It's been a few years since I've last written. My last letter may have included glitter and a request for a Cabbage Patch Doll and Belinda Carlisle album.
I know this is your busy period. But hopefully your elves will deliver this letter to you.
I love Christmas. And I love your jolly nature.
Yet today, Santa, you made me want to yank away my 8-year-old daughter's innocent spirit.
She's only asking for one thing from you this year. And it's something I can't give her.
I explained how wish lists are exactly that - wishes.
And she cried.
But she was prepared. She said you were magical and capable of anything.
And that's when I wanted to tell her the love she feels on Christmas morning isn't because of you and your red sack. It's me. I'm awake in the middle of the night eating cookies, drinking milk and wrapping gifts. Not you. For her entire life, I cultivated this wonderful, glowing story on how you bring joy and happiness into her life. But today, I longed to tell her the truth and that what she's asking for is not what's best. And I hope one day she understands and forgives me.
So Santa, I hope you can understand why I'm writing you this morning. Just thought you should know. You didn't just make Amara cry. I cried too.