myjourneysinsight

HANG ON – PART 1

Posted on October 29, 2011 by Judy

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Clicking the blue links below will play my song:

Hang On Instrumental

Hang On Meditation Song

HANG ON

It feels so dark; the sky is gray

Nothing to live for, you cannot pray

You have no hope; is this the end?

Just take my hand; I’ll be your friend

I’ve been there, too – I must explain

Because I’ve suffered I feel your pain

You don’t know how you will survive

You even wonder why you’re alive

Hang on; love is never gone

Though it feels like night

Let love shine a light

One day, your pain will go away

Love will lift you up

Love will always stay

Your eyes show; your heart is broken

There’s so much pain; it’s unspoken

But without hope; it’s crushed your soul

There was no reason and no control

Just hang on; strength can be drawn

Though you are numb

Do not succumb

One day, your pain will go away

Love will lift you up

Love will always stay

I wish there was an end to pain

Then just love would remain

Hang on for a day will dawn

Different than before

But you’ll smile once more

On that day, your pain has gone away

Love lifted you up

Love will always stay

Hang on. . .

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I want to share what it meant to hang on when I was deeply grieving:

Hanging on meant living in the moment and dealing with the pain. I cried to express my sadness, and tried not to hold in my tears. Sometimes I even screamed or yelled, but I continued to move forward. I maintained hope that I would adjust to my loss. I prayed my life would be easier in the future, and I often dreamt about it.

Hanging on was my willingness to search for anything that would help me feel better. That included reading books, going to support group meetings, and crying along with other people who were suffering with similar circumstances. This reminded me that I was not alone with my pain, and helping other people to hang on actually helped me even more.

Hanging on was an expression of vulnerability. When I pictured myself slipping at the end of my rope, I gripped on tighter and prayed for the strength to continue. Sharing vulnerability represented my willingness to allow others to offer support.

Hanging on taught me how strong I was. I just knew that I would survive the pain somehow. I plodded onward and did the best I could.

When I was grieving, I did all those things until the day arrived when I realized that it had become easier to hang on. The sun started shining again and life became bearable. My survival was something I was proud of and it gave me deep appreciation for life. The process of emerging into sunshine was something that could not be rushed. But the most beautiful thing of all was that when I gave myself permission to be joyful, I found happiness.

With my lyric line “one day, your pain will go away,” I realize I have no certainty about that. It is only a profound wish, but I believe having hope is definitely a start toward feeling better. Even though I used to believe my sorrow would never leave, I still want to share my experience and my music to offer any comfort that I can to others.

When I sing the line “I feel your pain,” I honestly do feel anguish over other people’s grief and circumstances. But I acknowledge that everyone’s pain is uniquely theirs to carry. Even though I also say, “I’ve been there, too,” it doesn’t matter. No one can truly imagine another person’s pain while in deep grief. When I was deeply grieving, it was so painful I often wondered why I was still alive. I find it unbelievable that I was able to continue illustrating. I truly did not see color in the world; everything was in black and white for years and years. And then one day, I saw color again.

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Message on an Internet Grief Forum:

It has only been five months since we lost my grandson. My wife and daughter were walking back to our truck and he broke away to run and get there first. He was run over and crushed. He was only 28 months old.

 I don’t think that there is a parent that has not had that happen, a child jerking away or just dropping down on the floor to get away.  My daughter is now not only in pain for the loss of her son, but blames herself for not holding his hand tighter or why didn’t she just carry him. I don’t know what to do or how to help her.  

My wife wakes me up two or three nights a week screaming for our grandson and trying to pull him back to safety. All I can do is hold her and cry with her. After I get her back to sleep, I am awake the rest of the night.  I miss my grandson and cry every day. If I am out and see a blond headed little boy his age I break down and cry. I thought the day he died was the worst in my life.

It is every day since he died that is the worst day. John

Dear John,

I remember your story from when you wrote a few months ago. It is extremely heartbreaking and made me cry.

I am so, so sorry for your suffering. It is truly hell on earth. You are right about every day hurting as bad as the day he died. No one can understand the pain – I lost my son, but I did not lose your beloved grandson. There was only one child on this earth like him.

Grandparents carry a double burden. You are suffering with your loss and in addition you have also lost your daughter to grief. She is never going to be the same and you cannot stand to see her suffer. And of course, there is so much suffering – so much guilt, so much pain. I feel for your wife, your grandson’s father and any siblings he might have had. It is a TRAGEDY.

I want to offer you some comfort. Honestly, only people who have or are going through this would be able to remotely relate to what you are going through. You barely exist – and life doesn’t feel like it’s worth living. I remember that feeling well.

I survived my son’s death and consider that a huge achievement. All I did was “hang in there.” Sometimes, that’s all you can do – and it’s barely possible. Keep hanging in there, John. One day, it will get easier – but right now it is so fresh. Grief is about love. When you love someone deeply it is next to impossible to accept losing him or her and the unfairness of your grandson’s death is not acceptable.

I have survived and I pray you will, too. Allow for your tears. It will get better – I promise.

Judy

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It was a few months after I turned 50 when I experienced an amazing creative renaissance. What other people might term a “midlife crisis” I preferred to view as my “midlife turning point.” I had a prolific explosion of writing, while at the same time composing and recording more than thirty songs.

I named my opening up, “My Journey’s Insight,” and I gathered many friends and people from my past to join me. I shared intimately about my life in the past and present. Every step of the way, I shared my enthusiasm and passion. I wondered why I considered my experience a journey, because the truth was I had never really traveled anywhere in my sheltered life. But then I realized I had simply traveled in a different way: to remote destinations of feeling and emotion. I could accurately describe those places in a way that touched other people.

During bereavement, time was my enemy. Every moment was excruciating and endless while I was hurting. But now, time has become my friend. Every second is precious for me and life is a gift. My song lyrics state: “A day will dawn different than before, but you’ll smile once more.”

With bereavement that forever changed me came deep appreciation for all the goodness in my life. I will never forget the exquisite pain, but the heartache has eased. To be human is to experience loss. I will always carry the memory of my loss, because I have adjusted to the amputation of my soul.

I really want to offer optimism with my personal story of healing. I deeply want my story to be inspiring. After losing a child, for years after my loss I never was able to truly let go of grief because of many challenges I continued to face raising my children and dealing with my elderly parents. I am clearly an example of the “sandwich generation.”

Stress and worry always felt familiar, and I was simply numb from so much scar tissue. It became a habit for me to stuff my emotions. I didn’t expect that anything would ever change, even though I was always grateful for so much in my life.

My journey began when I decided to take a different path. When my new path appeared, I was ready to follow it. With my new path everything changed for me. I opened up my heart to the world, and I found my music. I never dreamed I would be happy again. Even though it took me many years, I am grateful I didn’t let another minute go by. I wish every human could find his or her own path.

It is never too late.

© Judy Unger and http://www.myjourneysinsight.com 2011. 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.

Posted in Grief Educational | Tagged acoustic guitar, arranging music, autumn leaves, beautiful music, child's death, comforting music, compassionate friends, composing, creativity, Dealing with pain, death, death of a child, expressing feelings, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, Hang On, healing and grief, healing music, hope, hope for healing, hope of healing, inspiration, Judy Unger, loss, love is never gone, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Music, music and healing, music arrangements, musical comfort, optimism, original songs, performing, singing, songwriting | Leave a comment

I’VE BEEN THERE, TOO

Posted on October 21, 2011 by Judy

Sometimes it is very strange to be with my tennis friends when we’re not wearing our tennis clothes.

There were many distractions for me this past week. Some were wonderful, as I had beautiful moments catching up with my friends because of my birthday. I played tennis on the actual day and a group of my friends treated me to a wonderful lunch afterwards. The day after that, I went to lunch with my parents and celebrated with them. I received a necklace and two cards from my mother’s caregiver, Miriam. I treasured Miriam’s cards: She wrote one to me and then gave me a card dictated by my mother. I was so touched by her gesture.

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Miriam’s birthday card to me.

My mother dictated these words to Miriam. My mother signed it with “Judy, Judy” on the bottom right.

Some distractions this week were quite painful. While I was recording a guitar track for my upcoming song, I received a call from my mother’s nursing facility telling me my mom had fallen out of her wheelchair while in the dining room. Her fall resulted from agitation and I was told she tried to bite the nurses and even Miriam who arrived after it had happened. It turned out my mom had lung congestion, fever, and a urinary tract infection. Later that day I visited her and she seemed comfortable; so I was relieved she hadn’t hurt herself when she fell, even though her confusion was extreme.

My father had his microwave/prostate procedure. He was relieved and weak when it was over. The results will not be known for at least two weeks when he returns to see his urologist.

Although I take breaks for tennis and exercise, open mic performances, social outings and seeing my parents, – I am always driven to get back to working on my book at every opportunity. I am recording my book at my friend, Larry’s, recording studio and am fortunate that he lives only five minutes from me.

For every story, I carefully prepare ahead of time; practice always helps. Once I come home with my finished recording on a disk, I must edit it as an audio file and that takes considerable time.

Speaking my audio stories is very much like singing. I must concentrate on my words and their meaning because if I begin to simply read them, then I sound like a reader. Instead, I try to feel my words. If they make me smile or cry; I allow it.

But then . . . there is always my guitar to distract me. It beckons me to play and to sing whenever I start to feel sad or overwhelmed. I keep my guitar in my upstairs bathroom. Sometimes it is very late at night when I finish my editing; I brush my teeth and a moment later I am playing my guitar and singing softly with my eyes half closed before I go to sleep.

My newest song has filled up the space in my heart completely. I made an appointment with George, who has arranged all of my songs. When I entered George’s guesthouse to work on my song, I was filled with passion and excitement. I wish I were a better singer, because it was challenging for me to stay on pitch due to the intense emotions of my song. As I sang, I thought of the many messages I read on a grief forum, which I am a part of. I really feel so much pain inside when I read those messages. The pain of grief is never forgotten.

I was shopping at Costco later in my day after recording my song with George. I listened to my newest song recording over and over. Tears filled my eyes, and spilled down my cheeks as I shopped. I wiped them off with my shirt as I stepped into the checkout line.

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I had been working long hours on my audio book and decided it was time for me to take a break. The dusk had already faded into night as I drove to an open mic night. I planned to perform my newest song and sang loudly in my car with complete abandon; I could not contain my joy.

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As I entered, I felt welcomed; several people warmly told me that they looked forward to hearing me play. After an hour, my name was announced and it was my turn to sing. I stood at the microphone and introduced my newest song with some unscripted and heartfelt words. I had brought an instrumental karaoke track with me and planned to play and sing along with it. With the first notes of my song, my heart began to melt and the outside corners of my eyes became wet with tears.

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I sang passionately and felt both music and love lifting me up. I was soaring and sailing and Jason was beside me, I was certain of that. The room danced along with me and as I sang the last words of “Hang on,” I wanted to hang onto the feeling; I was euphoric.

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My song ended with an unresolved chord and I allowed my voice to hold onto the very last note, I wished I could continue singing. With my eyes closed, I still heard my chorus echoing. Although I was in a small room with perhaps only twenty people, suddenly I was transported to a large stage.

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My vision was one of thousands of people, as far as my eyes could see; they were all clapping and singing the words “hang on” from my chorus in beautiful harmony.

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Tagged "sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, child's death, compassionate friends, composing, creativity, Daily Life, death, death of a child, dementia, Friendship, grief, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, guitar, inspiration, loss, lovesong, lyric development, lyric writing, lyrics, Music, original songs, performing, singing, songwriting | Leave a comment

I HOPED I COULD REACH

Posted on October 13, 2011 by Judy

I photographed this spider web that was near the tennis court where I was playing last week. To me, nature is amazing and magical. I pay attention to everything around me.

My post title is a lyric line from my song “Crystal Oceans.” It has two meanings for me. One is that I am reaching for my dreams – so many of them have already come true. The other, is that I hope I will reach many people and comfort them with my stories and music.

There are “No Words” to describe how happy I am.

I lead a musical life, and I often hear myself speaking lyric lines from the songs that I sing. I could write a post simply using all of my lyrics!

As I experience another birthday this week, I celebrate how much I love my life at the age of 52. My life began to change when I turned 50. It started with great adversity, due to my mother’s illness. But with adversity came my powerful rebirth and as a result my life completely changed.

Last week, I had an hour-long opportunity to share my music and stories for a workshop at my temple. I only had a small group of people and that was perfectly fine with me. I prefer a more intimate setting and I was inspired about those I touched. My good friend, Susan, attended with her husband and I received a very special card once again from her. I am sharing it at the end of this post.

My audio book is well under way, and I have been improving all of my stories before recording them for my book. Sometimes, those revisions are slight and sometimes they are huge.

I would love to share one revision that was truly amazing for me.

I did not like the ending for my story “Illustrating My Life Lessons Through Art.” It felt hollow. I felt dishonest including the word passion at the end of my story. I was not a passionate artist. I decided to ask my editor and friends what they thought about it.

My message to my friends:

I would love some feedback about this ending for my story. It just doesn’t feel honest having the word passion there. I was never a passionate artist, unlike my music and writing where I am very passionate. Without that word, though – my ending is bland. What makes a person dedicated or committed, even without passion?

I never dreamed that I would pursue art as a career. Seeing how much I improved was very gratifying. I went from being an artist who disliked drawing, to an artist who loved painting. I had tremendous satisfaction when I completed assignments that pleased my clients. As an artist, my greatest lesson was that with dedication and commitment my dreams became reality.

The best message I could have possibly received came from my former college art teacher, Nancy. She wrote:

On Oct 8, 2011, Nancy wrote:

Hi Judy,

I read your statement and noticed something. You state, ”I had tremendous satisfaction when I completed assignments that pleased my clients. As an artist, my greatest lesson was that with dedication and commitment, my dreams became reality.”

I can’t help but wonder if your question, “What makes a person dedicated or committed?” is answered in that quoted line. You state that you “completed assignments that pleased (your) clients.” You were satisfied that you pleased your clients, but what about yourself? You were doing your art for them and not for yourself. It was THEIR dreams that were becoming a reality, not yours.

Now that you no longer have clients to please there is only yourself. It makes sense that you may not have felt the same about being an artist as you feel toward your music. Perhaps you reached a point of enlightenment. You became aware that you weren’t really doing your art for yourself. How could anyone feel passionate about always pleasing someone else?

It’s miraculous to finally recognize that what we thought was our passion was just an unconscious pattern we kept pursuing until we woke up and smelled the roses!

Just a thought….

XXX

On Oct. 8, 2011, Judy wrote:

Dearest Nancy,

I always hope when I share that I would get such an amazing and thoughtful message back! You are so insightful!

Passion might just be about pursuing something for our own pleasure (not financially, though). Still, I seldom wanted to do art for myself.

Now how does this sound as the revised ending to my story?

But I am far more passionate about my writing and music than I ever was about my artwork. Perhaps the difference is that I am not seeking to satisfy anyone other than myself. I might never have imagined I’d be a successful artist, but in contrast, I feel very positive that with my music and writing I will touch and heal many people. But most importantly, I have certainly healed myself.

On Oct 8, 2011, Nancy wrote:

I returned home from dinner just a few minutes ago to happily discover your newest emails. There’s a smile on my face, partly because I am glad my comments didn’t offend you and partly because I love your newest statement. You’re not only a wonderful musician, Judy; you’re also a great writer. The “healing” references are rich with purpose. Your choices of words contain so much more meaning in your final statement.

Love you Jude,

Nano

XXX

Dearest Nancy,

Ahhh . . . the benefits of sharing amaze me once again. My story ending improved a thousand fold because of your insightful input! Being open is the crux of everything. It’s so important to be open because then wonderful things happen!

Love, Jude

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Recently I had lunch with both my parents – my father asked me if I wanted to wear a bib like them. NO THANK YOU! They do look happy, though.

Update on my parents:

Only a week ago, my mother could have become seriously ill after being given an overdose of blood pressure medication. Before the error was discovered, I was told my mother needed observation for her palpitations and dizziness.

Thankfully, the error was discovered after two days. I am very used to phone calls alerting me to changes in her condition, but what upset me the most was that I was never alerted to the fact that her medication was increased due to her blood pressure being erratic! I remain hopeful that the problem will be corrected and not happen in the future.

Remaining hopeful is a big change from a year ago when I might have posted a nasty memo to her facility on my blog.

Another change in my mother’s life is that she does not grasp the purpose for her hearing aids anymore. I recently refurbished one of them for $250; they cost about $4,000.

I clearly remember how upset my mother would be whenever she didn’t have her hearing aids. My father did not want her to have them when she was in the hospital, because his mother lost hers there; they are quite expensive and difficult to replace.

About a month ago, my mother started taking them off – one time they were found in a trashcan. Her social worker suggested putting a string on them, which I thought was an excellent idea. The other day, she dropped her hearing aides into juice. They are now destroyed.

Without being able to hear well, my mom is retreating further into her dementia.

However, despite her dementia, she still recognizes and expresses her love to me. Just that alone, is enough for me to appreciate how fortunate I am. I treasure her love for me every minute of my day.

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Marge's gifts

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“Celebrating my birthday with a good friend”

I have started off celebrating my upcoming birthday by having dinner last night with my good friend, Marge. In addition to our wonderful dinner, we saw a movie that really moved me called “Sarah’s Key.” Afterwards, Marge gave me her unique assortment of wrapped goodies that she always goes out of her way to gather for every one of my birthdays.

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I was extremely touched when Marge told me that she had attended a lecture given by the group who recorded the song “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” That song was played at Jason’s funeral because he loved that song so much.

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Marge told me that at the end of the lecture, she raised her hand and shared my story about Jason loving that song. She said the room was hushed when she reached the part about the song being on Jason’s gravestone.

One of Marge’s gifts to me was an autographed CD.

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An excerpt from Susan’s card:

Dear Judy,

Every time I see you perform; I am blown away by your talent. I was so glad to be at the temple for your songwriting workshop. The passion that you feel for your beautiful songs is so apparent by all who listen to you. All of the women in the room were sobbing after hearing you talk and sing. You told your story so effectively and eloquently. You are a wonderful public speaker who easily relates to her audience in a friendly and comforting way. You are never bitter or complain about what fate dealt you. You tell your story honestly and factually without bitterness.

The melodies you create in all your songs are so beautiful, yet haunting as they were written because of a terrible tragic occurrence. You sing with such feeling! I noticed that your eyes are usually closed and that you are in “another world” that no one can really enter. What an amazing artist you are in every sense of the word!

I hope you enjoy your birthday and are able to celebrate the day in a special way that brings you pleasure. You deserve it! I very much appreciate our enduring friendship the past 19 years.

Love, Susan

Tagged "sandwich generation", acoustic guitar, Aging Parents, Art and Illustration, Caregiving, composing, creativity, dementia, Friendship, grief bereavement "Loss of a Child", GRIEF RELATED, inspiration, loss, lovesong, mother, mother daughter relationship, mother's illness, Music, Ordinary Life, original songs, performing, singing, songwriting | Leave a comment

LOVE WILL LIFT YOU UP

Posted on October 5, 2011 by Judy

Jason Unger – frozen in time at the age of five.

On Oct 5, 2011, Marie wrote:

I am so sad today; I just can’t stop crying. My son, Gary, has been gone just a little over a year and I hurt as much today as I did the day he passed away. Will the pain ever go away?? I have lived the night he died over and over in my mind a thousand times. Everything I do and everywhere I go there is something to remind me of him. Sometimes I think I am losing my mind…Some days I feel like I may be getting better; then a word, song, smell or just anything will just set me off. I can’t listen to music without crying. I haven’t been back to church since he has been gone. I know I would end up a blubbering mess and have to leave. I still go to the cemetery at least once a week. I had a bench put out there and I go out there and just sob my heart out. I hope I don’t have to live like this the rest of my life.

On Oct 5, 2011, Judy wrote:

Dear Marie,

It took me a long time to feel better; I don’t want to minimize the pain because grief is horrible!!! Please allow for your tears – tears are very healing. You will not live this way for the rest of your life, but right now your grief is very fresh. I want to give you some hope. My pain has eased and I am truly happy now. In fact, I am on top of the world because I wrote a new song. It speaks exactly to the pain of grief and healing. I think I will call it “Love Will Always Stay.”

I will be recording and arranging my song soon. It will be the cornerstone for my soon to be completed audio book about healing from grief with my music. Tomorrow it will be 19 years since my son, Jason, died at the age of five. I remember how on so many of his death anniversaries I cried all day long, but thankfully that is now in the past.

So glad I could share. You will feel better someday, Marie – trust me. I promise. Gary loves you and wants you to feel better. I love my son still and I feel his love for me.

Love, Judy