The Gift of Presence

I crept into my 17-year old's bedroom to discover the source of that mildew/botulism/Axe stench emanating from his room. I snatched up 14 stinkin' towels before I noticed a glow behind his drawn curtain. Mercy, had the boy achieved nuclear fission from mold spores alone?

I pulled back the curtain and found that Sam had plugged in a lone electric Christmas candle - the kind of candles I usually have in every window of the house this time of year. The kind I usually light at dark so that the house is a glowing beacon when Brad comes home. The kind that I can't bear to light now that Brad is deployed over the holidays.

I was hoping that the boys had not noticed this, the way I had not noticed the disappearance of every bath towel in the house. I was hoping that Sam and Peter hadn't noticed how it seemed like work to get the tree decorated and how I hadn't even hung a wreath on the porch.

It isn't that I am one of those whacky women decorating nineteen kinds of cookies and keeping a carnival show of inflatable reindeer going in the yard. After so many years together, I love the way Brad and I do Christmas - when Brad is here. Because Brad notices everything I do. I love to light the house for him because he rubs his cold nose on my cheek and tells me how great everything looks. I love the way he anchors the tree to the wall (!) because Safety Dad is so sure the whole thing is going to get knocked over. I love hanging a wreath on our bed because the man knows how to nestle.

When I saw Sam's brave candle, it hurt me. I thought to myself that the thing about a deployment is that it leaves a physical hole in your life. A particular something is definitely absent. I don't think that deployment is like being divorced or single because it isn't just the love that is missing. The love is still there all around you. One man or one woman is missing. All around you the shape of their presence is left empty.

Or it is left so full. In one way, Brad's absence is his present to me. Usually, he is so present in our family that I don't notice all effects of the things that he does. When he takes his presence on deployment, I notice and notice and notice. Sometimes I think he hears this as a complaint, as if I am blaming him for not being here when we want him so much. Instead, it is a complement, the true awareness that when he is here he makes his presence known. That takes effort.

This year it is our family's turn to stand watch over Christmas. Next year, it might be your turn. So military families, what if you whipped out your phone or camera over the next few weeks and took, say, 100 pictures of your service member and what he or she does for the family? Take pictures of them getting out of their cars and coming up the walk. Take pictures of them putting the milk away. Take a picture of her going over her eternal lists. Take the picture of his arm curled around you, his feet on the coffeetable, football on TV.

And I will take a picture too. Of one lone light shining in a window.

Jacey Eckhart is a military life consultant in Washington, DC. She is the author of "The Homefront Club" and the voice behind the award-winning CD "These Boots." Facebook Jacey or contact her at jacey@jaceyeckhart.com.