Last year I had rushed home from work to be with my family for our Christmas celebration. Blondie and her family had come up for a few days, and it had been a long time since we were all together for the holiday. I remember the two of us sitting on my kitchen floor, playing dolls with our littlest cousin and talking about our hopes for the future. Blondie spoke of going Active Duty while I was dreaming of France. Above everything else, I remember being surrounded by family. Little cousins underfoot, aunts, uncles, godparents, grandparents, the good, the bad, the ugly. Christmas trees, cookies and sweets, traditional and American foods, home.
This year is the first year I've been away from home for the holidays. I always thought it would be when I was in France, in a landscape that was a little more familiar. Not to say that it's a bad thing, just different.
This year I'm surrounded by friends, and I know I'm in the thoughts of those back home. It's harder than what I thought it would be. There are no little cousins here to play with, to cuddle, to share silly secrets with. There are no aunts here to ask about my love life. There is no place to bake, and no one to bake with. There is no fussing about what ornament goes where on the tree. There will be no long drawn out holiday, no visiting relatives.
Christmas here will be a day off of work and an early morning run. It's such a surreal thing.
Such a contrast.
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