The Angel and the Drummer

Christmas came and went my love, but you weren’t here. 

It wasn’t the first one I’ve spent without you. Remember how you flew home to be with your family in Florida the year we began to date? We bought ornaments together before you left—a little angel in a blue dress for me and a gold-edged drum for you. You put the angel on your parents’ tree as you spent Christmas with them, and the drum stayed here on the tree in my family’s house. So we could think of each other while we were apart. Then you brought the drum back and left it with me while you did that tour in Germany with the Air Force. That was the first year the angel and the drum were on the same tree, but your Angel and my Drummer were apart at Christmas for the second year in a row. I began to wonder when we would ever celebrate this holiday together.

This afternoon, the day after my first Christmas since you went home to be with Jesus, I bought a sandwich from Firehouse Subs. I always think of you when I walk through their doors and see all the firefighter décor everywhere. They’ve become my favorite sub place ever since they kept me alive while I was in the hospital in Show Low. I think that medical facility is misnamed. When it comes to hospital food, "Summit" has reached a whole new low. I brought my Hook and Ladder Sandwich back here and found a post-Christmas Hallmark movie to watch. It wasn’t a comedy like I usually prefer. It felt a bit like a mystery, and I got sucked into it on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

Everything was fine and semi-predictable right up until the cheesy ending. That’s what always happens, Baby. I let my guard down, I think I’m doing pretty good especially on the day after my first Christmas as your widow, and then out of the blue something triggers me and I’m flat on my face, sobbing again. After the typical crisis at the end of the movie where the two lovers misunderstand each other and one of them says, “I think you should leave now,” somehow they figure out where they went wrong, prove they can weather that storm and all the others ahead, and reunite so they can live happily ever after.

The woman saw her love coming toward her, took off running in his direction and, as the credits rolled, he caught her up in his arms and love conquered all again. Except that a forty-five-year-old memory flooded my heart, my breath caught, and I began to drown again in sorrow.

I’ve had a hard time remembering all the things that made up our life together, honey. I think because it hurts so much to realize how fast it went and recall all that I’ve lost in losing you. So, maybe I can thank Hallmark for these tears. Maybe with every painful memory of how happy we were I can reclaim the beautiful life we shared and find comfort in the remembering instead of fearing it.

When the Air Force gave you your discharge, and once you got that job in Florida, you flew back here to Phoenix. We hadn’t been together in sixteen months. I stood in the old terminal two at Sky Harbor Airport, anxiously scanning the crowd of passengers as they walked down the plane’s stairs and out onto the tarmac. And then there you were. Walking steadily toward me. I waited as long as I could and then I ran to you. I nearly knocked you over as we collided, but you wrapped your arms around me and gave me the first kiss I’d had from you in a year and a half. After that, the longest time we ever spent apart were two weeks stints when you had conferences to attend.

I never wanted to be away from you again. And we almost pulled it off. But now look at me. Look at us. The angel and the drummer aren’t even on my little tabletop tree this year the way they’ve always been every Christmas tree since 1975. Now they’re packed away in a storage shed with our furniture and all the rest of the ornaments we gathered as mementos of a life together well loved. I guess that’s appropriate, isn’t it, Baby? I loved all those memories represented by each ornament. Pulling them out of hibernation and hanging each one on just the right branch was a walk down memory lane together. From now on, I’ll walk that lane alone.

I can't handle that yet.

But I made it through yesterday, Rob. I felt your presence a couple of times. For that, I am grateful. In a strange way, I’m glad this sweet memory of our young love resurfaced even though it was carried by another tsunami of tears.

Still, I’m starting to think Hallmark movies are a little rough on a shattered heart like mine.

Maybe that's why you always preferred sci-fi and shoot 'em up films. No cheesy endings. Nothing to trigger a bittersweet memory and leave you sobbing in your sub sandwich.

Just a straight-forward flick where good conquers evil and nothing except giant fake gorillas can tug at your heart strings. I'll admit, watching Mighty Joe Young fall from that burning ferris wheel was sobering, but I'd have never cried over it the way you did, Rob. After all, I have my pride to think about.

I only cry at Hallmark movies that talk about angels.

And drummers.