Dear Daniel,
It’s a few days after Christmas and I’m here at home thinking once again about you. My Christmas has been very merry indeed – with lots of family and friends and games and fun and good food (more about that in a second). But of course, everything is tinged with sadness because you are not here with us, and I wish you were.
Our Christmas tree is magnificent – two metres tall and bushy and perfectly formed. We have loaded it with ornaments and lights and it is in the corner of the dining room, with plenty of space for Christmas presents. Next to the tree, I have set up the Nativity scene on the sill of the dining room window. It is the set of figurines I inherited from your Irish grandmother, who is with the angels in heaven now. I’m sure she is very pleased to look down and see that I still set it up every Christmas.
It was also very popular this Christmas morning. Our visitors included a little girl your age, who duly turned over the baby Jesus when she came out of her room and sang ‘Away in the Manger’, which is a family tradition.
Then there were presents! We unwrapped tonnes of gifts (I got a lovely coat from Jo, which I have been wearing every day since). The children were all delighted with the gifts Santa had brought (they even caught a glimpse of him out the window on Christmas Eve!) and ran around the house like mad people, playing with everything and eating far too many sugary things. Then, later on, we ate a delicious meal of turkey, chicken, ham, stuffing, brussels sprouts, broccoli, turnip, mashed potato, roast potato, turnip, gravy, cranberry sauce and bread sauce. And for dessert we had Yule Log and chocolate cake and chocolate pralines. It was amazing!
What about you? Did Santa come to you? Did you get nice gifts? Did you have good food? I hope so, my dear son. I hope you had an excellent, merry Christmas and are doing well.
I miss you so much. My heart is as always full of love for you, and for Anna and Daphne. I hope 2018 is the year when I get to see you again.
Take care and Happy New Year,
Dad
