Believing

The other day I was cleaning out some drawers, and I discovered a little stack of letters. They were the letters S had written to Santa when she believed he would really receive them. Transported, I studied the crooked handwriting of the little girl who once believed, and remembered how it changed.

The first time she asked me she was sitting at the kitchen counter and my back was turned to her. "Mom? Carmina told me that her mom is her Santa. Is that true?" Panicked, I began to beat the innocent eggs I had cracked for her omelet into submission, thankful she could not see my freaked-out face.

"Honey, let me finish this up; we're gonna be late!"

I felt like a big fraud, avoiding her pointed question that way. I just wasn't ready. She was 8, and I knew it was coming, the "talk", but I needed more time.

A couple of years before, S had encountered some Christmas wrapping paper I had stored away. She instantly recognized it, "Mommy! This is the same paper Santa uses! Why does he use our paper?"

Caught completely off-guard, I feigned surprise and acted as if I was trying to "recollect" that Santa had done that while my mind raced to find a plausible answer that she would buy. “Oh, well… Santa sometimes runs out of paper and he uses what he finds in the houses he visits!” She seemed satisfied with the answer – for the moment. But I knew, even though she didn’t yet realize, the beginning of the end had commenced.

Two weeks before last Christmas, we were watching a Christmas cartoon together in her bed. S was cuddled up against me, and I could feel her laughter through her back. Suddenly, she got quiet. I could tell she wasn’t really watching the show anymore, though she kept her eyes on the television the entire time. She seemed nervous. Finally, she spoke. “Mom? Are you my Santa?” She turned to me, her eyes pleading. I knew I had run out of time.

“Do you want me to tell you the truth?”

She nodded earnestly. I tried to shake away the tightness I felt in my chest; I knew my answer would close many doors, and it made me so sad.

“Yes, I am your Santa.”

I waited for her tears, for her to show me that she hated me for having lied to her all those years. Instead, she smiled slowly, as if relieved, and said, “I had a feeling.”

“Are you mad?” I felt myself wanting cry. I could see another page rip right off the calendar of her childhood in my head.

“No! I liked all the things you did to be Santa!”

I explained to her that although Santa was not a real person, he was a real spirit; that the magic of giving and joy and that bubbly feeling it all gave her in her tummy, it would all still live in her heart, and that nothing or nobody could ever take that away.

Grateful that she seemed to take it so well, I hugged her so tightly I could feel the little bones in her back, and then the next question came, all muffled by my smothering embrace. “Mom…. Does this mean there is no Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy, either? TELL ME THE TRUTH.”

I pulled away from her and decided to yank the band-aid off as swiftly as possible. One-by-one I took down all of the magical characters that had been part of her life since she could remember: Yes, it had been me that wrote all the letters from the Easter Bunny in that loopy, bunnyish handwriting. Yes, it had been me that snuck into her room at night to steal away the tooth under her pillow and replaced it with money and glittery hand-written “thank you” notes. (And yes, I had been careful to ensure that the Tooth Fairy’s handwriting was different from the Easter Bunny’s handwriting. I had mastered the art of magical deception!) Yes, it had been me that nibbled on the carrots and cookies in the dark and drank the milk and spread the crumbs, and left wrapping paper and scissors strewn about. It had all been me.

S smiled at all of the memories, and at how hard she had believed, and she made me promise I would still “do Santa gifts” and that I would still fill plastic eggs with candy and coins and send her on frenzied Easter morning treasure hunts, and that I would still pretend it was all real “just for fun.”

And I promised her with all my heart.

Just this morning, S was eating breakfast when she suddenly exclaimed, “Mom! It came out!” She held out her hand to me, and in it was one of the last few remaining baby teeth that have been clinging to dear life. She smiled widely at me, revealing the fresh new gap. “I’m going to put it under my pillow tonight!”

I smothered her cheek with kisses while she giggled, both of us knowing that it would be me stealing away that tooth tonight from under her pillow, both of us okay with it.

~Patti