Dear Jace | U.S. Army

Dear Jace: Christmas? Not so much.

Dear Jace,

You already know about what I'm going to tell you but I'm going to write it anyways. So your mom called me today and informed me of the worst news ever possible.  And do you know what she said? She said that your deployment got extended for another 9 months. And I'm going to just say, why? Why another 9? What about Christmas? Christmas just isn't the same without you here. And I've been thinking that maybe I shouldn't even have a Christmas at all. It just won't seem real to me without your comforting presence by my side. So I'm not having a Christmas party. I'll have a tree of course, but not a party. It will just be me this Christmas, no one else. My parents decided to take a cruise to the Bahamas for Christmas, and didn't invite me because they are such nice people (note the sarcasm). So it's just me this year. I mean that's fine an everything, but it's always been me and you.

Always.

And I think I said this before, but there have been times when I really wanted to tell you something and I turned around to do so, but every time, you weren't there. So it's like I'm talking to myself most of the time. And now without you here, I might as well become one of those crazy cat ladies, so help me now.

Call me a creep, but on days when I'm really depressed and I just want a simple hug and kiss from you, I'll sometimes wander into your room and just hang out there. I'll open your closet, where the familiar aroma from the smell of your clothing blasts in my face. I'll think about how you always tend to spray on too much ax, making the bathroom turn into a gas chamber. I remember the same smirk you would always have on your face whenever I told you that you don't need to overdo it with the spray and how you always vowed to never do it again and yet the next day we would follow the same routine. It's those little things that really mean a lot. And I miss them.

I miss your famous flapjacks that you would always cook for me on Saturday mornings. I've tried to make them on my own, but they burn and look more like French toast rather than a flapjack. Nothing beats your Saturday morning breakfasts, mostly because it's the only thing you can actually cook right without the smoke alarm going off and the fire department coming over. So now I have to come up with my own breakfasts. Well, it's getting late, and I'm not going to miss my episode of Criminal Minds. You are worth more to me than you think.

I tell you this every time, but I love you

Clarise