literature

A Letter To Santa

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Literature Text

Dear Santa,
It’s been a long time since I believed you exist in the flesh - bright red suit, fluffy beard and twinkling eyes - but I’ve always believed that you exist in the hearts and souls of the people who would rather give than receive. I believe that you exist for children who have not learned that the world can be cruel and harsh and unforgiving. I believe that you exist for the people who need you to.

You see, I don’t see you just as the giver of toys and presents. I think of you as being everybody’s favourite grandad. You have time for every one of your billions of grandchildren, time for them to sit on your knee and tell you what they want for Christmas. You give them what they want, but you also give them what they don’t know that they want. You give them the love that a grandparent gives a grandchild.

Santa, I haven’t asked for a lot this Christmas. Money is tight, and now that I’ve got my own income anything I do want I can save up for myself. But the real reason that I’ve not asked for anything big is because I know that what I really want is something that no one here can give me. Santa, I want my best friend back, even just for a day.

My best friend died at the beginning of October, and I miss him so much that I think my heart is going to burst. People tell me that he had a good life, and to be grateful for the time that I had with him, that he was eighty-two, and nobody lives forever. But I am seventeen, Santa, and the years that I had him aren’t enough.

My mum’s dad died before I was born, so I never had a grandad on that side of the family. Ian was my grandma’s cousin’s husband, but I always thought of him as my grandad. But he wasn’t only my adopted grandad, he was my best friend and god, I miss him so much. I miss the days before he got ill, when we would go into his and Margaret’s spare room and he would play the keyboard that now sits in the corner of my bedroom and I would sing, and we would barely know any of the same songs, but it wouldn’t matter because we were having fun. He would show me all of the different functions on the keyboard that was his pride and joy, and I would smile fondly. Eventually we would go through to the conservatory where his wife and my mum would have been chatting, and Margaret would say, “Have you been letting Julia get a word in edgewise?” and we would all laugh.
I wish that there had been more of those times.

I always imagined that Ian would be there at my wedding, maybe in a wheelchair, maybe very frail, but there, and as full of life and enthusiasm as he always was. I know he wouldn’t have cared that I would have been marrying another woman. All he would have cared about was that I was happy, and loved. My mum says that we had a mutual admiration club, and I think she got it right. Ian was the cleverest, most interesting person I have ever met, and Margaret says that he thought the world of me. He was kind of estranged from his own children (from his first marriage) and grandchildren, so I spent more time with him than they did. I can’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want to be with Ian every moment that they could, but it’s their loss. It still makes me sad, though.

You know all about him though, don’t you?

Santa, I know that you can’t bring back the dead, and you can’t turn back time. But what I want for Christmas, more than anything in the world, is one more day with Ian. And seeing as I imagine you as being Ian, as my favourite grandad, indeed, my favourite person in the whole world, can you come and spend the day with me?

I miss you, you see.

With so much love,

Julia

xxx
A bittersweet letter to Santa Claus. For Letters to Myself's Letter to Santa's Workshop competition --> [link]
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