My dearest R,

Today is Christmas Day, and while I spent it with my family, my heart is a few thousand miles away on the other side of the world.

I keep thinking about what you’re doing, or where you are, or if you’re safe. I wish you were here. I kept being distracted by the news until my mom asked me why. So I told her. I told her about you and about how I worry and how I wish it would all end so you could come home.

She took the news well and was even a little bit excited for me, that I found someone I care about. I told her how we met, minus some details, of course, and how we’ve been writing for months. I told her you were someone special and that one day when you get back, I’d like her to meet you. I hope that doesn’t scare you. Don’t be too afraid about it. She just wants me to be happy, and if that includes you, then that’s fine with her.

She’s not a fan of the war. Not for any political reason. She just hates knowing that there’s a whole lotta moms out there without their sons. She cries when they read the names of the fallen. She weeps for the parents who lose their children.

I know this is your first Christmas away from home, and I can only imagine how hard it is for you. Hope your CO managed to get your Thanksgiving dinner, and I hope you arrange something for Christmas as well.

Next year, I’m gonna make your Christmas the best one ever. Just you wait and see. We’ll have turkey and all the trimmings and gifts and wood fires. I’ll make it one you will never forget. That’s another promise.

And I keep my promises.

So I put together a little care package. It’s just mostly things I thought you might like. It’s a shame you won’t get it in time for your Christmas. I hope it all arrives in one piece, and I hope it lifts your spirits. My mom made tiny individual Christmas fruitcakes, and she insisted that I send one. I won’t be offended if you don’t eat it. I don’t like fruitcake much. But she insisted, so I added it to the box.

Another random fact about me. My birthday is July twenty-fourth and next year I’ll be twenty-two. The only gift I want this year is for you to come home. I want to see your smile and hear you laugh. Nothing else will do.

I still watch the news, hoping to see a glimpse of your face. I read the newspapers too, looking for places you’ve mentioned. I don’t know where you are now or what places you’ve seen. I pray you’ve seen no more enemy fire, and I pray you come home safe. You have to now, because my mom wants to meet you, and she said you have to come home safe and sound, and what she says, goes. That’s just how it is.

I’m just joking around. But she really does want you to be safe.

And so do I.

I look at your photo every day.

Merry Christmas, Richard. And happy New Year. Let’s hope the new decade will bring a change of peace. And the very best part about this coming new year is that this is the year you come home. I’m counting down the days.

All my love,

G