Field of Dreams

I grew up in Massachusetts, and live for the Boston Red Sox. I even have a team tattoo. My husband, Adam, loves that he can ask "How'd the Sox do?" and I can always give him the recap. Sometimes he asks from very far away: He is in the Army, and in our 13-year marriage he's been deployed seven times.

I should be used to it by now, but the holidays are still hard for me. In 2007 Adam was in Iraq. He called Christmas morning to hear our son, Addison, opening his presents. I put on a brave face for Addison, but it still tore me apart that Adam wasn't with us.

A few days later a manila envelope arrived with my name on it. I opened it and pulled out a tiny baggy and thought, "What the heck is this?" Then I read the letter that came with it. Adam had arranged to have dirt from the Sox infield sent to me. Amazing! I own a piece of Fenway.

That simple act from thousands of miles away made me realize how much Adam really understands me: He knows that dirt from Fenway Park means more to me than any fancy clothes or jewelry ever could. I cherish that dirt, but this Christmas I'm getting an even better gift: Adam will be home -- and that's really all I want.

-- Erin, Pooler, Georgia