Silent night

I AM WAITING in the gatehouse for my airplane to arrive. It is Christmas Eve and I am working, as usual. I am eating Christmas cookies a flight attendant on my crew has baked. My favorite Christmas carols are playing on my playlist, Mariah Carey singing O Holy Night soaring through my headphones. I am wearing my red uniform dress in the spirit of the holiday, a little rhinestone reindeer pin fastened to the lapel.

I look around at the passengers in the airport. They are dressed in holiday sweaters, wearing Santa hats, carrying bags of brightly wrapped gifts. There is a heightened air of urgency and excitement about them.

I hesitate as I think about how I am spending my holiday, how I have spent every single holiday for the past 22 years as a flight attendant for two different airlines: working. A pang of loneliness washes over me as I think about my 80-year-old mother, my three siblings and their families, celebrating Christmas without me yet again.

I have always rationalized being gone for the holidays, saying defensively, I celebrate early or I celebrate late, I make the most of the holidays away from home, I’ve had some very memorable holiday celebrations with my airline friends. I clearly remember one Thanksgiving celebrated in the Philippines years ago, the captain presiding at the head of the holiday table, the entire crew clasping hands and saying grace, thankful for this lovely meal the hotel prepared specially for us.

It sounds so hollow. Today, for the first time, I wonder if I will live to regret spending every single holiday in airports and on airplanes, instead of gathered around a table with my family.