There are no words, but I’m going to write some anyway.
In 2005, I moved to this little middle-of-nowhere-Iowa town named Grinnell, because Jared, my new husband, worked for them at the time.
And in 2006, because Jared had been employed for Grinnell over two years at the time, Grinnell provided six weeks of paid paternity leave for Jared when I gave birth to our oldest son, Porter. At the time, Jared had just started his Master’s of Library Science program at the University of Iowa, and because Grinnell was very generous Jared was able to fully concentrate on only his schoolwork and Porter and me for the full first six weeks of Porter’s life. Porter was in the University of Iowa NICU for five and a half of those weeks, so it was very, very, very nice to not be without our normal income during that tumultuous time.
And, Jared was in school to begin with at the University of Iowa because Grinnell College was paying for his Master’s program.
And, when we received the bill for Porter’s NICU stay, we paid a grand total of $210 of Porter’s $500k medical bill thanks to Grinnell’s very generous medical benefits.
And, our middle son, Liam, this year applied to Grinnell College for Early Decision 2.
And not only did Liam get into Grinnell College…..he received so much in scholarships and other aid that it is going to cost less than 1/3 of what it would cost for housing and meals alone at UGA, even counting that he’d likely receive the HOPE and Zell Miller Scholarships.
As I said, there are no words. I am so very beyond grateful, and very, very, very proud of and for Liam, and so very excited that Liam will have an opportunity to be a part of the very wonderfully diverse and vibrant culture that is Grinnell College.
I re-learned today that my brain is double-sided in both pain and beauty, that I can trust the decisions I make regarding my photography, that I made the right decision in selling the gear I sold in June, that I kept the lens I love the most. That my current gear matches the way that I see the world and that I like it that way. That my eyes see beautiful things and that the grief and pain that is inevitable in my daily life is indeed not the full story.
I learned that nature photography is beautiful with a normal-telephoto lens, that time with my husband is sacred, that I married the wisest person I’ve ever met in my whole life.
I came home a little more sure of myself, a lot steadier on my feet, and remembering that there is good with the bad.
It’s 1:07 PM and Jared and I are just getting breakfast. This morning was rough. It is the kind of morning where I move slow and everything hurts and I am not steady on my feet and I fall into Jared when he hugs me in the kitchen.
I’ve resisted writing for a long time recently. I don’t just sit to write. I don’t journal; I rarely do my gratitude list and when I do it feels like platitudes, not the real thing.
I didn’t sleep well last night; I woke up three times.
Since the whole “analytics ate the timestamp on one of my first emails to Jared” night a couple of weeks ago, Jared has slept in the living room.
I knew it was different that night because when he went to the living room, he packed up his CPAP and took it with him. That has been a months-long fight: he goes to the living room to sleep because I am scared for whatever reason, but he will absolutely NOT take his CPAP with him.
Except, now he does. Every night.
And generally, I do sleep better when he’s out here (where I am now writing). Knowing he is the first line of defense in case the random things-I-think-are-going-to-get-in-the-house-but-never-do really does make a difference.
One night in the last couple of weeks I woke up at 4:02 AM. I was sure I’d heard a knock on our bedroom door. I called out my reflex “JARED!” as I always do immediately upon waking when it’s his cue to go investigate the mystery noises that are never there. Jared was already out in the living room. That noise had been so real though.
“I hate my life.”
In those moments there, lying on my side under at least five blankets which include at least a comforter and two heavy fleece-type blankets, it hardly seems worth being grateful.
Facebook does not help.
This morning’s memories included the lovely photo walk Jared and I went on at Hobbs Farm exactly a year ago today. The featured photo is a photo I took on that walk. I thought I’d like to go on another photo walk today…except I sold the 100-200mm lens I used in that walk last year. None of my current lenses are ideal for wildlife photography.
“I wish I’d never gotten into photography,” I wailed at Jared at some point this morning.
I don’t always see the bits I wouldn’t have otherwise seen if I look back at my photos later.
The blog gets random weird bot analytics.
The boys are grown and prefer the company of themselves in their own rooms over spending time out in the main areas of the house.
I feel aimless, unanchored.
And always, always, always…I lament not having a job, not having the prestige of a career, not having substantive income of my own both so that I can help support us and also so I could buy the things I want without guilt.
People I know are not always helpful; just yesterday my own mother said, “Caroline, you should just make yourself do it,” when I was lamenting the state of our dirty house that I am unable to keep up with.
As if it were that easy, proving my family has zero clue as I’ve always known.
I am up now. I have had breakfast, or lunch or snack, or whatever: a protein bar, a tiny cup of walnuts, a very small section of brie, and six fruity jellies from Trader Joe’s.
I won’t allow myself my coffee until I’ve had the entirety of my full water bottle first.
And later, it won’t be so bad. My legs won’t feel shaky when I walk.
Jared says the PTSD is like this. I never remember.
I won’t feel as though I will wilt. I will get a shower for the first time in two days.
But for now, I write, because that’s one of the few things I can do in moments like this.
Sometimes, that’s how I wake up.
It’s 1:07 PM and Jared and I are just getting breakfast. This morning was rough. It is the kind of morning where I move slow and everything hurts and I am not steady on my feet and I fall into Jared when he hugs me in the kitchen.
I’ve resisted writing for a long time recently. I don’t just sit to write. I don’t journal; I rarely do my gratitude list and when I do it feels like platitudes, not the real thing.
I didn’t sleep well last night; I woke up three times.
Since the whole “analytics ate the timestamp on one of my first emails to Jared” night a couple of weeks ago, Jared has slept in the living room.
I knew it was different that night because when he went to the living room, he packed up his CPAP and took it with him. That has been a months-long fight: he goes to the living room to sleep because I am scared for whatever reason, but he will absolutely NOT take his CPAP with him.
Except, now he does. Every night.
And generally, I do sleep better when he’s out here (where I am now writing). Knowing he is the first line of defense in case the random things-I-think-are-going-to-get-in-the-house-but-never-do really does make a difference.
One night in the last couple of weeks I woke up at 4:02 AM. I was sure I’d heard a knock on our bedroom door. I called out my reflex “JARED!” as I always do immediately upon waking when it’s his cue to go investigate the mystery noises that are never there. Jared was already out in the living room. That noise had been so real though.
“I hate my life.”
In those moments there, lying on my side under at least five blankets which include at least a comforter and two heavy fleece-type blankets, it hardly seems worth being grateful.
Facebook does not help.
This morning’s memories included the lovely photo walk Jared and I went on at Hobbs Farm exactly a year ago today. The featured photo is a photo I took on that walk. I thought I’d like to go on another photo walk today…except I sold the 100-200mm lens I used in that walk last year. None of my current lenses are ideal for wildlife photography.
“I wish I’d never gotten into photography,” I wailed at Jared at some point this morning.
I don’t always see the bits I wouldn’t have otherwise seen if I look back at my photos later.
The blog gets random weird bot analytics.
The boys are grown and prefer the company of themselves in their own rooms over spending time out in the main areas of the house.
I feel aimless, unanchored.
And always, always, always…I lament not having a job, not having the prestige of a career, not having substantive income of my own both so that I can help support us and also so I could buy the things I want without guilt.
People I know are not always helpful; just yesterday my own mother said, “Caroline, you should just make yourself do it,” when I was lamenting the state of our dirty house that I am unable to keep up with.
As if it were that easy, proving my family has zero clue as I’ve always known.
I am up now. I have had breakfast, or lunch or snack, or whatever: a protein bar, a tiny cup of walnuts, a very small section of brie, and six fruity jellies from Trader Joe’s.
I won’t allow myself my coffee until I’ve had the entirety of my full water bottle first.
And later, it won’t be so bad. My legs won’t feel shaky when I walk.
Jared says the PTSD is like this. I never remember.
I won’t feel as though I will wilt. I will get a shower for the first time in two days.
But for now, I write, because that’s one of the few things I can do in moments like this.
