myjourneysinsight

YOU CAN’T STAY AND SOON YOU’LL BE GONE

Posted on May 21, 2012 by Judy

E-mail updates regarding my father: (most recent on top):

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May 22, 2012

I wasn’t sure what I’d write for this update. I know many of you are wondering what is going on, so I will share with you that not much has changed since yesterday.

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My father seems comfortable and appears to be sleeping. He snores, yawns, coughs and twitches – but is otherwise very unresponsive. I speak to him and imagine he can hear me. We have gotten quite close this past year and there is nothing for me to tell him that he doesn’t already know. I’ve always lived with the concept that each day could be our last, so I expressed my love and feelings to him all the time. That makes this much easier for me.

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Per his wishes, I signed up for hospice so that there will be no intervention. He will get pain medication on his tongue and his comfort will be maintained. Without added fluids, this process of leaving our earth could take up to five days.

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I know my father would be pleased with this course. My brothers are in complete agreement with me.

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I am praying that his suffering on this earth will be over quickly and as painlessly as possible. I think my father is the most courageous person I’ve ever known.

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I am not weeping or feeling tearful at the moment. I am wondering how to explain this. Perhaps it is because I have watched my father suffer so much the past few months. I am feeling relief.

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Since today was my father’s birthday, I would like to think he had the best party he could have imagined. My brothers and I spoke to him all morning at his bedside. I cannot imagine anything he would have loved more than that.

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I am praying that his suffering on this earth will be over quickly and as painlessly as possible. I think my father is the most courageous person I’ve ever known.

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With much love, Judy

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The granite rock I can easily picture in my garden. The things in my life that could get me down, I consider my fertilizer.

This was written a few days ago:

I had finally finished my song Retreat and had spent an extraordinary amount of energy into creating the arrangement for it, far more than I had on any of my other songs. I never wanted something to become so “crafted” that it lost the emotion, and that concerned me. The beauty of my song spoke to me on so many levels.

The lyrics of “At those times, I’d wish you were there and then you’d appear,” were very mysterious for me. Who was appearing? Originally, I thought it might have been Cheryl. But her visits were sparse and seldom, and although I often thought of her, it wasn’t something I could reliably count on to lift me up when I was retreating.

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Then, it dawned on me that it was my music I could always count on!

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That revelation really did fit with my lyrics. I was surrounded by challenges in my life. The comfort of music allowed me to continue smiling. I was not dancing around with joy, but I knew it was temporary. I looked forward to a brighter future.

I shared all of these feelings every week at my hypnotherapy session. My therapist, Connie, always found ways to help me stay positive. Through hypnosis, I discovered so many things that helped me. My subconscious held information for me that I often overlooked.

Last week, during the time I was having eyesight issues, we had a very interesting session. I arrived for that session relaxed despite my health concerns. The warmth of Connie’s hug was uplifting and reminded me of how blessed I was with many special people in my life. We talked and I found myself crying. I knew she was deeply concerned about me.

It was time for the hypnosis part of our session. As I drifted off into a hypnotic trance, Connie asked me to find an image that represented courage. I could not think of one. I saw something in my vision, but ignored it. I wanted to find something else – anything. But every possibility was blocked by a gray mass in front of me. I relented and said, “I don’t see anything really. Okay, I do see something – it’s a rock.”

As soon as I said it, I knew why I had hesitated. It was so obvious. I had written a story about this. My story was about living life with the feeling that each day was precious; a gold coin versus a rock. A rock representing challenges and stress was nothing new.

Connie asked me to describe it. I said, “It’s gray and it appears to be a piece of granite.” I joked and said, “But, it doesn’t want to be taken for granite.”

My mind began filling with thoughts about the meaning of a rock very quickly. I became animated because I loved geology. As a child, I had rock collections galore and knew quite a bit about rocks. I explained to Connie more about the mass of gray granite I could clearly see. It was a metamorphic rock, brought about by tremendous pressure and that caused it to become far more powerful. The analogies to my life were unbelievable.

I said, “This rock is far underground; it is not volcanic, and I did not choose a rock that is created through an eruption. I did not choose a sedimentary rock either, which was created through layers upon layers of dirt building up. A metamorphic rock remains hidden, until it eventually comes to the surface of the earth. It is much stronger because of all the pressure.”

A metamorphic rock also fit as an analogy for my life of “transformation.” I often used “healed” as a sweeter substitution of that word. I really had the feeling that I was completely different from whom I used to be. I was a stranger in my own body.

I had wondered what properties of my rock represented courage.

Metamorphosis also applied to butterflies, and I decided that this period of time in my life was like being in a cocoon. My courage was about being ready to emerge. I planned to come out and fly. The image of myself getting up and flying from the edge of a precipice was something I had seen for a long time.

That amazed me, because the new song erupting was also about flying.

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My father gave me this picture last week. I’m not sure how old I am in this picture, but I want to remember my parents this way. My father did cry when he gave it to me. He said, “Doesn’t your mother look spectacular?”

© 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", Aging Parents, Caregiving, composing, creativity, dealing with death, father's illness, grief, GRIEF RELATED, inspiration, loss | 1 Comment

RETREAT – PART 2

Posted on May 19, 2012 by Judy

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Link to Song Page with more about my song RETREAT

Link to an instrumental version of my song:–

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RETREAT

Retreat

is where I go when I am sad

All my tears let me know

I long for you and miss you so

Retreat

is my escape from the world

I withdraw and suddenly

I feel you surround me

At those times, I’d wish you were near

and then, you’d appear

But you were only in my mind,

only in my mind, only in my mind

Retreat

is when a song soothes my soul

A melody fills my heart

reminding me we’re not apart

Retreat is where I find peacefulness

My music has begun

to be my true companion

At those times, I’d wish you were near

and then, you’d appear

but you were only in my mind

only in my mind, only in my mind

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STORY ABOUT RETREAT – PART 1

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A recent email message to a friend:

Life threw a wrench at me, last week. I was at Urgent Care all evening on Thursday.

It was interesting – my vision wasn’t working with the new glasses I recently bought (over $1,000 with eye exam and all). I went back to complain.

I noticed that I had trouble seeing my computer all Thursday morning. At my appointment, the optometrist told me my eyesight had dramatically deteriorated, especially in my right eye. He said I should see a doctor. I panicked because everything was blurry in that eye and he was unable to correct it.

At Urgent Care, my vision in my bad eye was 20/600. An ophthalmologist came in, but did not find anything wrong. I will be having more tests done soon.

I’m trying to be calm; a better word for it would be concerned versus worried. I was grateful that I could edit music this morning despite one eye not working well.

Judy

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A portion of a recent art job I’ve been working on. I need my eye sight!

This week, I’ve spent a lot of time dealing with my health. It was so interesting for me, because I found out earlier in the week that a good friend was recently diagnosed with multiple myeloma. Hearing of her situation filled me with so much appreciation for my health.

However, even with my gratefulness, two days ago I faced a challenge when I experienced a rapid deterioration of my eyesight. Friday morning, I received a call that those eye tests could be scheduled for me if I could be at the hospital in twenty minutes.

A middle-aged woman never shed a bathrobe faster than I did.

Five minutes before having those tests done, a nurse told me that my heartbeat sounded irregular. I willed myself to be calm; because when dye was injected into my veins I was told I might be nauseous. I did not want to throw up; I was proud that I didn’t!

I stumbled around blindly after the tests were done. The technician told me he didn’t see anything, and I would be called with the results. I decided to try and see my regular doctor, even though he had no appointments available.

Instead, I saw a triage nurse who did an EKG. She said it was perfect and I drove home with dark glasses on. I was happy I made it home in one piece.

They were right about the dye and pee color afterwards. I could even think of the exact color I’ve used in paintings with dye – daffodil yellow.

I was exhausted from those eye tests that left me with pupils the size of bowling balls. However, my good friend Doctor Sam told me this was serious and I needed to advocate for myself. Two hours later, I went back and demanded to see another doctor. He ordered another EKG, and this time it showed my heart had an extra beat.

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The doctor told me not to worry, because my heart rhythm was still regular. He said that stress and caffeine could be the culprit.

He said my funny heartbeat was unrelated to my eye problem.

It was funny he mentioned caffeine, because the other night at dinner with my poor friend I had five cups of coffee. Below is my EKG, which I find fascinating. Within five minutes the rhythm went from weird back to normal.

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While in the waiting room I wrote the following essay for myself:

You Know You Are a Songwriter When . . .

1. You know you are a songwriter when you take a pad of paper and a rhyming dictionary with you to your doctor appointment.

2. You know you are a songwriter when you get annoyed because you cannot listen to an IPod and be sure to hear your named called in the hospital waiting room.

3. You know you are a songwriter when you feel grateful that it’s something you can still do even if you were blind (versus being deaf.)

4. You know you are a songwriter when you feel calm in tough situations because songs are a reminder of being blessed.

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The lyric line of “only In my mind” is from my most recent song recording. I created a new arrangement for an older song of mine, which was named Retreat.

I grappled with the song title after recording this new arrangement of my song. My arranger, George, told me he definitely preferred the title of “only In my mind.”

However, after getting some advice from friends, I found clarity. I am a positive thinker and my song is less about loneliness, than it is about retreating into serenity and peacefulness. I do consider my music to be a wonderful companion that has blessed my life.

I’ve wondered if my recent symptoms were “only in my mind.” As I await test results, I am definitely working on controlling my thoughts. Yesterday while in the waiting room, I wrote some rough lyrics for a new song I am composing. I’ll share them at the end of this post.

My two sons, husband and little dog left Friday morning on a camping trip. Since I can’t share pictures of my sons now, I will share instead a picture of our dog, Killer. Killer is very jealous of me and yaps constantly. I am so excited for my quiet bedroom while they are gone. I’m looking forward to playing my guitar late at night and working on my newest song!

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On Monday, my father will celebrate his 88th birthday. We went out today for lunch, with my brother, sister-in-law, mother and caregiver, Miriam. My father cried when I showed up at his nursing home. When I asked him why he was crying, he said, “Your life is a tragedy!” I completely forgot that he was worried about my eyesight. I felt very lucky that he cared about me so much and I know that keeping him in the loop was very important to him. I did let him know that my life was not a tragedy.

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After I left my father at his room in the nursing home, I had an interesting experience as I was walking to my car. Another woman, my age, was with her father and she asked me who my father was. We became excited and it was just like making a “play-date” for children. We both agreed our fathers were sharp and needed good company. In addition, she also had a mother with dementia. As I walked away, she told me I looked like I could use a hug. I received a warm hug from a total stranger!

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My father is opening a birthday card. My mother is asleep.

I am glad I could update my blog, which continues my theme of staying positive despite challenges. Below is something I wrote that carries my theme of retreat, as well as windows.

Inside Her Mind

She lived inside her mind. Like a comfortable home, there were many places she could safely retreat. Her eyes were the windows, and she would often close them when stress seeped into her heart. She was amazed how no one else could hear the loud statements in her mind. It was like she was a traveler in a body she had only recently inhabited. Writing became too painful because she could not share her true feelings anymore. They were locked away, but when she sang or spoke her emotions erupted. There was no way for her to control it, but she allowed it because it was her only opportunity to be honest.

When she really allowed herself to look through the windows, she saw beautiful vistas in the distance. Although they were far away, she dreamed of the time when she would live without being locked inside her mind.

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Tagged acoustic guitar, composing, creativity, guitar, Humor, inspiration, inspirational, Judy Unger, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Music, Ordinary Life, original songs, positive thinking, singing, songwriting | 2 Comments

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.

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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.

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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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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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