"I'm sorry you couldn't find a donor."

Jessie smiled at the earnest woman standing next to her with her fingers twisting in her lap.

"It's not your fault. The doctors have done everything they can; it's just bad luck that nobody on the bone marrow register is a match for Emmy." She paused, looking down, before meeting the woman's eyes again. "I can't thank you enough; Maggie's Centre has been such a tremendous source of help for us all. Jason and I...we would never have coped without Maggie's. The guilt, the shock, the helplessness – all those would have consumed us. We would never have found this strength to get through this. Talking to you and others at the centre really spurred us on and gave us a little hope each time to focus on, and allow us to appreciate the time we have left with our daughter. I really can't thank you enough, Andie."

"Please know that we at Maggie's will continue to support you after Emmy...departs."

"Thank you, Andie," Jessie said quietly. The other woman nodded and stood up. She gave a quick nod at Emmy's dad, who nodded back.

"Say goodbye to Andie, Emmy," he murmured, smiling down at his daughter. Emmy's blue eyes, huge on her gaunt face, met the woman's and she smiled too, waving a thin little hand.

"I'll show myself out," Andie said in a soft voice.

Emmy's mum padded softly across the bedroom floor and took her seat next to the head of the little girl's bed again, slipping a hand into her daughter's. The air smelt of salted caramel due to the numerous scented candles that had been lit and placed around the room. It was Emmy's request; as the electric lighting hurt her eyes and the candles reminded her of her favourite treat back when she was well enough to bake with her mum. The flickering flames threw shadows on the wallpapered walls, making the cartoon princesses, dragons and elves dance.

The little girl lay in bed, surrounded by her adored fluffy stuffed toys, which had taken up most of her double bed and further swamped her already thin and cachexic figure. Her cuddle blanket was next to her head on her right hand side, as usual, she clutched at it as she listened to her dad telling her bedtime stories.

Looking her darling daughter's usual fascinated, intense expression, Jessie couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, which she thought she had gotten control over. She could never forget the day the doctors told her that Emmy had cancer, or the day that they told her that there was nothing more they could do without a matched donor. While there was treatment, there was hope; without treatment, it was like an abyss had opened beneath her feet and all her hopes and dreams had crumpled into it. It was hard to accept that Emmy wasn't going to make it, wasn't going to become a teenager, that Jessie would never see her graduate from school, that Emmy wasn't going to become a mum herself. It was even harder telling an eight-year-old child that she was going to die.

But Emmy took the terrible news with such braveness and dignity that Jessie was humbled. She hadn't realised her little girl had grown up so much in the past year. There had been no tears or anger when she broke the news. There was only a small silence, followed by a quiet, "Will I still be able to see you and Daddy?"

Jessie slipped into bed, ignoring the tumble of toys onto the carpeted floor, and wrapped her arms around her daughter. She took a long sniff, taking in the familiar scent of soft skin and baby wash and nuzzled against the hat that she had knitted for Emmy when her hair had started to fall out after her first lot of chemotherapy. It was pink with purple stripes, as she had asked, and ended with a bobble at the top. She had never stopped wearing it, except for when it needed to be washed.

Jessie made herself remember everything about that moment: the flickering shadows on the wall and the pink curtains with the hearts, the quiet wind blowing outside in the darkness, the soft expression on her husband's face as he retold Emmy's beloved story, the curve of Emmy's sharp spine against her, the comforting smells and the lilt in her little girl's voice as she asked the question she always asked with that story: "Will the princess ever see her parents again?", "Will the prince treat her nicely?" and her personal favourite, "Can you tell me the story again?".

She was grateful to the doctors for giving Emmy enough painkillers to make her comfortable, allowing her to concentrate on the scent in the air and the sound of her father's soothing voice, but not be sedated. The little girl was still as sharp as she was a few months ago, but she had lost much of the weight and sparkle since then; nevertheless, her optimism remained.

"Will you sing for me, Mummy?"

"Of course, Emmy. Your favourite one?"

"Yes, please, Mummy."

Jessie hummed the song that Emmy had been requesting for the past few weeks; ever since she had been told that there was no more treatment and that she hadn't much time left, she seemed to have found some peace in listening to the song that had always sent her to sleep as a baby, over and over again.

Jessie stroked the bobbly material of Emmy's hat as she sang, and ran her fingers along the small, sharp curve of her baby girl's chin, making her giggle. Jason gripped their daughter's hand with a happy expression, rubbing her wrist and squeezing her fingers, as he saw the peaceful look on the little, gaunt face. Emmy's weak voice hummed along too, slightly off-tune.

At the end of the song, Emmy gave a small sigh of contentment.

"Look, Mummy, it's snowing." She beamed, despite the tremble in her voice. "Merry Christmas, Mummy, Daddy."

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart." Jason leant in to kiss his daughter in the cheek; Jessie kissed the other. They watched the white snowflakes drifting slowly down the outside of the window in content silence.

"Do you remember your first snow angel, Emmy?"

Emmy nodded.

"You were so excited to run outside that you didn't even wear your coat...Daddy got so mad." Jessie's voice wobbled. "And you caught a cold for a week afterwards, such a silly bum, because you wouldn't listen. But you made the prettiest snow angel and you named her Lily, after our cat, remember?"

Jessie felt her daughter touch her cheek.

"Don't be sad, Mummy." She stared, astonished, at her gentle daughter. "I'm not going to disappear, I promise." Emmy pointed up at the clock, which read eleven forty-five. "I'm going to become one of Santa's elves and I'll help him with the presents next year, and every year, and help make other children happy. You and Daddy have always been so busy helping Santa with my presents so I'm going to do that for everyone else."

"You'll do that, will you?" Jason said in a choked voice. His hands curled around her small ones. Emmy smiled innocently at her parents. There were dark circles under her blue eyes and her skin was so very pale.

"Yes, Daddy. If you look hard enough, maybe you can see me riding the sleigh with Santa too!"

Jessie swallowed a sob; her brave, brave little girl was doing her best to shield them from the pain.

"And what will you do when you're on the sleigh?" Jessie struggled to keep her voice even. Emmy looked thoughtful, her blue eyes staring out of the window.

"I probably won't be allowed to go down the chimney with Santa; his reindeers are naughty so I'll stay on the roof and keep them quiet." Her voice grew weaker. "Like Miss Wilson does at school. I'll wave my hand and say, 'Quiet time! If you're not quiet you don't get Golden Time today!' and then they'll all be quiet."

"I'm sure all the reindeers will listen to you," whispered Jessie, hugging Emmy tight. "Be a good girl for Santa, won't you?"

Emmy appeared to have little energy left to speak, but she nodded. Jessie carried on talking to fill the gap, hoping to use her voice to make the situation more calming.

"Be sure not to give the reindeers too many sugar cubes. We decided that was their favourite snack, remember? But if you give them too many, they'll get fat and won't be able to fly the sleigh and Santa will be sad. You've always been such a good girl; I'm sure Santa and the reindeers will love you, Emmy. Emmy?"

Emmy seemed to have slowed down, her eyelids fluttered close. Time stood still for Jessie as she cradled her beloved child. Her breathing became shallower and spaced out, in and out, in and out...until suddenly Jessie realised she couldn't hear the little breaths any more.

Tears spilled down Jessie's cheeks as she kissed the small, smiling mouth.

"Sleep well, my little angel. I love you."

A/N: Although this may be an upsetting, fictional story, it can be a very real one. For Emmy, not being able to find a matching donor meant that this was her last Christmas. For other little girls like her, it doesn't have to end the same way.

To anyone who can be a blood donor or is a blood donor, please also consider going on the Bone Marrow Register -- it's just an extra blood test when you donate blood, or spitting in a bottle and sending the sample off -- and you can literally save the life of someone like Emmy. For many diseases including leukaemia, myeloma and lymphoma, a bone marrow transplant may be their only hope for remission and/or cure. Please ask at your local blood donor centre for more information.

Please also realise the common "knowledge" of bone marrow harvesting being a whopping big needle into your spine with excruciating pain is a misconception. That was the old method. If in the event you are called up to donate your marrow (which is a rare chance in itself, after you've signed up), it will be blood taken from your normal veins, like blood donation or dialysis.

Maggie's Centre mentioned in this story is an organisation for anyone affected by cancer and offers care, professional help, information, advice and support, empowering and assisting cancer sufferers and their friends and family at any point during and after their battle with cancer, all over the UK. Please consider giving a donation for Christmas this year so that they may continue their good deed.

Merry Christmas everyone, take care. Kat

Image by Harsha K R.