Each year I receive emails requesting a repeat of a piece I wrote years ago about being away from home on Christmas.

This year was no different except several asked if there was a story behind the genesis of the column.

Yes, there is.

Back in the late sixties, I was stationed on a bleak mountain top in Asia when Christmas Eve rolled around and I was staring at a tiny plastic tree sitting on a metal dresser across from my bunk.

My mother had sent it along with a note saying she hoped it would “brighten things up for the holidays.” I hoped it could.

Things had been a bit funky around camp as the holiday season approached even with an entertainment troupe flown in via helicopter but they helped.

As I sat there imagining the festivities back home, a knock came at the room’s door. It was a couple of young officers wondering if they could put their Christmas presents under the tree. It was a hilarious request considering their packages were twice the height of the little tree with two lights, but their presents looked remarkable sitting near it.

Once the news spread in the small barracks, the flood gates opened and the diminutive tree all but disappeared under care packages.

The team of officers and enlisted, all sat for several hours telling stories from home about how their Christmases were celebrated along with some of the antics of family and friends.

The funk was gone by the dawn of Christmas Day and there were smiles in the chow hall because of a lilliputian tree that could and ended up inspiring the following.

We all have certain memories or thoughts of times and places that provide us with an internal source of warmth and comfort wherever we may be or whatever circumstances we must face. Mine are of Christmases past and those held within the palm of the future.

It is a time to express the depth of our affection for each other and to strengthen the bond of family. It is a time to reflect on the good in our lives and find less fault with the world. It is a time to allow a tempered regression to childhood innocence laden with expectation, unbridled excitement, and a taste of simpler times gone by.

It is a time to heal old wounds… to reach out… to touch… to just dial a number. It is a time for the recollection of old friends or now-distant relatives with whom we once shared a closer unity. It is a time to gently bring tears to those who discover they have not been forgotten by merely noting something personal in a common Christmas card. It is a time to forget petty grievances and allow the generosity of forgiveness.

It is a time to remember our loved ones now passed, yet still so much a part of us. It is a time for the purity of love. It is a time for understanding.

For those of us who have faced isolation on Christmas, it is difficult to describe how one can accept the sense of separation yet, be so deeply content because of the family nexus that grants our souls the spiritual passport required to be with those at the center of our hearts.

Such special bonds allow us access to distant loved ones wherever they may dwell and serve as a beacon of hope and a guiding light home.

It is a metaphysical thread transcending life and death, empowering those fortuitous enough to experience it.

For some, it is the mere symbolism of lighting a candle for visiting spirits who are unable to savor the taste of hot cider or help turn the room into a jumble of discarded wrapping and far-flung bows.

The flickering glow fills the void and, if one looks closely, they will behold the glitter of old eyes gazing on the morning’s merriment or just feel the warmhearted closeness of their departed and cherished soul.

If I’m ever called away on Christmas again, I will still celebrate my wedding anniversary with my bride on the prior eve then visit my sister and her family in the Pacific Northwest.

Although my father and mother’s ashes grace the waves of Kachemak Bay, we will meet and reminisce about the famous night before Christmas when Santa phoned to chuckle that my little sis and I better get to bed or he and his reindeer would ‘zoom right by our chimney.’

We had taken off like a 3-foot rockets in PJs to tell Dad about it, but found that he and Grandpa had mysteriously gone to the store just minutes before the call.

As I gaze silently at their candles, I will see him smile and give Grampa ‘that look’ as I babbled the news to them upon their return… Then, brush a bit of moisture from my eyes.

I feel fortunate that it has always been easier to be away from home on Christmas, because I am twice blessed.

First, I face no physical loneliness because of the fine camaraderie of my co-workers. Second, every absent and treasured soul from my past or present will be there with me to watch, as I open… very tenderly… their spectral gifts given freely and without encumbrance. They are the offerings of sanctuary and supportive love. They are the memories of love past given and of love awaiting my return.

One must never forget, the most precious gifts to have round the Christmas tree are friends and family, no matter where they may be.

On December 25th, I’ve always been able to count myself a very wealthy man no matter where my boots set foot at the time.