Evening with the 50mm

I have been terribly absent from this space and, for my regular readers, I apologize for this. I’ve been remiss in online visiting as well, which is why you don’t see me very often at your space. I took these photos a few evenings ago and they’ve been sitting in this post since then. It’s become one which I’ve re-written over and over again.

It’s time to just say it, I guess.

My husband is not doing well and this is why I can’t write. I believe you may have suspected this and although it’s not my story to tell, it’s a story that affects me in every single way.

 

This is the chair where he used to sit after working in the garden. I was actually taking a photo of the sun glowing in the trees behind it, but the empty chair is the thing I notice first. He cannot work in the garden anymore and I don’t have that much extra time to do so. Plus, I am tired when I come home.

He was hospitalized last week for several days after I took him to the ER at Johns Hopkins for what appeared to be brain swelling. (I was correct). He is stable now, and this week I began working full time again but only because our son is in the house with him during the day. Our son works 3rd shift and he keeps an eye on his dad, texting me throughout the day. Mostly, he tells me that his dad is taking a nap.

 

 

I cancelled the trip to Maine because I don’t want him to be too far from his doctors, and it’s just too risky driving with someone in his condition.

I do not know how long I will be able to continue to work, but so far, so good.

 

But I damn well do not want one bit of sympathy for my life as it is now. I don’t see it as terribly, awfully sad. My husband was diagnosed over nine years ago with a brain tumor that would continue to recur and was given three to six months to live. I read online back then that the median for most people with this particular type of tumor would be to live about 18 months after such a diagnosis. He has had more than nine years.

He has amazed his doctors. They have much respect for him.

And much interest in his case.

 

We have had nine years to enjoy each other’s company, to appreciate the little things, and to try and live as best we can with the blow we’d been dealt.

It’s not always peachy, but you knew that. Geez – I’m not a freaking saint.

 

 

We moved to this wonderful old manor house in 2008 and became its caretakers. It has been a refuge for both of us ever since.

 

I will not continue to write about my husband’s illness,

although you may hear it from time to time.

It doesn’t define who we are.

Who I am.

 

 

I am thankful.

I am kind.

I am empathetic.

I am strong.

I am afraid.

(but only sometimes)

I am blessed.

 

 

Goodnight, sun.

Another day is done.

I did my best.

With no regrets.

 

Thank you so much for your continued support, your visits, your kindness. All of the photos in this post were taken at dusk with my Nikkor 50mm lens. It lets in a lot of light. And it’s all about the light ~