Christmas Away from the Man I Love

I wasn't really into Christmas this year. I could hardly tolerate the Christmas decorations my parents put up. I wanted to lash out irrationally at the people at work who played Christmas Carols all day. I felt bothered by everyone at the mall, everyone on the roads. I HATED the radio stations for playing that stupid song, "All I want for Christmas is you" and pretty much every other Christmas Carol that wasn't a joke.



I still enjoyed buying most of the gifts that I bought, but I waited until Christmas Eve to start wrapping and it took everything in me to get myself to sit down and do that. I actually considered giving some of the gifts unwrapping, or just in gift bags. This is very unlike me since I normally like to meticulously wrap my gifts in beautiful paper with shiny ribbon and matching gift tags.



The problem this year? Someone very important to me was missing. My husband. He's in Afghanistan. Fighting for lives.



I did a great job in the weeks leading up to Christmas keeping myself busy, not giving myself time to think about missing him much. Maybe too good a job. I worked many evenings, some weekends. When I wasn't working, I shopped or tried to help get the house ready for Christmas. I had planned on working Christmas Eve and the day after Christmas, but I slept through my alarm Christmas Eve and didn't wake up until 10am (maybe I should have taken that as a sign). Since few people were working in my office that day, it wasn't a big deal, I just sent an e-mail in, letting them know I wasn't going to make it and went to work preparing food, since people were coming over that night. After that, I took a shower, got dressed, and had my hair and makeup done just in time to walk out the door in time for Mass.



When I got in the car, it was the first I'd sat in a while, and I thought about how HM was sitting there next to me the last three years, and I teared up a little. I pulled it together so my family wouldn't see, and we went into church. It was a fight against the tears welling up in my eyes for the entire mass. It didn't help that my mom pointed out every baby that passed, saying that would be mine next year (praying on my worst fear of not being able to have kids, without even knowing it). But I lived, and we went home. My dad later asked me if I heard them pray for the military at Church, bringing back the tears again, but I pulled it together and maintained composure until the last guests left. Then I went upstairs to carry my presents down to put under the tree. I called for help carrying them, but no one came, so I piled them in my arms and did it myself, and I fell down the steps. Whatever - no big deal. I shouldn't have tried to carry so much at once down the steps while wearing 3-inch heals, but I didn't care much. At least eveyone was gone by then. I just pulled myself together and went upstairs to change into PJs. It was then that I realized none of that would have happened if HM was there, and I cried. And I cried. And I cried.



I didn't sleep much. I got out of bed at 6am and went downstairs, where I continued to cry while laying on the recliner, hoping the TV would distract me. It was pathetic, sad, depressing, ridiculous of me. But I just couldn't help it. I was a wreck the entire day.



You know what the worst thing of all was, though? Mike wasn't quite completely sure whether he was sad that I was sad or relieved that I was sad, because he wasn't sure I missed him since I hadn't been appearing sad lately.



Can you believe that? I guess its hard to tell, even when I do send about five messages a day that say I miss you or I love you or I wish you were here. I guess you still need some reassurance when you're halfway across the world. But, man, that made me feel bad. I wonder what I could do better, because I sure do miss him. Every night. Every morning. Everyday.

I love you, babe.