What do you get the man who wants nothing?

This year, when we asked my dad what he wanted for Christmas, he told my siblings and I to make a donation to the charity, Medicins sans Frontieres (Doctors Without Borders).

He didn’t want us to buy him anything.

Regular readers of Wonderstruck will know that my dad, who is 85, has been seriously ill recently and, while I’m always more than happy to donate to Medicins Sans Frontieres, I hated the thought of not giving him anything - especially when he’s been through so much lately.

So when I was out walking the other day, a thought came to me: What if I gave him the gift of my gratitude? What if I wrote him a letter listing all the things I’m thankful to him for?

As I walked, ideas for my list began popping into my head, conjuring a series of wonderful memories - some moving, some hilarious, some difficult but oh so pivotal. Let me give you an example…

Once, when I was about 7 years old, I was walking with my dad to the newsagent’s. He was going to buy a paper and I had my pocket money - aka My Weekly Sweets Budget - burning a hole in my pocket.

To get to our local shops we had to walk through a park next to some woods. As we made our way along the footpath my head filled with thoughts of what I should spend my money on. Should I get fudge, or chocolate, or a quarter of lemon sherbets or toffee bonbons?

Or should I get that paperbag of delicious delights known as the PICK AND MIX??

I was so caught up in my sugary daydreams I didn’t realise at first that my dad had stopped walking.

He’d stopped walking and was standing there staring at the woods like some kind of lunatic!

‘What are you doing?’ I asked, baffled that he could stop and stand there doing nothing when we had such urgent business to attend to.

‘I’m looking at the trees,’ he replied, confusing me even more. Why would you stop and stare at trees when you could be staring at rows and rows of chocolate bars and jars and jars of sweets?

‘But why?’ I exclaimed.

‘Because they’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘Look…’

My irritation grew - I didn’t want to stand there in the cold looking at trees. I wanted to be in the warmth of the newsagent’s, breathing in the aroma of white chocolate mice and licorice and sherbert.

‘Look,’ he said again, standing beside me and pointing to the woods.

I looked at the trees on the horizon, black and skeletal against the paper-white sky. Now he came to mention it, they did look kind of beautiful. I glanced up at my dad and his rapt expression. I looked back at the trees and the feathery outline of the pine branches. They really did look beautiful.

I’m not sure how long we stood there, gazing at the trees, probably only half a minute, but the seed had been sown.

I was still relieved when we carried on our way to the sweet shop but from that moment on I never looked at trees in the same way. Or rather, I really started to look at them. And to love them. And it’s something I’m truly grateful for.

So after my walk the other day, I lit a fire and I got writing.

And although my letter of gratitude was meant to be a gift to my dad, it ended up being a real gift to me too, as I spent the afternoon immersed in so many wonderful memories.

My letter of gratitude ended up being four A4 pages.

Until next week, sending you all so much gratitude too,

Siobhan