"Bring [them] home Santa, Bring [them] home to Jon and me. Let us wake up Christmas morning and find [them] standing by our tree." ~Bring Him Home Santa... with some edits.
I open the shed to get out the Christmas decorations. It's the first time in a while that I've actually done so. It just hasn't felt like Christmas the past few years.
When I reach for the box that holds the tree ornaments, a small, crinkled paper falls to the ground at my feet and when I pick it up, I see that it's in my daughter's handwriting. It must be a few years old, at least, and it's addressed to Santa.
I asked for a new Barbie and a bike. My brother Jon asked for one too. We both want to change our Christmas lists. Mommy and Daddy are working far away from here. Please bring them home for Christmas. We miss them. Please Santa, bring them home. They will fit in your sleigh.
Kristi and Jonny
I can tell she got help with spelling in a few places and there are scratch-outs all over the letter, but the thought brings a tear to my eye and a lump in my throat. No wonder my mom had written that Kristi didn't want her new bike. I'd thought "she's five and she's wanted this bike for a year. That's forever in their little minds and now she doesn't want it?" but now I understand. She hadn't wanted the bike or the toys. She'd wanted me and her father home for Christmas.
They both had.