In the winter of 1987, I was smitten with a young lady I’d met in early June. We weren’t dating, but we worked together every day and had become fast friends.
Teressa Gill also happened to be the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, which drew my eye across the office at the motor pool in Pirmasens, Germany, more than was strictly necessary for work purposes.
Over that year we’d both dated other folks, but we spent more time with one another than anyone else, and our fondness for one another had only grown.
I was, as young men were wont to do, playing it cool.
I would never have dared mention being smitten while we were having such a great time as friends, probably partly because I’d seen how a good friendship could become a bad mess once it progressed into a dating situation that then went south.
She was, perhaps, a bit less reserved, occasionally making comments that were complimentary, perhaps even flirting.
Over the months, we spent meals together, evenings hanging out, times walking through the ancient village outside of our military base. We talked about issues with folks we dated, arms-length tepid relationships on pause back home, our families and just about everything under the sun.
I wasn’t heading home for Thanksgiving that year, and she didn’t plan to, either, so, in my mind, I figured we’d hang out then, too.
It didn’t happen. Teressa’s grandmother had taken ill, and she flew off to Michigan to be there. It was right and appropriate, and I quietly hated it.
I just missed her.
My friends in Germany had a plan to go to a family’s home off base and enjoy the feast day together, and asked me to tag along.
At first I declined, but my friend Gary was persistent. He didn’t know what was stuck in my craw — again, I was playing it cool — but he knew something had me out of sorts.
“Either you come over to their place,” he said, “or I’m staying here at the barracks with you.”
Eventually he was the best man at our wedding. It pays to have a considerate best man who will go to bat for you.
I went over to the party and it was nice. I was distracted from my distraction most of the day and able to laugh and have fun.
I wish there was more to share, but there isn’t. It was just a nice day when I was determined to be quietly miserable.
In a few days’ time, an airplane landed with Teressa back in country, and my funk dissipated.
Lots of folks deal with loneliness, grief and feelings of unbelonging throughout the year, and it is a battle they have to face and try to find a way through. This is often very much amplified during the holidays.
As great as the holidays can be, they also hold memories that hurt. They hold the ghosts of loved ones who aren’t there anymore to snore on grandpa’s easy chair throughout the second half of the football game, or to smile proudly as they present their special secret recipe.
Often the acceptance that folks love in their broader family isn’t found for the family’s black sheep, or for the person whose travels have taken them too far from home. A quiet plate of turkey in a nice restaurant is nice, but it’s not holiday enough for most.
I’ve not much experienced that, but for that winter way back when I wore Army green to work.
I’m grateful that a kid from Wisconsin decided he was going to drag a guy from Pittsburgh to a California couple’s apartment in Germany that year.
We get a chance to reach out a hand to those who feel isolated this time of year. We can’t force anyone who insists on isolation to accept that hand, but sometimes all they need is a little persistent nudge.
It’s a great time to find a way to be a blessing.
That beautiful young lady and I were just in Michigan to visit over Thanksgiving weekend, 37 years after I decided to quit playing it cool, nearly 35 years since she became my wife.
I’m still glad I don’t spend my holidays without her.
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