Our phone rarely rings at this hour. I struggle to rouse my sleepy mind enough to make intelligent conversation. Your voice is steady and reassuring. You’ve been awake for hours. The details of your daily escapades are scattered and sketchy at best. I dare not ask too many questions.
You say you are fine.
You say you are safe.
I silently wonder if somewhere there’s an unwritten rule requiring you to say these things to your sister. Too soon, the conversation ends and we begin the long wait for the next word from you.
We jump when the telephone rings.
We set a place for you at the Christmas table.
I only put two cubes of ice in your glass. I know that’s what you’d ask if you were here.
For the first time, I pray for peace on earth…and truly mean it.
Thank you to all of the brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, daughters and sons who have chosen to spend your holiday in a foreign land, fighting for peace. Freedom is not free.
p.s. Send some love across the miles.