The Real Army Wives Series: Merry Christmas To Iraq, 2003

I had this big idea to make buck-eye balls like my mom always has..but it was much more work than I expected. Katherine and Elsie helped me finish them up.

***This post belongs to a series of posts detailing life as a 22-year-old military wife, back in the beginning of the War on Terrorism. To read it from the beginning, start here. To read the  chapter before this one, click here.***

Christmas arrived.

I could ignore it in my sadness over not having Alan with me, or I could embrace it for the fact that it was still Christmas.

Truthfully, it was not a sad time anymore. I had Elsie, Kayla, Sarah, and Cloe to hang out with all the time. Life was mostly downright fun.

I hung lighted garland around my duplex front door, and my friends and I gathered for a Christmas meal together. We made buck-eye balls in the kitchen and drank raspberry wine and sparkling white grape juice. It was my first year to ever play Christmas hostess in my own home, though it was actually still weeks before Christmas. I had a ball decorating and using my fancy glasses.

Table all set for Christmas with my friends. Never pass on an opportunity to use the fancy glasses!!

Some people keep their beautiful wedding china and crystal in boxes or cabinets, but that’s never been me. I am a firm believer in pulling out your best things for company or special events. What’s the point of owning things that no one ever sees or uses? Give yourself the blessing of eating off your most beautiful plates and drinking out of the glasses with the platinum rims is what I say!

It’s true that friends are the family you make for yourself, and we had built for ourselves such a delightful family. I wouldn’t trade them for all the stability, security, and never-changing zip codes in the world!

Katherine, Sarah, and Cloe

Christmas dinner 2003 made me proud to be an Army wife.

There we were, not fretting about the safety of our husbands or letting jealousy get to us. We were not licking wounds and building up bitterness. Instead, we were laughing and cooking and encouraging one another. This was our own family away from home. You don’t hear much about military spouse “battle buddies”, but it IS very much a thing. It was THE thing that saw us through that long, potentially lonely year. Only it wasn’t so lonely because we had each other.

I don’t remember if we all exchanged gifts, but I do remember this one gift I received from Kayla that Christmas. She said she knew I liked to decorate with pretty things, so she bought me this blue and yellow sewing box that matched my guest room colors. It’s funny the things that you remember, but that’s the only gift I remember from that whole Christmas year. It made me feel special that she’d thought enough about me to buy me a gift, and also that she said she knew I liked pretty things.

Believe it or not, I actually DID sew that year too. I was the designated hemmer of our group. I can’t sew a stitch without a machine, but with the machine, I could read the directions and hem up everyone’s pants just fine. It did seem like all of my friends had short legs.

And so with this feeling of love and hopefulness and the recent victory of our husbands in catching Saddam Hussein providing the optimism, we all headed our separate ways to home for Christmas.

a photo of Alan on Christmas or sometime close to Christmas, in Iraq

Home for Christmas

I made the rounds to all of our family gatherings, both on my side of the family and on Alan’s side. It was the right thing to do. Things should proceed forth as normally as possible. Even if I was still new to Alan’s side, I would forge on and provide plenty of smiles and warmth because I was the closest thing anyone had to Alan that year.

When I was a child, Christmas was always a BIG deal. First, we’d go to Dad’s family’s gathering on Christmas Eve. All the extended family would be there at Grandaddy and Granny’s house.

Then on Christmas day, we’d either go to Maw-maw’s house, Maw-Maw was mom’s mom, or we’d go to Granny Hyde’s house. Granny Hyde was Maw-maw’s mom. Both Granny Hyde and Maw-Maw loved hosting Christmas, so it was arranged that they took turns.

Christmas with my cousin and her baby

But just a few years prior to the Christmas of 2003, both sides of my family experienced profound loss. We lost Maw-Maw in ’97 and Granddaddy (Dad’s dad) in ’98.

Maw-maw died on Christmas Eve, leaving this gaping black hole in the lives of every single one of us. I had spent one week every summer of my childhood at Maw-maw’s house. She was one of my heroes and a true kindred spirit. We all loved her. This is still the hardest loss I’ve ever experienced.

Most people know when to go, or they depart when they are old and their calling has been fulfilled. With Maw-maw it felt more sudden, and as though we were all robbed. No, it should not have been her time to go, and yet it was. She left early, and the disappointing feeling of loss from that cut so deeply that even in 2003, six years later, we still all keenly felt her absence.

Maw-maw was fine. She was with God, but we weren’t quite fine. But we are resilient people if we are nothing else, so we still made the best of it. We still came together and followed all our traditions.

It’s amazing how comforting Christmas traditions are and how much you miss them once they’ve gone. How I’d love to have just one of those Christmas gatherings back.

I enjoyed seeing my family. I always found it comforting to get to see family, and we did still have Granny, who was 90 by then, and we were thankful. Everyone missed Alan, but no one on my side of the family was accustomed to having Alan there yet. He’d only been to 1 family Christmas, so his absence wasn’t nearly as impactful as it was at Alan’s family Christmas.

Alan’s Family Christmas

As comforting as participating in my own family’s Christmas traditions was, going to Alan’s family Christmas was….emotional. It’s like walking out of a movie theatre of childhood memories and back into the reality of your life, with people who are aching.

Me, with Alan’s cousins and his sister

Probably most people didn’t realize how sad they were that Alan wasn’t there, and everyone put on a happy face and enjoyed Christmas. Alan’s family is also a clan of successful, resilient people. I’m telling you, we come from excellent stock.

But sometimes our pain leaks through when we don’t mean for it to. It’s there in their eyes or their quiet or the way their smile doesn’t quite meet their eye crinkles.

Alan’s family doesn’t begin Christmas celebrations until Christmas day. For Christmas lunch, all of Alan’s mother’s family gathers, even to this day, at Alan’s grandfather and grandmother’s house, and eats and opens presents. These grandparents had four children, and each of their children had at least two children, so it is a ginormous family gathering.

Everyone seemed jovial enough, considering, and asked how Alan was doing in Iraq. Aunt Ellen had even sent Alan his own little Christmas tree.

But around lunch, I started to notice their grief. Alan is a happy, hearty, talkative, laughing fellow, and his absence was extremely noticeable.

Alan’s grandfather said the prayer as usual before the meal, and his voice cracked. It wasn’t just a little crack. It was a heavy one, from a man who’d already lost a brother and who knows how many friends to the ravages of war.

By the end of Grandaddy Cunningham’s Christmas day blessing, there could not have been any dry eyes in the room.

The t.v. was going most of the day in the kitchen of Grandmother’s house because President George W. Bush showed up on a surprise visit to Baghdad and had lunch with the troops. Alan wasn’t actually in Baghdad, but it still made us feel more connected to him to see the President and the men and women in uniform eating with him. We knew they were all there in Iraq. They were having Christmas too, and it looked like everything was okay.

In the afternoon, once everyone had opened presents, I headed back to Alan’s parents’ house with his sister and his parents. We opened presents there that night, and in the morning we all took a 5 hour drive to a small town near Augusta, Georgia to be with Alan’s dad’s side of the family. They had a large extended family gathering too.

Pants! Thank you!

The biggest thing I remember about Christmas night was that we all wore our “ho ho hooah” 4th Infantry Division Christmas t-shirts while we opened presents. I also remember that Alan’s dad kept things light with some funny jokes. My favorite was when he opened a brand new pair of trousers and said, “Oh! Pants! Thank you!” and then proceeded to put the pants on his head and stick his arms in the pant legs.

We needed that laugh! I can still see it in my head!

Alan did get to call and talk to us all and wish us a merry Christmas. He did an amazing job of keeping upbeat.

Holding one another together

We all managed to have a pretty good time. Everyone was putting on a brave face for everyone else, and maybe it sounds stuffy, but the truth was it was helpful. We were all holding each other up from falling apart in this way. It worked. I can’t explain it to you, but it just works when humans get together and walk through life and hardship together.

Maybe it doesn’t even sound like hardship in the telling of it, and yet it was. I know that it was because I remember the point that I reached when I was done holding it together, and I just let myself fall all apart into a salty heap of tears. Sure, I’d shed a few tears over Christmas already, but then there comes that breaking point.

The airport.

That’s where I was when I let it all go. Christmas was finished. Visiting was done. I had been there for everyone. All that was required had been fulfilled. Now I had only to ride this airplane home, and Christmas would be over, and the new year would begin.

And this was one of my best new year’s yet because 2004 would bring Alan back home to us, and we could get started with regular life. We could finally be that newlywed couple that we’d been waiting to be.

I watched them all walking by, the soldiers in the airport, in uniform, going and coming on mid-tour leave, and there was news coverage of the sad military families apart for Christmas, and then there was this People magazine. I think it was People. It could have been anything, but that was the moment where the world started to spin.

Suddenly, I was acutely aware of sitting there all alone, and all of these articles and news stories might as well have been about me, and then I started to bawl. That’s always how it is with me. I can go on for ages and not think about any of my problems in a personal way. I can wear the stone face and be tough, until suddenly I’m not.

Unplugging the emotional stopper

I cried a river, quietly and trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Did anyone notice? Surely. No one bothered me, because that wasn’t what I needed anyway. What I needed was to get those tears out. It was time to unplug the emotional stopper.

Tears are just a part of the process. There’s a healing function in allowing yourself to feel, not wallow, but just be honest about your feelings, fill it up with tears, but then drain it before it soaks too much. Soaking is good for dirty dishes, but it’s not so good for self-pitying thoughts. Have your cry, then clean yourself up, and do something else.

When you know in your heart that you’ve done all the right things, there is a significant peace that comes with that. I had that peace. Sure, I’d made mistakes over the course of 2003, but at Christmas I had done what was right and good, and I felt as though I’d been an encouragement to both of our families.

Besides, this was 2004 just beginning, the year that would bring Alan home.

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.”  Proverbs 13:12

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