “still mourning?” Putting the word “still” there totally insults all human beings suffering with loss.

THE ACHE IN MY HEART

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The ache in my heart

goes everywhere with me

it follows me through time

and never really leaves

With every breath I push it away

and hope it won’t remain

because I can’t accept

that it will stay with me for the rest of my life.

But four years later, it’s still there . . .

In the loudest or quietest moment

I strain to remember your voice

In the daylight or in darkness

I’m searching for your face

In the happiest of times, the ache in my heart

reminds me that tragedy can always strike

The thought of more agony

than your loss alone is unbearable

So, sometimes I wish the pain away

and pretend it never happened

or it happened to somebody else

or maybe you’re better off

Or maybe I am, too

But it never really matters

because the ache in my heart never leaves

I guess the ache inside is what remains

and though the pain is no longer raw

I can’t believe that time can heal

How can my heart ever heal

when it continues to bleed?

I look at this image and find it hard to imagine that my son actually existed to make those prints.

Posted in Grief Poetry | Tagged acknowledging grief, acoustic guitar, adjusting from grief, child loss, child's death, compassionate friends, composing, composing music, creativity, death, death of a child, discouraged about healing, Empathy and Grief, every smile, finding happiness after losing a child, grief, grief advice, Grief and waking up, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, happiness after death of a child, healing and grief, healing from grief, healing music, hope, hope for healing, hope of healing, how I wish you were real, inspiration, is happiness possible after losing a child, Judy Unger, loss, loss of a child, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Music, music and healing, Music grief bereavement, music healing, optimism, optimism after loss, original songs, overcoming grief, piano chords, singing, So Real, songwriting, soul soaring free, staying positive, surviving grief | 7 Comments

MY SOUL I COULD RESTORE

Posted on April 8, 2012 by Judy

This is what I drive to get around.

My journey of insight began two years ago with the beginning of my blog. I am excited about sharing my story, and hopefully my audio book will be available by this summer.

What I have been creating is truly an extension of my soul. I believe the most beautiful part of my story is my honesty. My heart is practically beating outside my body as I speak, sing and connect my voice to my own words.

My rediscovery of music, which began at the same time as my blog, has given me an even wider avenue of emotional expression. Perhaps that is because a melody can evoke deep feelings and a song can crystallize love and pain with only a few simple words.

It was when I was recording songs and stories for my emerging audio book that my speaking and singing voice changed dramatically. It could have been as a result of practice and intense listening, but on an emotional level, suddenly my voice began to take on every nuance of my feelings.

It was fascinating for me. I would be speaking a sentence when the words took on a life of their own. I was transported back in time to the actual moment that inspired me to write those words. Within an instant, my throat would tighten. I felt like there was a sponge of tears inside my heart, and with the intense squeezing they poured right out from my eyes. I could not control those moments, nor could I recreate them at will.

I discovered that my quivering voice, which I initially thought was useless and embarrassing, was a voice of complete sincerity. It was what made my story far more touching.

With my voice changing, it was easily apparent that many of my recordings were not consistent. In January, I began to record my book over again with my new voice. At the same time, I decided to create instrumentals and new vocals for the 17 songs that are included with my book.

I found it so interesting how I gave myself permission to enhance my project with anything that I felt it deserved. Although it was costly, my decision to create instrumental versions of my songs for my book was something I was determined to do. In addition, I bore the cost and the hundreds of additional editing hours to create story recordings that were far superior to what I had done six months earlier.

I stopped worrying about the expense; refinancing our home had certainly helped. But amazingly, as I continued to spend more and more money for my book, I began to receive significant income from art assignments. This encouraged and sustained me even further. I began to really feel “blessed” and the many coincidences in my life seemed less so.

I wasn’t tired of working on my audio book; there just weren’t enough hours in the day for all that I wanted to do on it. But my body was tired from sitting so much in front of a computer. It was the stress of every day life that was such an intrusion and sometimes it caused my insides to ache.

Yet, every intrusion or stressful situation I faced was completely alleviated by my music. Whether I was waiting in line at a store, or listening to my father moaning for an entire afternoon, I escaped into the sweet melodies I heard in my mind.

I enjoyed listening to the new instrumental versions of my songs. However, working to create these instrumentals with my arranger, George was sometimes tedious; it wasn’t nearly as exciting as arranging a new song. I was usually far too ambitious and rushed George. The result was that sometimes there were subtle imperfections. I lived with them, because I planned to use the songs in the background of my stories, and for that they would still be adequate.

But now, I was especially captivated by my most recent musical project.

I was getting ready to record the story and new vocals for my old song “So Real,” and made a snap decision that my song could be arranged differently. For some reason, I wasn’t moved by the music of my former arrangement. It was beautiful, but did not tug at my heart in any way.

I surprised George with the news that instead of an instrumental, we were going to create a new arrangement.

From the moment we started, I was moved. My heart was pulled in infinite directions and my soul began weeping with the first notes of my song. The new arrangement definitely captured the anguish of waking up to face reality after loss, and was exactly what my song deserved.

George suggested a different tempo for my song. We began to create the arrangement using Midi, which was a style of working on a keyboard that allowed for the melody to be recorded in perfect measures and recreated with numerous instruments. The tempo and key could easily be changed; areas could be copied and moved, which allowed for even more flexibility.

This style of working was so different from two years earlier, when I’d arrive at George’s studio and he would record me playing my guitar in his kitchen! Working in Midi reminded me so much of Photoshop. Everything was layered and delicate tones could be heard in different ways, similar to Photoshop where each layer could have different effects and opacity settings. Still, I kept in my mind my favorite motto that often “less is more.”

–

Below is a blue link to hear my new arrangement as an instrumental:

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As the new arrangement for “So Real” progressed, I felt reinvigorated. Once again, my music continued to heal me. I originally composed my song when I was seventeen and revised it with new verses and a bridge drawing from the memory of my intense grief for Jason. But it was so easy to feel emotional while singing it, because I really felt grief when I wished that my mother could still be there for me to talk to.

Because I felt I had endless hours of editing to do, I knew that updating my blog was a luxury I hardly ever had time for anymore. Yet, writing had also helped to heal me and when I heard a voice inside telling me to write – I listened. It was late at night, and suddenly I felt inspired to start writing for my blog again. I began to write something in third person, which I planned to finish later in the week.

The next day, I returned to George to continue working on the song. I tried to ignore the loud noise my car was making, but it seemed to grow louder the more I tried to ignore it. The rumble had started a week earlier, and I thought the loud hum in my car was because the street was not paved well.

–

I drove a 1993 Toyota Previa, and it was nearing 210,000 miles. My minivan was the only car I’d ever had that was once new and I looked forward to replacing it someday. I knew that I could have been driving a newer vehicle instead of spending money on my music and recordings. I did have a vision of seeing new things surrounding me in my future. Certainly in my heart, I felt like a new person, and loved dreaming of surroundings to match. But material things were unimportant to me.

My latest body damage was a result of brushing a pole in the parking lot of my parents’ nursing home. I was trying to make room for my father’s wheelchair and came a little too close.

The next day after seeing George, I knew I needed to take care of my car problem. I went to a mechanic who came well recommended. I had to sit and wait for almost two hours until he could look at my car to analyze the problem. While I waited, I was blissful as I listened to my iPod. I always had a lot of stories to check and many songs to enjoy. I was proud of myself for being so patient. I sat next to a nice older man who was also waiting, and we had a nice conversation.

The mechanic came and asked me to come and look at something while my car was jacked up. His face was very serious as he explained to me how when he test-drove my car around the block, he ended up coasting slowly back. He told me that the problem was so severe, he did not want to stress the vehicle further. He said, “I’m amazed you were even able to drive it to get to this shop.”

He explained that the drive shaft on my car was almost broken in two. He pointed to the part that was still in my car. It was almost in two pieces and looked splintered; I could see he was right. Then he added, “There are two shafts for your car. If this was the back one and it snapped, your car would just stop. But this was the front one. If it broke at high speed on the freeway, it would have caused your car to flip over and you’d be dead. I hate to tell you this, but I’ve seen it happen more times than I can count. You are very, very lucky to still be alive.”

I went home and pondered how only the day before I was driving to Glendale on the freeway. I had no idea that by neglecting my car problem I had put my life at risk.

What really stopped me in my tracks was remembering what I wrote the night before, which related to my life.

It wasn’t as expensive as I thought it would be, but not worth risking my life over!

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SHE WAS BLESSED

She loved the idea that she was blessed. She thanked God for all of her gifts and treasured every step of her journey.

With those blessings, she remained determined to finish the creative expression that had saved her. She plodded onward. Whenever she felt discouraged, another blessing came her way that enabled her to continue.

It did feel like plodding. The energetic steps where she danced toward a beautiful future had gradually slowed down. She had stopped sharing her excitement. Her tremendous energy and focus was still there, but whereas before she was light and airy, now she felt burdened by keeping so much inside. Sometimes, the heaviness was overwhelming, yet it only made her even more determined to move forward.

Although her life felt meaningful and she knew how it felt to be joyful, it saddened her that she was no longer dancing. It was easy to understand why. The sad distractions in her life were quite difficult to ignore and could not be dismissed. It was frustrating for her to admit that she was getting tired. So many things required her attention and she hated the distractions; she did not want to be diverted. But with positive thinking, she channeled all of her emotions into what she was creating instead of feeling pain.

When she looked ahead, she could clearly see her destination within view. There was a time, when she had no idea about her destination. Now that she felt more certain, in some ways it was harder. The destination was meaningless for her, as far as materially, because she could continue the creative expression no matter where she went. But the destination represented the time when she could share again, and that was something she was looking forward to.

The pain was deep inside. It would squeeze her slowly as it travelled into her throat and upwards to her eyes. The muscles in her neck tightened and it was hard to breathe; her eyes felt like a sponge filled with tears. The squeezing caused the tears to pour downward.

But her music was a blanket of comfort for her soul. It was warm and soothing as it surrounded the pain; all squeezing stopped. She would close her eyes and imagine the peacefulness of her future. She escaped into her music and it always lifted her out of the insanity and the pain. It was more than going to magical places now. It was her remedy. Nothing comforted her like her music did.

It was then when she heard the voice in her head. Was it God? She didn’t care. She just knew she needed to be open to hear what the voice told her. It was time for her to listen.

The voice asked her why she had chosen to see her days now as heavy rocks, instead of the gold coins she had vehemently chosen a year earlier. She wasn’t sure how to answer. She said, “I look forward to spending my gold coins in my future. Today is not the time to spend them. At this moment, I understand why I have rocks – but I know it is only temporary.”

Then the voice said, “Today might be your last day. Do you want your last day to be a rock?”

She answered, “It doesn’t matter. I know what it feels like to live both ways. I accept this pain because I am trying to reach my destination. If I stop to make my days like gold, I might not continue. I am afraid.”

The voice said, “That is why I picked you. You are selfless. You are not on this journey to save yourself. Continue to listen to your music and your days will be golden.”

She smiled and knew she would.

Tagged acoustic guitar, child's death, composing, creativity, Daily Life, deep feelings, emotional expression, emotional level, guitar, inspiration, loss, Music, original songs, performing, singing, singing voice, songwriting, writing | Leave a comment

YOU WERE THERE – PART 2

Posted on March 19, 2012 by Judy

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Last week, I completed a new vocal and created an instrumental version of one of my favorite songs, “You Were There.”

It’s no coincidence that as both my parents decline; this song is very close to my heart. On the audio excerpt “He Was There and She Was There” I became very emotional. Therefore, since I haven’t had time to write new posts, I would love to share my audio story and new versions of my song. All of my stories have instrumentals in the background as I recite lyrics at the beginning of each story. I am planning to eventually market a CD of only instrumental song compositions.

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YOU WERE THERE

All my life, every day you were there, when I’d need you

All the time, I just knew

You’d be there and you’d see me through

I’ve always known, I’m not alone . . .

You were so strong; you’d pick me up when I’d fall down

So I can see all your strength is in me

Everything that I did, you’d applaud; you were right there

Watching me as I grew, sharing joy and my heartache, too

I always knew, that I had you . . .

Now I’m so strong; I picked you up when you fell down

I learned to see just how strong I could be

Although I try, It’s hard to say goodbye

To someone who loved me all of my life

And when I’m sad, because you’re not there

I’ll still see your love everywhere

Now that you’re gone, I say a prayer

And I remember

how you were there

–

A recent picture I came across of my parents when they got married in 1950.

From the time I was born, I was bathed in love. I was the youngest in my family and was always known as “the baby,” and it’s interesting that my mother was “the baby” in her family, too. In my mind, I can easily picture an old home movie where my mother showed me off as an infant. She glowed with pure, radiant joy while she held me, and beams of love shot out of her face and eyes. Throughout my childhood, she always told me that I was “the little girl she dreamed of having.”

My favorite instrumental song, “Farewell” with its gorgeous melody, inspired me to write lyrics that became a tribute to both my parents. My new song “You Were There,” was also a farewell. It expressed my appreciation to them while at the same time acknowledging how hard it was for me to say goodbye. I’ve been told my song is quite spiritual, and reminiscent of someone expressing deep appreciation to God. Certainly, when I wrote “You Were There,” it helped to fill a tremendous void within me.

Because my mother was always my confidant, when she became seriously ill, I felt so empty. It was then that I discovered how I received solace from writing. Although my mother recovered from being on a respirator for two months, her mind was never the same after that. I was sad when she could no longer relate to me; there were so many things that I longed to share with her. But I definitely conveyed to her how I had healed. She was able to understand that I was happy and that mattered more than anything to me.

Unlike losing a child, I know it is expected and commonplace for parents to age and fade. Still, the process of seeing my parents deteriorate was painful as I tried to alleviate their suffering. I rose to that challenge because my parents were always there for me; it was their love and support that truly enabled me to cope after losing Jason.

My song lyrics for “You Were There” flowed out easily from me as though they were already written. The lines of my song that touch me most, are the two that describe how I went from being the child to becoming the parent. With the transition of words “me” and “you, I first say: “You picked me up when I fell down,” and then I say: “I picked you up when you fell down.”

There are many stories I could write about what I went through the many times where my mother fell down; I truly feel like I have picked her up. My writing journey began after she ended up on a respirator, and that was a result of a fall where she broke her shoulder and had resulting complications due to her immune disorder. She contracted pneumonia very easily. When she broke her hip later on, I refused to allow any surgery to repair it; I had not forgotten the ordeal of when she was on a respirator.

I learned “just how strong I could be” when I faced down so many doctors and medical personnel who attempted to convince me that no one ever refused surgery to repair a broken hip. I was told my mother would be bedridden and die rather quickly, and as a result she was put on hospice.

My mother was able to sit in a wheelchair within a few days. Because my mother was not in terrible pain, I continued to follow my instincts and refused to allow for surgery. I requested another opinion and although this orthopedic doctor also recommended surgery, he told me that my mother’s hip fracture could heal over time. I requested that hospice be discontinued. Eventually, my mother was allowed to have physical therapy and it was miraculous that she was able to stand and walk again. Unfortunately, my mother never regained much of her former strength and more than anything; I wished that something could have halted her rapidly progressing dementia.

When I first wrote lyrics for my song, there was one line that I wasn’t 100 percent sure of. It was: “And when you’re not there, I’ll look for your love everywhere.” That line felt needy and sad, even though it was honest. Through hypnotherapy, I learned that reframing thoughts by replacing one word with another could lift my mood. I decided to change the lyrics from “I’ll look for your love” to “I’ll still see your love everywhere.” I knew that no one on this planet loved me more than my parents did, and now my song was truly finished.

I shared my song “You Were There” with both my mother and my father. My mother told me she told me she didn’t like my song. Dementia reduced her to a very childlike state; all her fears were extremely heightened. She had a lot of fear around death, so I wasn’t surprised. I understood she wasn’t ready to leave me yet, and I was glad that I had the courage to share my special song with her.

Just imagining my father listening to my song on an IPod with headphones, gives me a big smile. Even though he was quite ill and always adamant about hating music and electronic devices, he eventually caved in and listened to my recordings. My father was very emotional when he complimented me on my lyric writing. It meant so much to me.

Before I wrote my song, I first channeled my feelings into poems called “He Was There” and “She Was There” and they became the inspiration for my song.

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My mom and Jason when he was an infant.

“HE WAS THERE”

I stood up to give a speech. The room was crowded. I was the winner of the west coast region’s Secretarial Award and it was a great honor. I remembered how in the summers I would drive with my father every day to work as a secretary at the Board of Education where he worked in downtown Los Angeles. My father had painstakingly helped me with the application process.

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Everyone was clapping as I stood up, but it was my father’s face that I remembered most.

–

He was there.

The beach parking lot was full. There was one space left on the side of the highway. As I exited my car and started walking toward the beach with my friends, I asked a man if it would be OK to park there and he said, “yes.” At the end the day, my friends and I trudged across the sand to my car. My guitar felt heavy and I was sunburned and hungry. I looked everywhere for my car, but it was gone; it had been towed.

–

I walked a mile to find a pay phone to call my father to come get me. An hour later, his car drove up. He was very upset, but I remember how grateful I was to see him.

–

He was there.

It was time to say goodbye to my dead child. His body was being readied so he could be seen without all the tubes. I waited with my husband and my parents in silence; I was exhausted from my earlier screaming and wailing. A nurse summoned us to go in. My mother said she’d wait outside; she emphatically said she couldn’t do it. My father said he would come in with us. I asked him if he were sure, and he said he was.

–

Time stopped, as I walked in slow motion to face the worst part of my life. The horror of it would never leave me. I wanted it to end, but at the same time I knew I’d never see my child again. It was the only time I’d ever have to say goodbye. Finally it was enough. I left the room and my husband followed in silence. We waited and we waited. Eventually, I had to go back into that room to get my father and tell him it was time to go.

–

He was there.

It was just another evening following a day filled with grief. There was a lot of relief over surviving another day; perhaps it was another day that would be closer to healing and less pain. I thought I heard my father’s car pull up in the driveway half an hour earlier. I looked out and sure enough, his car was there. I wondered why he hadn’t come in yet. But I knew. He would sob in his car before coming into my home.

–

I opened the front door and tiptoed barefoot into the twilight. He didn’t see me. I was right. He had his head bent over the steering wheel. His sobs echoed into the night air. I knocked on the window to let him know I was there and it was time to come in.

–

He was there.

“SHE WAS THERE”

I was an adult in my early 20s. Suddenly, I felt like a baby again, with the flu. I was home alone and I could barely move. “I’ll be fine,” I told my mom on the phone. A moment later, I opened my eyes and there she was holding a cool washcloth. She wiped my forehead and patiently gave me a bowl of chicken soup.

–

She was there.

It was the kind of fatigue that was beyond being alleviated by sleep. I was full of an intense, restless anxiety while at the same time my eyelids were as heavy as bricks. The night was giving way to dawn. I had gone another night without a single moment of sleep. Jason wouldn’t stop crying; he was only a few weeks old. I wondered: Would I be able to continue this pace of trying to feed this impossibly sick child without any sleep?

–

The doorbell rang. Jason was still crying as I opened the front door.

–

She was there.

There was no reason to get up; I didn’t want to move. I was under the covers. I had no tears left and my body was completely spent from crying for days and days. It had been a few months since Jason died and my husband had gone back to work. No one was home. Even though I heard the doorbell, I ignored it. I wanted to die.

–

She let herself in with a key and my bedroom door opened. She pulled down the covers, curled up next to me. She held me and together we cried.

–

She was there.

–