Tammy B. Tsonis

Grateful

Holidays are always most difficult when you’re away from family.  Memories always play in the back of my mind–mom’s scrumptious apple pie, dad’s hearty laughter as he recounts his traveling tales of youth. I’ve played them back those years we didn’t make it back home–the years when the thousands of miles of distance between us and the tiny crying babies I needed to soothe made it so much easier to stay “home” for the holidays.  

As a military spouse, I knew that distance would always be an issue.  I would miss the everyday accomplishments and joys.   Instead of experiencing the new jobs, the birthday parties, and the wedding celebrations in person, I would casually read about them on a Facebook post. The everyday lows–job losses, illnesses, and the tears shed over the passing of aging relatives –would be the more difficult ones to stomach from a distance.  I would miss the slow passing of time with its mundane tasks.  I would miss the occasional visits from my brother or my parents when they were in my neighborhood.  I would miss the chats and family stories that my parents would reminisce about over a cup of steaming espresso while the kids fought over toys in the next room.

In its place, I would experience the occasional calls and video chats where my children would get their first glimpses of grandparents, aunts and uncles.  I knew it was just as difficult for the rest of the family, knowing they couldn’t touch their first-born grandson and nephew for another few months when we made it home in between exercises and deployments.   

“Are you coming for Christmas this year?” my parents would ask as soon as the last warm day of summer was behind us.  

“Of course we will,” I’d answer, secretly hoping that an unexpected mission wouldn’t change our annual tradition.

“I don’t know how you do it, living so far away from your family,” my friends would often comment in astonishment. 

“You do it because you have to,” was the only explanation I could give them, trying not to think about it too long.  

We’d catch up on the last six months over an annual brunch date, as if we had seen each other only a few weeks before over a casual omelet and  hazelnut latte. It seemed to make the distance a little more tolerable.  

Each new move meant an opportunity to experience a different geographic area with its own distinct local culture. From the wonders of the ocean waves at sunset, the rustle of the prairie grass in summer, and the delicate blanket of cherry blossoms in spring, the natural beauty around me was enough to help me realize how lucky I was to experience it firsthand. I learned what the locals prized about their city, and what they enjoyed most in their past time.  I indulged in dishes of she-crab soup in coastal Virginia, French and Indian cuisine in D.C., lobster rolls in Rhode Island, and corn and beef in Nebraska.  Each area was unique and rich in tradition, history, and heart.  

Now as we inch closer to the end of our military life, my reflection is bittersweet.  The places and people I’ve had the privilege of knowing have shaped me into the person I am today.  I wouldn’t have truly understood the sacrifices our servicemembers, their spouses and children face if I hadn’t experienced a small part of that myself.  I wouldn’t have experienced a rich life of experiences and human connections.  Yes, there are sacrifices, but aren’t sacrifices part of every life? 

In my reflection I know that yes, I’m grateful for many things. I’m grateful to the family and friends that I have left behind temporarily to build a new life with my husband and children. The same people that have made me feel as if I’ve never left.  Every trip back home has been filled with amazing memories, laughter, and luckily, only a few unhappy tears.  Many of those memories will forever be ingrained in my memory and the memory of my children.  I know they will look back years from now and treasure pony-riding on their grandfather’s back, baking Christmas cookies or being immersed in tickle fights with their aunts, and singing traditional songs passed down through generations with their grandmothers.  

I’m grateful for the old and new friends I’ve left behind who are part of the resilient military community.  Each person has taught me lessons on strength, friendship, and what it means to be part of something larger than yourself.  I wish each and every one of them continued happiness in their new adventures ahead.  I hope they know that they will always be welcomed in our home when they need a bed to lay their heads on, during a cross-country journey to their new duty station.  

Finally, I’m grateful for the opportunity to go back home a changed person to a city that continues to grow and face challenges of its own.    Each trip I’ve taken back to this great city has always left me with complex emotions. These past few years, I’ve returned countless times with great enthusiasm to revisit the places I knew so well.  It was no surprise that my eyes were no longer those of a native, but those of a wanderer whose heart had been away just a moment too long.  Many of those once familiar places seemed quickly replaced by mega stores, farm-to-table restaurants, or luxury apartment dwellings.  The amusement park I loved as a child now lives as part of that distant past.  Along with it so too are the joyous parts of my childhood, drifting off like smoke with the last kiddie steam train ride.  Luckily, I can say that some great treasures have and will continue to stand the test of time in this progressive city.

Now, I look forward to the next stage of life.  So yes, next year I will be home for Christmas.  I’ll be home once more for all the everyday moments and life celebrations, and to become a native once again in the city I love.   I don’t know where my new journey will take me, but savoring the distant lights of the city skyline once more would’ve never been as sweet, if I hadn’t experienced it from the eyes of a wander.