🎄 The Light on the Wire
The snow fell softly outside the small community hall, settling on the flags that lined the entrance—each one
slightly worn, each one flown with purpose. Inside, the lights were warm, coffee was strong, and the laughter carried that
familiar mix of old stories and quiet understanding.
It was Christmas Eve.
Some had driven hours to be there. Others joined only in spirit—names spoken gently, chairs left empty,
memories carried close. As always, the EOD family gathered not because tradition demanded it, but because brotherhood did.
At the far end of the room stood a small Christmas tree. It wasn’t fancy. No matching ornaments, no ribbon theme. Instead, each decoration told a story—a unit patch from Vietnam, a bent wire shaped into a star, a small robot charm, a pair of wings, a folded
piece of tape with a name written in marker.
One ornament hung slightly apart from the rest: a simple light, glowing steady and white.
“Who put that one there?” someone asked.
No one answered right away.
Finally, an older tech—gray at the temples, hands steady despite the years—spoke up.
“That one’s for the ones who can’t make it home.”
The room grew quiet.
He continued. “I learned something a long time ago. In our line of work, light matters. Sometimes it’s a flashlight in the dark.
Sometimes it’s a headlamp under a truck. Sometimes it’s just that one calm voice in your ear saying, ‘Slow down. You’ve got this.’”
He nodded toward the glowing ornament.
“That light reminds us that even when things are tense… even when the wire looks wrong… someone’s always watching over us.”
Across the room, a younger tech held his child on his shoulders. Nearby, a Gold Star spouse adjusted an ornament placed c
arefully on the tree. A retired bomb tech leaned back, eyes closed, remembering a Christmas spent overseas, sharing a candy
bar and a laugh in a place that didn’t feel so far from home after all.
Someone passed around a plate of cookies shaped like stars and trees. Someone else poured another cup of coffee. No one rushed.
No one needed to.
Because in that moment, they weren’t active duty or retired. Not Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, or Public Safety.
They weren’t ranks or MOS codes.
They were family.
As the night drew on, the hall emptied slowly. One by one, goodbyes were said—handshakes, hugs, quiet promises to stay in touch.
When the lights were finally turned off, only the small Christmas tree remained glowing in the corner.
That single white light stayed on.
Steady. Reliable. Unwavering.
Just like the men and women of EOD.
And somewhere—across the world, across time, across memory—those who came before smiled, knowing the
watch was still being kept.
From the NATEODA Family
This Christmas, may you find peace in the quiet moments, strength in your bonds, and warmth in knowing you are never alone.
Merry Christmas to our EOD Family—past, present, and always. 🎄💣
Comments
Dear NATEODA members —
The quiet strength in this narrative is profound. Beautifully and poignantly written.
It captures the essence of a bond forged not just in shared experience, but in a shared, solemn duty. That single, steady light symbolizes the unwavering vigilance and quiet watch that defines the EOD family. It’s a beautiful reminder that even when someone is gone, their light, their memory, and the protection they provided remain a constant, guiding presence for those who carry the watch forward.
The brotherhood is indeed eternal.
Merry Christmas 2025 and many thanks for your warm embrace.
🎄
All my best to you and yours,
Elaine
Elaine Hume Peake
Daughter of Captain (later Colonel) Edward Thomas Hume
Author of The Kaboom Boy, The Blacksmith of Dachau, Goodnight From Berlin + Cold War Dawn
Dear Elaine,
Thank you for your beautifully written and deeply thoughtful message. Your words honor the heart of the story and, more importantly, the enduring spirit of the EOD family it represents.
That “single, steady light” you so eloquently describe truly does symbolize the quiet vigilance, sacrifice, and watchfulness that define our community. It is a reminder that while individuals may leave us, their service, their legacy, and the protection they provided never fade. They continue to guide those who stand the watch today.
Your perspective—as both a daughter of service and a gifted storyteller—adds a profound layer of meaning. We are grateful for your warm embrace of the EOD family and for the way you so gracefully articulated what so many of us feel but struggle to put into words.
On behalf of the National Explosive Ordnance Disposal Association, thank you for your kindness, your insight, and your continued connection to our shared heritage.
Wishing you and your family a peaceful and Merry Christmas, and a New Year filled with health, remembrance, and hope.
With deepest respect and gratitude,
Woodward L. “Woody” Eastwood
President of the National Explosive Ordnance Disposal Association
The Third Week of Advent “Joy”
The Second Week of Advent “Peace”
The first week of Advent is “Hope”
National Explosive Ordnance Disposal Association