Missing You at Christmas: 51 Messages Across the Miles

Christmas is when distance is felt most. For families split between Dublin and Boston, Cardiff and Toronto, a village in the Dolomites and a suburb of New Jersey, December is the month of long-distance calls at odd hours, parcels posted in early November and the same old songs playing in two kitchens an ocean apart. A card can’t close that distance, but it can carry something across it: the smell of the kitchen, the sound of the church bell, the view from the back door. The messages below go both ways, from home to the one who left and from the one who left back home.

Missing you at Christmas: messages from home

For the son in Chicago, the daughter in Sydney, the brother who took a job in London and never quite came back.

The house is full of noise and food and cousins, and it still feels a person short. Merry Christmas, love. We miss you.
Your mother put your old stocking up on the mantel again this year. Nobody said a word. We all just looked at it and smiled.
It snowed last night, the real kind that stays. The whole valley is white and quiet, and I kept thinking how much you’d love to see it.
We walked to Midnight Mass the old way, across the fields with the torches, and every one of us thought of you.
The kettle is on, the fire is lit and the back door is unlocked, the way it always is when someone might come home.
Your dad has started telling your stories at the dinner table, the ones you used to tell. He gets them all wrong, so hurry back.
We hung the paper star you made when you were seven. It’s faded and a bit bent now, but it’s still the first thing we put up.
Missing you at Christmas is the price of being proud of you all year. We’d pay it ten times over. Come home when you can.

Missing home: messages to send back home

For the one who left, writing back to the house, the street, the village or the town that’s still home in all the ways that count.

Dear Mam, I can see your kitchen as clearly as if I were standing in it: the radio on, the oven door squeaking, flour on the counter. I miss you all more at Christmas than at any other time.
I’ve found a shop here that sells the right sausages, nearly. It’s not the same, but I bought them anyway.
It’s seventy-five degrees and sunny on Christmas Eve here. I’d give anything for a wet, gray afternoon in the village and a walk down to the pub.
Every December I play the carols we sang at school, and for three minutes I’m back in the chapel with frozen hands and a cardigan two sizes too big.
Tell everyone at the parish I’m thinking of them. Tell Mrs. Byrne I still use her recipe for the Christmas cake.
The people here are kind, the job is good and the apartment is warm. But home is where you are, and I’m counting the days until summer.
I set the table for one more than we need, the way my grandmother always did, in case someone far from home needs a place. This year it’s me who’s far from home, and I think of you all.
The Christmas parcel arrived on Tuesday. I opened the tin of shortbread on the doorstep, standing in the snow, and cried a little. Thank you.

Thinking of you at Christmas

For a gentler card: to someone far away, someone who’ll spend Christmas alone, or someone you haven’t seen for years but never forgot.

Thinking of you at Christmas, and hoping your days are bright and your evenings warm.
Wherever this card finds you, I hope it finds you well, and knows how often you’re in my thoughts.
Just a note to say: you’re on my mind this Christmas, and in my heart all year.
I’ve been thinking of you as the lights go up on our street. It’s been too long. Let’s talk soon.
No reply needed. I only wanted you to know that someone is thinking of you this Christmas.
When I light the candles on Christmas Eve, one of them is for you.
We may be far apart, but you are never far from my thoughts. Thinking of you, and wishing you peace this Christmas.

Christmas messages for family far away

For a whole branch of the family across the sea: cousins you’ve never met in person, an aunt who emigrated before you were born, the grandchildren growing up in another accent.

To all of you in Melbourne: we hope your Christmas is sunny and your barbecue is a success. Ours is cold and dark, and we wish you were in it.
To our cousins in America: the old farmhouse is still standing, the fields are white with frost, and you’re always welcome here.
Merry Christmas from the old country to the new one. However many generations have passed, you’re still family to us.
We follow every one of your photos and know every one of your children by name. Merry Christmas to you all, across the water.
One day we’ll all be in the same room for Christmas. Until then, we’ll keep the same traditions on both sides of the ocean.
Happy Christmas from your Irish relations. The candle is in the window, the door is on the latch, and you’re in our prayers.

Letters home: longer messages

For when a card needs to be a small letter. Begin with a picture of where you are, add one memory of home, and end with a promise.

Dear Mom and Dad, it’s snowing in Montreal tonight, the soft, slow kind that you’d stand at the window to watch. I’ve put the tree in the corner by the radiator and hung the glass robin Granny gave me. I keep thinking about Christmas Eves at home, the smell of the ham, the walk down to the church, Dad singing the wrong words. I can’t be with you this year, but I’ll call at your six o’clock, and next Christmas I’m coming home. All my love, Ciara.
Dear Gran, I’m writing this on the train, which is late, as always here. I wanted to tell you that I made your Christmas pudding this year, from the handwritten recipe you gave me before I left. It took three days and I think it’s a bit dry, but my flatmates said it was the best thing they’d ever tasted. I told them it was yours. Merry Christmas. Your loving granddaughter, Bethan.
Dear all, our first Christmas in Texas. There are lights on the cactus plants here, and our neighbors had never heard of mince pies. The children are excited for Santa and a bit worried he won’t find the new house. We’ve told them he knows the way. We miss the cold and we miss you more. Merry Christmas from the four of us.

When you can’t make it home this year

For the years the flight was too dear, the leave wasn’t granted, the baby was due or the road was simply too long.

I won’t be home for Christmas this year, but I’ll be with you in every way except the one that counts the most. Save me a slice of everything.
We looked at the flights a hundred times. It’s not to be this year. Next year we’ll come for the whole of Christmas, and stay until the tree is bare.
Please don’t set a place for me this year, Mom. Set one for whoever needs it, and think of me while you do.
I’m working over Christmas, but I’ll call during my break, wherever I am. Have the phone ready and the whole family nearby.
This is the first Christmas I won’t make it home. I didn’t think it would be this hard. I love you all.
The baby isn’t allowed to fly yet, so we’re sending her first Christmas card instead. She sends a very sticky kiss.

Old traditions, kept across the water

For the customs families carry with them: a candle in the window, an extra place at the table, a nativity unpacked from tissue paper every year.

We put a candle in our window in Boston on Christmas Eve, just as you do at home. Two candles, one family.
We set out the nativity scene you sent us, every figure in its place, and the children argued over who gets to put the baby in the manger on Christmas Eve, just like we used to.
We kept the old custom of the empty place at the table this year. It made us think of every one of you.
We waited for the first star on Christmas Eve before sitting down to eat, the way Grandma always did. The children spotted it over the parking lot.
We lit the Advent wreath on our kitchen table in Chicago every Sunday, one more candle each week. The neighbors asked about it, and I got to tell them about home.
The old carol we always sang in the kitchen is playing on my radio here. It’s the first time I’ve heard it on this side of the ocean. Merry Christmas.

Short lines, instead of missing-you quotes

People often look for a quotation to put in a card like this. We don’t print quotes we can’t source, so here are short lines of our own, ready to stand on their own or to finish a longer message.

Different time zones, one heart.
Far away, never forgotten.
The miles are long. The love is longer.
You’re the empty chair we smile at.
Home is wherever we’re both thinking of each other.
Wherever you are, you’re home to us.
Until you’re home again.

Make it personal

Describe home. For the one who left, a picture of the place says more than “I miss you”: the frost on the field, the lights in the square, the queue at the bakery on Christmas Eve.

Describe where you are. For the family back home, tell them what your Christmas looks like, so they can picture you in it.

Name a tradition. The candle in the window, the extra place at the table, the carol everyone sings off-key. Keeping a custom in a new country is one of the most moving things you can write about.

Give the call a time. Across time zones, “I’ll call at noon your time” is the most practical and the most loving line in the card.

If your far-away family includes the people who raised you, our page of cards for the parents back home has more. For lines in every tone, see our main collection of card messages.

For many families, home is Ireland. Our Irish Christmas cards show the kind of places people left: a thatched cottage with a candle in the window, a harbor at night, a village pub with lanterns at the door, each one animated and ready to send across the water on a date you choose.

Questions

What do I write in a card to someone I miss at Christmas?

Something specific. A detail of where you are, a memory you share, and a plan for when you’ll next see each other. “I miss you” is good; “I miss our walk to the harbor on Christmas Eve” is better.

Is it better to send a card or call?

Both, if you can. The call is the voice; the card is the thing they keep, show the neighbors and read again in January. An animated card can go by email, or as a link in a text, however far away they live.

What do I write to family abroad that I’ve never met?

Keep it warm and simple: who you are, how you’re related, a line about home and an open invitation. “You’d be very welcome at our table” is a good way to end.