I'll Be Home For Christmas

Revisiting Christmas stories from last year. Hope you enjoy!

Bill Davis would be the envy of his friends back home in Iowa. Christmas in Paris, France! He chuckled to himself, causing pain to rip through his side. He sucked in the stale air and held it. One, two, three seconds…exhale.
Of course, most would prefer to be dining in the corner café or romancing some doll at the top of the Eiffel Tower, not lying in a foreign hospital, awaiting surgery on their shattered leg and lying still so that broken ribs could heal. Bill fought the wave of depression that constantly knocked on his door. He refused to invite that sucker in. The dark cloud of meaninglessness that wanted to seep into his heart and dissolve all hope. He had to fight it. He admitted to himself that if he had to be away from home yet another Christmas, he would feel better with his squad, playing cards and hiding in a fort somewhere.
Fighting Hitler.
Protecting his country.
Rescuing prisoners of that madman.
Anywhere but lying here helpless. He refused to be lying hopeless, however.
Intent on keeping happy thoughts, he turned to watch two of his favorite nurses, Victoria and Betty, as they hung cards and paper snowflakes on a rope by the window. Sweet broads, he thought. They try so hard to keep our spirits up and want to give us a good Christmas. After all, as members of the Army Nurse Corps, they were far from home as well. Betty had a beau in the war, but his position was kept secret, even from his family. Vicky, on the other hand, was young and free as a bird. She seemed to like it that way. Her dancing hazel eyes and soft brown hair only accentuated the loving care she offered to everyone in her path. She spent many nights speaking softly to lonely soldiers, stroking their hair and holding their hands. Many, including he, would close their eyes and feel like they were home, safe in his mother’s care.
Bill didn’t view Vicky as a mother, but instead as a young vivacious woman whom he wished he had met at a church social instead of an Army hospital in France.
A Cheshire cat grin spread across his features.
Ah, but Paris is the city of love, no?
The object of his thoughts soon walked over with a pad of paper and pen. “All right, Handsome, time to write your Mama. Being in the hospital is no excuse to forget your Mother, I’m here to make sure if that.” She winked at him and poised her pen expectantly. Bill looked at the ceiling and thought of what he could say to his family. His brothers that were old enough were in this war as well, but he had lost track of where they were stationed. His sisters were mostly in school, the oldest ones volunteered with the Red Cross. He wanted to think about what they must be doing in preparation for Christmas, but knew they would spend every spare penny on war bonds. To think of Christmases past now would only bring tears and feelings of melancholy. He could save that for another time.
“How does that song go, Vicky? The one with that Crooner? ‘I’ll be home for Christmas. You can count on me…’ Write that to her, would you? You know, if we were home, I would save my money and take you to a Crosby show. I know you must hear that a lot, but I’m not fooling. I would take you.” Vicky, tears brimming in her lovely eyes, patted his knee then hummed the tune as she wrote.
“You will be home soon,” she assured him. “We will all be home soon and then you can take me anytime you want.”
* * *
Christmas Eve the nurses worked to keep a cheery atmosphere. New soldiers were brought in and their moans of discomfort hit the hearts of the men as relentlessly as the rain outside pelted the window. Bill admitted to himself he had never seen a drearier sight. Grey skies, heavy drizzle on the roof above. No sleigh bells or reindeers prancing here.
The dark clouds again pounded on Bill’s heart. He prayed for hope, for God’s inexplicable peace to cover him now, as it had always done in hard times before.
Suddenly there was a buzz of excitement and the nurses gathered in a small cluster. Someone had come through the door and they encircled whoever it was like puppies around a plate of scraps.
Bill craned his neck to see what the fuss was all about. Vicky turned and looked him in the eye just as he heard a rich baritone begin to sing. Bing Crosby himself stepped to the middle of the room and covered them all with his voice of velvet:
I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents by the tree
Years of memories came rushing into Bill’s mind. His younger sisters, squealing with delight over the matching dolls Mama and Papa saved for. He and his brothers playing war with their toy guns.
Christmas eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
Mama’s pumpkin pie, filling the house with its spicy warm fragrance.
His family singing carols together for the neighbors.
Lighting candles at the Christmas Eve service and looking back with wonder on the birth of Christ.
I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents by the tree
He locked his gaze with Vicky and saw his love for her reflected in her eyes. Warm with adoration for her, he imagined the memories they could make after this war.
Their own Christmas tree and decorations.
Sweet mistletoe moments.
Children with her good looks and his-well, her good looks-laughing with delight through the festivities.
Christmas eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
If only in my dreams…


As Mr. Crosby finished the song, Bill noticed the rain had turned to snow. It softly drifted by the window, sparkling as the lights from the window shone through. Tears of wonder and remembrance of Christmases past and hope for future holidays warmed his heart.
Yes, Lord, with you there is hope. There is warmth. The decorations and snow aren’t important, but your birth was. Thank you for sustaining us.