I’M TRYING TO BE STRONG

Posted on July 27, 2011 by Judy

“I Remember Tigger” 

I always felt (and still do!) that pets add additional challenges to my life. For many years my children had begged me over and over to allow them to have a pet. Six years ago, a good friend finally convinced me that a cat wouldn’t be too much work. She recommended a certain pet store where she knew the owner. I followed her suggestion and went over there to purchase a kitten. The store owner told me he could sell me a kitten that had been abandoned behind his store for $50.

When I brought home the kitten, it was like bringing home a new baby. My children were ecstatic with the tiny black and white tuxedo cat. They decided to name him Tigger. Tigger cried a lot that first night when I told my children that he needed to stay in the area near the washer and dryer. Not long after that, Tigger ended up sleeping with my children.

Sometimes in the morning after my husband left for work, Tigger would visit me. While I was still lying in bed, he would jump on top of me. He tenderly purred and flattened himself over my stomach. In between, he would do dance steps. I marveled at what a friendly creature he was. 

I told myself that I was too busy to become attached to this creature. I wasn’t happy at all about the additional responsibilities related to him; I hadn’t wanted any more work in my life. However, it was all to make my children happy, and they certainly loved this special kitten.

Tigger was only about four months old when I took him to have his nails trimmed at a local pet store. I was too inexperienced to know how to trim them myself back then. The lady working there brought something to my attention. She told me that Tigger’s ears were unusually yellow. I hadn’t noticed it at all. Tigger’s illness began with that simple observation. When I brought him to a veterinarian, he explained how the yellow color was a result of jaundice. It turned out our kitten had a liver problem.

I had not wanted a pet that involved extra work! 

But that wish was not the reality. After spending several hundred dollars on lab tests, the vet told me that our best chance to help Tigger would be with medication and a special diet. The problem was that Tigger had stopped eating. I purchased a special formula from the veterinarian that was very expensive. It had to be administered with a syringe into his mouth. It did not escape me that my five-year-old son, Jason, had also been fed that same way many years before because he did not have the strength to suck a bottle. 

Tigger needed to be fed every few hours. My husband helped during the evenings and on the weekend. My two older children made a chart and they took turns. While they were in school, I became responsible for Tigger’s feedings. I became very focused on saving our pet. It was a job I took seriously, and it was very familiar for me. This went on for several months. 

Some good friends asked our family if we could go to the beach with them that summer. They were stunned when I told them we could not be away for that period of time because our cat needed to be fed. It was becoming an ordeal, but our family was determined to save Tigger. 

I took Tigger to the vet at two-week intervals. At each appointment he would be weighed. He continued to lose weight. Every morning, Tigger still came to lie upon me. I welcomed his visits and realized that I had become attached to him.

A week ago, someone at my father’s facility told me that she noticed my father had “turned.” Turned was a phrase I hadn’t heard of before. 

Now I understood.

I remember the moment Tigger turned. After that, each day was excruciating for him and for me. I hated to watch his pain. 

Every morning, I wondered if Tigger would still be alive. He no longer came to purr and dance upon me. I felt dread as I wondered where I would find him. He was often under a certain piece of furniture in the living room. Sometimes he was on the cold floor of the downstairs bathroom. My heart would be pounding when I would go looking for him. 

When I would find him, he would look right at me with his pleading, large eyes. Eventually, I could no longer look at his eyes. I prayed it would end soon and I would find him lifeless and at peace. Despite that, I kept trying to feed him and gave him water. However, it was hopeless. This went on for perhaps five days. Each day became harder than the day before. Soon, Tigger’s eyes were half closed, but the pleading look was still there.

Finally, I could not stand it any longer. I made our last appointment with the veterinarian. This veterinarian was a good-looking man who always wore Hawaiian shirts and had a broad smile. At our appointment, I told him that it was hopeless now. This vet understood. Prior to this appointment, he had mentioned invasive and expensive treatments that might work. I was glad my children understood I would not go that route. 

I was amazed how all the work to feed Tigger was for naught, because now we were going to end his life. 

I had been raised to avoid death. However, I felt like I wanted to do things differently with my children. I decided to allow my two older children to stay and say goodbye to Tigger as he was put to sleep. At the time, they were twelve and fifteen years old. 

They spent a lot of time saying goodbye to Tigger before the final appointment. Now the moment had come. The vet left the room and came back with a syringe.

I remember he had such a firm hand. I was sad because Tigger was so trusting with us all there. 

He gently injected the syringe into Tigger. Tigger looked right at me. He flinched ever so slightly, and then his eyes became vacant. 

It was over. 

I stifled a sob and thanked the vet. He warmly hugged my children and me. I asked the receptionist how much I owed for our final visit. She said, “I was told there is no charge for today.” My children were silent as we left. 

I drove home and the car’s silence was broken first by my son’s sobs. He began to howl. Soon my daughter joined in. A moment after that all three of us were wailing in unison as I drove down that freeway.

It was something I would never forget.

“I’m hanging in there”

Currently, my book is with an editor. My journey led me to a very special woman who I am certain will be pivotal to my success. It happened through meeting someone at my parents’ facility who recommended her. I believe it was meant to be, and is part of my beautiful journey. 

Last week, my editor let me know that she had completed reading approximately 75% of my material. In another few weeks, she said she would be ready to meet with me and discuss some of her ideas to improve my book. I have been very patient and I let her know I was eager to implement her input. Her response was that she appreciated my willingness to do so. She said many writers were not so eager to make changes to their material even though they had sought out an editor’s advice! 

With both my parents in nursing facilities at separate locations, my life was quite stressful. I received numerous calls throughout my day, and many of them were quite sad. Often, a nurse would call to notify me that my mother had an unexplained bruise or had lost weight. On top of the many calls from their facilities, I also received many calls from both my parents. My father’s boredom was such that it was the highlight of his day to speak with me. 

My mother’s dementia had caused her to become so agitated and confused that calling me was often the best way for her to achieve comfort. Many of her calls became even more tragic, because I was already on the phone with my father who was moaning to me. My mother did not comprehend my father’s situation at all, and he definitely had no patience for her. In August, they will celebrate their sixty-first anniversary.

I concentrated upon singing whenever I had any free time. My recording area was my bedroom walk-in closet, and without air conditioning I was limited to the times I could record. Much more energy was invested for me listening to my recordings and inserting the best vocal lines into my songs’ arrangements. It was tedious, but very rewarding when I completed a song. 

There were many similarities between creating a song and creating an illustration for me. Just like illustrating, sometimes the process was magical. A sensitive vocal could emerge easily without a lot of concentration. Other times, I worked so hard to “get it right” that my song became overworked. I put in endless hours on something that in the end I didn’t feel was good enough. 

However, all of the my singing practice was useful and became a learning experience for me. Even if only one song in five was good enough, I reveled in the fact that the one song was still vastly better than it’s prior version. 

Yesterday, I went to my weekly voice lesson eager to share my progress with Peaches. I told Peaches that I had heard an amazing singer perform the night before at an open mic venue where I played. However, I was not impressed with her vocals because her words were not sung clearly enough to be understood. Her magnificent and powerful voice eclipsed her message. I always made sure that every word I sang could be clearly understood. I decided that I far preferred my own voice. 

I had never felt that way before about my own voice, so it was wonderful to have that realization! 

It was so comforting to be with Peaches because she truly understood about my passion. My passion was about creating music that was the best I could do and at the same time completely connected to my heart. 

After our lesson ended, Peaches asked me how things were going with my parents. I shared with her some of my challenges, hugged her tightly and went to my car with an aching heart. Despite having “my musical elixir,” there was still so much pain for me. 

I left the lesson to go over to the nursing facility where my father was. I prepared myself to have the strength to handle my evening. 

My father had invited himself over to my house. When he had mentioned it to me a few days earlier, I was pleased. He had said, “I want you to pick me up and bring me to your house. I’ll eat one slice of pizza and I’ll look over my mail. Then you’ll take me home.” 

He told me he was bored to death, and I felt glad to know he had some motivation to live. 

Still, I wondered how I would physically bring my father into my house. I would need to take his heavy wheelchair because he was far too weak to walk. Earlier in the day, I had received a call from a physical therapist at his facility. She said, “We are going to discontinue your father’s physical therapy because he is uncooperative and he cannot progress.” 

My father always kept his room dark, as he slept most of his day away. I came into his room and asked him whether he was sure he still wanted to come to my house. He said he wanted to try, although he was moaning loudly. 

I asked him if he was in pain and he told me he was defecating. I quickly left the room and waited outside until his diaper was changed. I decided I would call my mother while I was waiting. She answered the phone, but her confusion was quite evident as we spoke. It was hard for me to even respond to many of her statements. Our conversation abruptly ended because she accidentally hung up on me. I tried calling back but could not reach her because her phone was now off the hook. I was frustrated.

I went back to my father’s room. A kind nurse had him sitting up and was buttoning his shirt, but many buttons were missing. He barked commands for me to help the nurse put on his shoes. I ignored him and allowed the nurse to finish dressing him. 

My father often yelled at me. He told me he could not help it and I believed him. 

I pushed his wheelchair over to the nursing station. The nurses joked with me as I signed my father out of his facility. It was a big moment. I also remembered going through this same experience with my mother. 

The nurses gave me a packet of paperwork, which I brought home with me. There were a lot of forms for me to fill out. My father’s Medicare coverage would soon end and he would have to be readmitted into the facility as a permanent resident in skilled nursing. He could no longer live in their more independent program. 

I felt strong and powerful pushing my frail father; I knew he was depending on me. I lifted and folded his heavy wheelchair; I easily put it into my minivan. I was far more experienced now than in the past because I had learned so much while dealing with my mother’s illness. 

My father moaned and told me I needed to help pull his legs into the car. His legs were like toothpicks and he was light as a feather as I gently moved him. He cried out as I touched him. 

He told me not to buckle his seatbelt; that he wouldn’t wear it. I ignored him and buckled him in. As my car exited the facility, my father moaned loudly with every bump on the road. I drove carefully, but it was disconcerting that he still groaned so loudly despite that. 

I unloaded his wheelchair from my car, and even managed to push my father over two steps near the front door. I was amazed at my strength. I pushed my father into the dining room. He said, “Please get me a pen so I can help fill out some of those papers.” 

For an hour he struggled to fill in a few spaces on the forms. It was apparent that he did not want me to be further burdened with paperwork. He repeated over and over again, “I am going to come over more often to help you with paperwork. I am going to get you started on last year’s taxes next time!” 

He ate his slice of pizza after I cut it into small pieces for him. I jumped when he choked on a soda he had requested. He said, “It’s too strong for me.” 

Suddenly, he told me it was time for me to take him back. It was not even 5:30 p.m. and he said he needed to leave so he could go to bed. 

The ride back was even more excruciating for my father. Although he was weaker than when we had started, I could see that his spirits were higher. He kept thanking me. 

He said, “I’ve been bored to death and I appreciate what you’ve done.” I told him I could bring him over every Tuesday and it would be our special date night. 

Then, I reached over to caress his hand and he yelled at me not to touch him. I had forgotten that he did not like to be touched, and reminded myself to be more careful. I mentioned to him that he could visit me more easily if he would cooperate with his physical therapists. He snapped, “I hate them all! I want them to leave me alone so I can sleep!” 

With relief I wheeled my father into his room. I kissed him goodbye, smiled at the nurses and quickly attached myself to my iPod. Even though I was hungry for dinner, I still had to go shopping at the market before going home. 

I loaded the groceries into my car and listened to my most recent song recordings. It was when I was driving home from the market, that I allowed my pain to erupt. 

I knew I had not written for a while and that it was time for me to write for therapy. But I wasn’t sure how to write about what I was feeling. 

It was so deep. Then it hit me. I knew exactly what I would write about. 

It was about setting a soul free. 

As I thought about the story I would write, my sobs erupted. I cried as I drove. However, I wiped away the tears before I entered the house and no one noticed them at all. I was pleased when my youngest son ran to help carry in bags of groceries. 

Finally, I sat down to eat dinner with my family. My family could see that my father’s visit had been quite difficult. 

My youngest son told his father, “Mom could have filled out those papers in two minutes. It took grandpa an hour, but she kept thanking him!” 

I smiled inside. My youngest son had learned a valuable lesson from me. 

My brother, Norm, is on the right. I am about thirteen years old in this picture.

 Email message from my brother: 

Yea I know how stressful it can be with Dad. He has given up. He said he wasn’t going to cooperate and his body was too weak to walk. I told him about his comment about he would rather die on the operating table than live the way he was living. I told him he couldn’t have the surgery unless he got stronger. At that point he didn’t have any comment. I don’t know what to do with him. He is being such a pill as they say.  

Love, Norm

Hi Norm, 

I am so proud of myself for pulling off Dad’s visit to my house. It was amazingly difficult, but I did it! I’m exhausted emotionally, and I can’t even think of what I could write because I am in so much pain. 

Mom’s dementia is getting worse. She had an episode today where she started screaming at a singer there. It’s almost funny because this happened before. She thinks I’m having an affair with him and he is stealing my songs. 

Love, Jude

© 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.

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I CRY AS YOU LEAVE

Posted on July 17, 2011 by Judy

“The cactus and the rose”

I love metaphors and imagery. Both are very useful for me while under hypnosis.

It was a beautiful morning as I entered Connie’s backyard for our hypnotherapy session. The summer’s warmth had not yet penetrated; I appreciated the coolness and noticed the lovely flowers in the garden as I entered her guesthouse.

Before coming to our appointment, I had visited my father who was in a separate nursing facility from my mother. He had only recently been discharged from the hospital. I drove to my appointment listening to my new song. My song was more beautiful than anything I could have ever imagined.

The past week had been busy for me; I was very excited to share with Connie so many things. I looked forward to sharing my new song with her and planned to sing it the moment I arrived. I brought a CD player so I could play the karaoke version of my song’s arrangement and sing along with it. In the quiet of her guesthouse, the sounds of a flute interweaving with a violin lifted my heart as I began to sing my song aloud.

The act of singing was such an intense form of emotional expression for me. My breathing felt effortless as I produced soft, delicate tones for the many high notes in my song. The beautiful melody enveloped my heart and soul with comfort. As I sang the last lyric line of “I need to set you free,” I truly felt peaceful. I allowed myself to appreciate the release that singing had brought me.

Now the room was silent. I could see that Connie was touched. After all, she knew I had not sung for three decades. Sharing my transformation with her was always very moving for me. I had been attending hypnotherapy sessions with her for at least three years. When I first began seeing her, I was a completely different person. I did not hear or play music and my guitar had been mostly in its case for the last thirty years. I was also plagued by many stress-related ailments. My parents were living with me and I was overwhelmed with their care. For many years, I had been fighting with the school district and advocating for all three of my children. My career had dissipated. I was beaten down and very withdrawn from life.

A recent snapshot of a performance at the open mic night held in North Hollywood.

I babbled happily for a few minutes, and told Connie how amazed I was that I had composed a song that was so expressive of my feelings. The week before I had played my “developing” song for her on my guitar. In only a short week, I finalized my song and even had it arranged.

Our session began with me discussing the many aspects of my life that had improved. Even though my children and my husband were adjusting to the new person I had become, I still had elements in my life that were extremely stressful. I was struggling with weight issues again. Connie said she could help me while under hypnosis. As always, I was open to anything she suggested.

It was time for hypnosis. I quickly descended into a deep, hypnotic state. Her voice was very far away. I could barely hear her and I wanted to drift off to sleep. I asked her to repeat what she had said so I could process it. She asked me to allow for an image to form that would represent my stress. I waited for something to appear and suddenly, I was transported into a desert landscape.

I told her I envisioned a cactus. She asked me to describe it. I replied that it was a large, Saguaro cactus; the spines were prominent and close to my face. She told me to allow the image to move from the center of my vision to one side. Gradually it faded into the background as she asked me to replace the cactus image with something else. My next image needed to be beautiful and comforting.

I remembered how when I entered her garden that morning, I definitely noticed all the flowers. I chose the image of roses. I found that interesting because there weren’t any roses in Connie’s garden. When she asked me to describe them. I didn’t see roses that were of one color. The ones I envisioned were exquisite with subtle gradations of white, yellow, pink, and orange.

I told her that there were noticeable thorns. My mind noted how I chose two, separate images that had similarities with sharp spines and thorns. I was surprised when Connie’s voice told me that it was now time to awaken. I was so relaxed and it felt like it was too soon. However, I heard her command and I needed to open my eyes. I squinted and grinned at her as I always did when I awakened from hypnosis.

We hugged goodbye as I was leaving. She said, “Over this next week, I’m hoping that the images you chose will be helpful for you.”

As I left our session I wondered about the significance of my image choices.

I took this picture of my parents to be used on an invitation for their 40th anniversary party, which was held at my home.

“Allowing for beauty to overshadow pain”

It was evening. I closed my eyes and replayed the images from my hypnotherapy session. I wanted to interpret the meanings behind them. 

All I had noticed about the cactus were the spines. I easily imagined the pain of touching them. That was certainly a perfect metaphor for the stress in my life. I was always trying so hard to avoid being wounded. I had become excellent at dodging pain because I would definitely be stabbed, if I weren’t careful. 

The roses were similar because they also carried painful thorns. However, the part that was much more prominent for me were the beautiful flowers. I realized that the difference was that I allowed myself instead to bask in the aroma and appreciate the delicate colors of the roses. I did not focus at all on the thorns.

My interpretation was that the image of roses was far more beautiful for me than the cactus and was another way I could conceptualize my stress.

It was far better to allow myself to look for beauty instead of dancing around the pain.

That was why my song was such a comfort for me. It expressed my sadness and pain, while at the same time allowing me to express my love. The beauty of the guitar chords and lyrics erased all of my sadness.

With this interesting realization, I wrote about some of the stressful moments I experienced over the past two days and utilized the metaphors of a cactus and a rose.

I will categorize the stressful moments first as “The Cactus.” I will follow those with my observations that allow for beauty to overshadow pain. Those will be categorized as “The Rose.”

THE CACTUS:

On Friday afternoon, my oldest son agreed to help me empty out my father’s unoccupied room. It was unlikely that he would ever be able to live independently again. I sent a letter giving thirty days notice, and my father was anxious. He did not want me to wait until the last moment to remove his belongings.

It was hot and I had been shuffling through debris and papers for hours. It was sad to sift through the items of my father’s life that he had deemed important. I tossed piles of old and yellowed newspaper and magazine clippings into the trash. I knew he envisioned sharing many of them with me, but I did not have the time or patience to save them.

I noticed he had saved piles of cards; there were many I had given him. I could not discard those, and put them aside to sort later on. I paused to read one that was written to him by my mother. I could feel the tears well up inside my throat. It was harder to imagine now that they had once been so close. My mother’s dementia had reduced her to a completely different childlike person. My father was incapable of caring for her now and he did not want to even talk to her.

I drove home with my van completely full of trash bags, boxes and bulky items. I had no idea what I’d do with everything, but decided I could think about it later. For the moment, I had promised my father I would save most everything for him. It gave him hope and that was important.

My son and I emptied my father’s car and my van. Soon everything filled up my living room. I did not allow myself to be stabbed by the pain.

THE ROSE:

I went back to the moment when I read a few of those special cards my father had saved. I closed my eyes and pictured images of my parents when they were younger and stronger. They had once loved each other deeply. I always felt secure and safe with their love. My pain subsided.

THE CACTUS:

I was careful in the morning when I visited my father. I made sure the floor was dry because the last time I had visited his catheter had leaked onto the floor. I almost slipped on a puddle of urine and could have hurt myself.

My father told me he was miserable. All my life he never used profanity, so when he told me, “I feel like shit,” I believed him. He said he had not slept the prior evening. The fact that he was woken up for an ultrasound late at night infuriated him. And then there was his cancer-stricken roommate. My father said, “His moans and cries upset me terribly. I suggested earplugs and he became angry as he snapped at me and said he could not handle them.

From across the room I heard a loud, hacking cough followed by a grown man’s plaintive cries. Then, my father began to cry, too. Two men crying in harmony – It was so tragic!

My father wailed, “You see what I’m talking about?” His distress was overwhelming. It reminded me of how a year earlier my mother had also had a dying roommate. She did not sleep well either for several weeks.

I looked at my father. His eyes bulged and he had shrunken so much. He appeared to have a perpetual grimace. He moaned, “Where the hell is my breakfast?” His irritation was intense, even though the nurse that quickly came to his bedside was patient and kind with him.

THE ROSE:

I watched my father eat his breakfast, and was glad to see he still had some appetite. I told him that it was nice to see him enjoying his breakfast. He replied, “I’m not enjoying my breakfast, but I am enjoying your visit. At that moment, I saw the barest glimpse of a smile on his face.

My tears subsided with that thought.

My father did not want his picture taken and put his head down on purpose. Both my parents have become very thin.

I am amazed that as I quickly snapped this, I captured my father reaching his hand over to say goodbye to my mother.

THE CACTUS:

After my hypnotherapy session I headed over to a restaurant where my family was gathering for lunch. It had become a weekly ritual, taking my mother out to lunch on Saturdays. Her caregiver, Miriam, came along to help. My two brothers and sometimes a grandchild or two also joined in. My father’s favorite restaurant was “The International House of Pancakes.” My brothers disliked the restaurant, but I didn’t care because I was so grateful that it made my father happy.

I was shocked that my father said he would go this week. He had hardly gotten out of bed since being hospitalized the week before with pneumonia and a blood infection. He had even mentioned how he missed going the week before, while he was in the hospital. I took this as a sign that he still wanted to live.

I arrived at the restaurant; Miriam and my mother had gotten there first. I noticed that Miriam looked distraught. She privately spoke to my older brother and I and explained that my mother’s dementia had progressed to the point where it was best not to tell her in advance of any impending activities. The anticipation caused my mother to become anxious and unravel. Miriam was exhausted from trying to hold my mother together.

A few moments later, my middle brother wheeled my father inside the restaurant. My father was shaking and said he was freezing cold. It was actually warm in the restaurant and I noticed that his sweater was full of holes. My father said hello to my mother without any eye contact; mostly they ignored each other.

My mother looked tired. Her difficult morning had worn her out. It was clear now that she did not make any sense at all. I was aware of how many of her words were not words at all. As she babbled nonsensically, I felt sad. The other family members conversed around her and she would make statements no one understood. I looked at her directly and nodded while smiling at her. I didn’t want her to feel ignored.

During the meal, my father began to cry and said he was upset because everyone was talking too fast. After that, I tried hard to speak slowly. Although my parents sat next to each other, they were miles away from each other. The aging process had reduced my parents to pitiful shells of their former selves.

I remembered how my paternal grandmother never allowed for pictures to be taken of her. Now my father was the same way. When he saw a camera, he shielded his face and put his head down. As my parents said goodbye to each outside in their wheelchairs, I quickly snapped a few pictures.

THE ROSE:

I heard my song playing in my heart and head as I sat in that restaurant. I felt so blessed to see my parents together. This was a precious lunch; I realized there weren’t going to be too many more like this. There was intuition between my brothers and I with that knowledge. We eyed each other and my oldest brother squeezed my hand.

My parents were surrounded by all three of their children and two grandchildren. Despite the pain of their predicament, they radiated happiness to be alive with loving family surrounding them. I admired their courage.

My smile was broad throughout that special luncheon. I reminded both my father and my mother that I was very happy with my life; that was what they had both wanted for me most.

I tried not to notice their pain.

Although there were many thorns in my life, I allowed for beauty to overshadow the pain.

A transcription of my mother’s words on the card below:

Dearest Lee,

So much has happened and mostly because of me. I am so sorry. Thank god for such wonderful children we nurtured. They are all so wonderful.

All my love,

Your wife, Shirley

© 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.

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SET YOU FREE-PART 1

Posted on July 15, 2011 by Judy

Click the blue links below to hear audio:

Set You Free Vocal 1-2-18 Copyright 2018 by Unger

Set You Free Acoustic 1-3-18 Copyright 2018 by Unger

Set You Free Arrangement 12-20-17 Copyright 2017 by Unger

 

–

SET YOU FREE

Copyright 2011 by Judy Unger

 

You’re hanging on as night turns to dawn

I know you can’t stay and soon you’ll be gone

We both know it’s hard to let go

Wherever you are my love won’t be far

 

Your smile, your voice, your touch, your face

Your essence I will never replace

Though I long for you to hold me

I need to set you free

 

There is no fear and your leaving is clear

We’ll still have our love it remains with each tear

 I cry as you leave but I truly believe

As you leave my sight we’ll both be all right

 

Your smile, your voice, your touch, your face

Your essence I will never replace

Though I long for you to hold me

I need to set you free

 

Though you have flown to somewhere unknown

We’re never apart ‘cause you’re here in my heart

 

Your smile, your voice, your touch, your face

Your essence I will never replace

Though I long for you to hold me

I need to set you free

Though I long for you to hold me

I need to set you free

Story behind SET YOU FREE-PART 2

My parents loved me very much and still do. That will never leave me.

MESSAGE THAT I WROTE TO AN INTERNET GRIEF GROUP I BELONG TO: 

My name is Judy. I read everyone’s messages and all of them make me cry. All of the people in this group are suffering and deserve to feel better! I cry for everyone and for every message that I’ve read! Taking care of yourself when you are grieving is extremely important.

I suffered a lot with my grief after I lost my five-year-old son; I wanted to die. I could not wake up each morning to face the pain. I grieved for a long time. Because of my music I wake up now each day with joy.

I was an illustrator for thirty years, but now I am a writer and composer. It has helped me very much to express my pain through my music.

I currently have grief in my life. Both of my elderly parents have been dramatically deteriorating. The burden of trying to alleviate their suffering has been very painful for me.

My mother has rapidly progressing dementia. She still recognizes me, but is often terribly confused and agitated. My father is now bedridden and plagued by constant infections and pain.

Last week I wrote a song and I had it arranged. It has been a luxury to spend money to hire a wonderful arranger for my music. But I feel that this is something that has brought me happiness.

My song is named, “Set You Free.” My song expresses many things for me. I wrote it last week when my father was hospitalized with pneumonia and a blood infection. Both my parents deeply love me and are barely holding onto life. I need to “set them free.” 

After two decades, I still remember and miss my dead son. When I sing my song I believe I am setting free my grief for him. I can finally accept that my son is free and he is all right. 

Someday, I hope my children will be independent. I also want to “set them free.”

Thank you so much for allowing me to share with all of you. My book about my healing from grief is now with an editor. Although I still have further steps involved before I can publish it, I will definitely let this group know when it’s available. My book tells my honest story of how my music has truly brought joy back into my life.

Most sincerely, Judy

© 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.

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I LONG FOR YOU TO HOLD ME

Posted on July 13, 2011 by Judy

I took this picture while waiting for fireworks to begin last week. I decided it was a good background for my new song’s image.

“One Chord and One Lyric Line”

I definitely feel like I am different from most people. I wish I could truly describe how it has felt for me to live a “musical life.” The release I have achieved by singing follows me throughout my day. My heart sings and my soul feels light. Melodies play inside of me and overwhelm me with their beauty. 

What fills me with amazement is that at the same time that I am living with the magic of “music in my heart,” my life is quite stressful and ordinary. 

Wherever I go, I find myself drawn to people and I share my joy. When I performed on Sunday night at Border’s, two people told me I had touched them with my music. Their tender words have caused me to glow for many days afterwards. 

I love my new song; it definitely has a life of it’s own. All week long, I felt inspired by my new song’s beautiful and complex chord progressions. I spent a lot of energy transposing and recording my song in different keys. I constructed my recordings into beautiful instrumental pieces. 

Still there was something missing in my song. Yesterday, I went to my voice lesson hoping for feedback from my vocal coach, Peaches Chrenko. 

Peaches is one of three, very special people in the “musical of my life.” Those three people have allowed me to express myself musically in ways I never dreamed possible. I believe Peaches is a gift sent my way for a reason. Peaches, Steve, and George are all blessings in my life. 

Steve is my childhood friend. Until we began working together on my music, I had not seen him for forty years. And then there is George. George is an older man who was a musician his entire life; he truly is a musical genius. George knows how to take my songs and arrange them with exquisite instrumentation. 

My lessons with Peaches are held at a public park and they are affordable for me. Peaches is a songwriter and an extremely intelligent woman. We have worked together for over a year, and from the beginning I have brought a digital recorder to our lessons. 

I shared with Peaches that my new song has definitely emerged from the way she had heard it a week earlier. I even played it at the open mic night held at Kulak’s Woodshed the day before. I told her my mind and heart were taken over by its captivating melody. 

My lesson was more productive than I ever imagined. Although Peaches was reluctant to steer me, I finally extracted from her some excellent suggestions for my song. She told me she preferred the way I had played my song a week earlier. 

Then she suggested one chord change and that was all it took. The one chord she suggested caused me to cry. It overwhelmed me because it was so very beautiful.

I have had the realization that although my new song is another “goodbye song” the expression is completely different. My new song carries a message of acceptance. 

I have been unsure about the title. I explained to Peaches that the words “To be free” jumped out for me. My subconscious created the lyric line that turned out to be the most meaningful line of all. It was why I had written my song! 

Originally I wrote: I want you to be free 

But then it occurred to me that this was more than a wish. 

It became something even more meaningful for me. 

It became an active choice. 

I decided it was far better to say:  I need to set you free 

This way, I was choosing something that would lead to freedom for myself and for my loved one who was leaving.

LESSON WITH PEACHES – SET YOU FREE 7/12/11

LESSON WITH PEACHES – 7/12/11

“How Long Can You Stay?”

I left my lesson to spend some time with my father. I was taken aback when I saw him. Although he has been quite weak for a while now, this time it was different. 

His face was ashen and skeletal. His neck bulged and his lips were dry. When he spoke, his voice was unrecognizable. My father who was such a brilliant man, a professor with a PhD, kept repeating many sentences to me. Since his eyes were glazed as a result of pain or painkillers, I understood. 

He told me his day began with excruciating, lower back pain. My heart began to ache. I spoke with the nursing supervisor and asked that a doctor be called. I did not feel that my words were completely heard and I tried not to panic. I was told his vitals were good and they would monitor him closely. When I told my father I wanted to call his doctor, he became very agitated. He was resigned to his condition and did not want anything invasive done. 

I let go of my panic, and spoke to him with a voice that was gentle, patient and loving. My song reminded me of the process that old age and death represented. 

Mostly, I cannot stand to see someone I love suffer! 

Although it was a most painful visit, my father’s love and appreciation for me wrapped around my soul as I left. The line he repeated most often while I was there was, “How long can you stay?” 

“Humor Moment”

I stayed as long as I could and went home to have dinner with my family. My husband and son had watched me perform my new song at Kulak’s Woodshed on Monday night. The performances for that venue are broadcast over the Internet. It was nice to know that they both were interested in watching me sing. 

During my performance, I announced at the very end that my song was dedicated to my father. 

In all honesty, my song was inspired by my father, but was also about many people in my life. I certainly want to set my children free someday. 

My song reminds me about how I am also setting my grief free. 

Well, my family told me my song was “incestuous!” There was a line I sang that especially had them feeling that way. It was: 

Forever you’ll be deeply inside me 

My husband and son felt it wasn’t appropriate to sing those words in regards to my father. 

I laughed hard and long. I did have an inkling about that lyric line and it occurred to me before they even mentioned it!

“Hold Me”

It was late at night. I worked on my song and incorporated the new chord Peaches had suggested. I rewrote the one lyric line to: 

Though I long for you to hold me, I need to set you free 

I tried and tried to sing my song. But I could not. 

Each time I tried to sing it, my throat closed up with tears and I was overcome with emotion. I finally allowed for up and out and put my guitar down so I could truly cry. 

My song was now ready for me to record.

© 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.

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