Christmas parcel for my daughter

Another Christmas without our youngest daughter. It doesn't get any easier. Photo: 123RF

By Margaret Smyth

I'm standing in my kitchen on this beautiful December morning, the sun streaming in the patio doors as I set about my task. Hard to believe really that it's that time of year again. Another year seems to have come around so quickly.

I cut my bubble-wrap into neat pieces and wrap each item carefully, knowing and understanding the excitement and anticipation of my daughter on the other side of the world when she receives her Christmas gift box from home. It adds to her enjoyment, I know, to be able to unwrap things one by one.

All her favourites are lined up on the kitchen table. The box of Barry's teabags. The six-pack of Tayto crisps. Lily O'Brien's chocolates, large packets of Mikado, Fig Rolls and Ginger Nut biscuits.

Not forgetting to include of course the little cards made especially for her by her nephew and nieces, lots of glitter and sparkle and big bold writing proclaiming their love for their Auntie Siobhan who lives in Australia, and telling her how much they miss her.

I can feel the tears welling up as I read their lovely sentiments and share their feeling of loss.

I carefully wrap in golden tissue paper the bracelet it took me ages to choose. I hope she likes it. Some boxed sets of DVDs she had requested - Love/Hate and Mrs. Brown's Boys - go in next.

Then the silver photo frame with a picture of us all, her two brothers, sister and her Dad and I that was taken the last time she was home. A couple of years ago now, it was the last time we were all together as a family. Happy times. I slip in another photo separately, of her cousin's wedding during the year that she was unable to make it home for.

Here we are again. Another Christmas without our youngest daughter. It doesn't get any easier. A phone call on Christmas Day to a remote part of Queensland is just not the same. Even Skype doesn't come close.

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Christmas parcel for my daughter