While standing at my kitchen counter, I chopped lettuce for a salad for my husband and me. The late afternoon sun streamed brightly through the window, but my thoughts were gloomy. Why does Chris have to fly away again? This time he’ll be gone for two weeks.

My eyes filled with tears as I reached for the green onion and started dicing it. Because he’s a pilot, life has been like this throughout our marriage.

I brushed my cheek with the back of my hand. I’ll miss him so much. The loneliness never lessens.

Back in our early married days, I could only reach Chris through a motel room phone. I never knew when I could call, because he flew night runs and slept at odd hours.

For approximately half of each month, my hard-working hubby would be away from home. At each goodbye, I’d block out the grief and get on with life. Because I cut off my emotions, I wasn’t a cheerful mom. I was brusque and organized and got a lot done, schlepping three kids to all their classes, practices, and games on my own.

As I added roasted sunflower seeds to the top of the salad, I realized that these tears were a healthy sign. I was allowing myself to feel my emotions. I smiled and sniffed back the tears. I’ve been healing from the childhood pain of having to fly to boarding school every year. And now I can call him on his cell phone almost any time. My mom, too, is just a phone call away.

Writing my childhood stories over the past four years and posting them on my blog has been helping me process the boarding school experiences I had shut out. I run the stories past my mom first. She tells me, “Keep writing because you’re healing and helping others to heal.” I’ve reconnected with many other adult missionary kids (AMKs) and third culture kids (TCKs). As we reminisce about life overseas, the shared bond is both soothing and invigorating.

Along the way, I’ve been rebuilding some childhood memories as I’m integrating Little Debbie with the 60-something woman I am now. One of the weekly childhood delights of life at home in Egbe was setting our Sunday dinner table with china dishes my mom brought to Nigeria. I love the smooth, cool feel of the plates and bowls.

Mom also had a collection of salt and pepper shakers. As I sorted through and selected a set for the meal, I played with the miniature cottages, roses, and even a stove with a tea kettle.

Over the past two decades, I’ve collected teacups adorned with scenes of pink roses, purple violets, and whimsical, thatched-roof cottages. In 2010, my neighbor, Dawn, encouraged me to put my collection to good use and start hosting teas for our friends and neighbors. It became an effective way to get to know the many diverse women on our street. And it’s a good way to justify my obsession with all the dainty pieces in my tea service.

Each summer since then, except for 2020 of course, I’ve held five or six teas. As an introvert, I find it challenging to entertain guests for any length of time. But each party only lasts three hours, and I can manage to be gracious for that long! Throughout the week I enjoy a lot of revitalizing introverted time, as I prepare for the tea. It’s so much fun to go through my three china cabinets (yes, three!) and choose the cups, plates, teapots, and various serving dishes.

Last weekend, I hosted my annual tea for homeschool moms and another tea for mothers and daughters. Since we live in sunny California, we usually hold these events in our backyard. However, because of an early rain this year, fifteen ladies and girls crammed into my tearoom. But it felt cozy, not crowded.

Early this morning, Chris flew to Duluth on his way to Stuttgart, and I’m feeling a little bereft. Today I’m not stuffing the feeling, but I’m acknowledging it and honoring the reasons for my melancholy—the present emptiness and past losses. I’m grateful that I have the fun of preparing for two meet-and-greet gatherings with thirty-five neighbor ladies this weekend.

In turning from my tears to my tea parties, I’m celebrating all the friends who’ve stepped into my world through both the hard and happy experiences of my life.

Bonus Reading

In a previous blog post, I described how the lovely, purple-and-lavender sanctuary was created, here: https://debbiejoneswarren.com/take-time-to-breathe/