Still Life with Santa Claus and Sophie
posted Monday December 30th, 2013
I was collapsed on the couch yesterday, surveying the holiday damage — the game parts on the floor, the containers of sparkly nail polish spilling out of the bin, the candy wrappers and piles of pine needles — when I noticed one element still standing proud, tall and unmarred, a contrast to the teetering candles in the menorah and my natty looking homemade snow globes. Santa Claus. A beautiful, vintage plastic number my dear friend Michele gave me years ago. She knows how much I love Christmas.
And I love this Santa. Watching him watching me, I noticed he happens to be positioned this year on the mantle right next to Sophie’s stocking.
Annabelle’s done with Santa. She probably has been for years, but held up the front til this season, when no one said anything but we all knew it was over. She’s 12. It was past time. A few weeks before Christmas, Ray sighed and said, “It’s just not as much fun this year. Annabelle doesn’t believe in Santa anymore.”
“But Sophie does!” I replied.
He just looked at me. “I know,” I said, looking away. Then I changed the subject.
It’s different. It just is. And I know what you are saying to yourself, or yelling at the computer, you’re horrified that these two black-hearted people are entrusted with the care of this beautiful, sparkly soul, Sophie, a girl who may always believe in Santa Claus.
Sophie’s a gimmee. Of course she believes. Of course she always will; it’s her destiny. When the scientists finally finish mapping our genes, they’ll probably identify a Santa Claus gene on the 21st chromosome, ordaining her belief as surely as her defective heart and the plaque that will one day grow on her brain, giving her early onset Alzheimer’s Disease.
And that’s okay. I love Christmas. I love Sophie. I’m happy to keep it up as long as she wants, to answer her letter to Santa, crumble the cookies and spill the milk, shush her back to bed so I can finish filling the stockings. (Ray, too. He carefully wrapped piles of presents for each of us in mystery paper he hid under the tree in the middle of the night.) Yesterday in the car Sophie asked me if Santa was still watching her and I happily told her that oh yes indeed, he was. He is. (Hey, anything to get a little good behavior!)
But no, it’s just not quite the same as it was when Annabelle believed. It’s part of the arrested development of Down syndrome, not a still life but a slower one.
Later this week, I’ll pack up my beautiful plastic Santa and the rest of Christmas, and next year, perhaps Sophie will prove me wrong.
It’s happened before.
Don’t be in such a hurry to lose the magic, Amy. Hubby and I agreed a long time ago that our autobiography might one day be called: “Santa Always Lives in Our Home”. Frankly, I cannot imagine it any other way. There is something special in the belief in something “bigger/ better/ more giving” then the norm. In the mind of our children, who’s to say that can’t be Santa, a religious figure or ???… but, really, does it matter? They believe in something. I love the idea that things might always play out on that continiuim, and I almost fear the day when our reality overshadows theirs.
Stefanie asked me to read blog of her newly found cousin. Leonard and I have gone through all the ups, downs, diagnoses and misdiagnoses over the years. The most important lesson we learned was nothing is certain and nothing is predictable. Our lovely daughter surpassed all dire predictions. She has several friends with Downs who are leading happy and productive lives. Life is interesting.
Hmmmm…I know, always the contrarian…blah…blah…blah. I know what you mean. I do. It is different. It enables others stereotypes in a way that others believing doesn’t and that sucks. And it sucks that that suckage is tied to something so lovely like belief in good, and love and kindness. Maddie- our 7 year old, yes she’s still in the believable believing age, but she told me that this boy in her class who is very smart and knows lots of information (her words) told her that Santa doesn’t exist. I waited to see what would follow and she went on to say that she believes. I asked her why she believes if he doesn’t. She said because Santa has magic. She believes in magic. I smiled and changed the subject.
Again, Amy, very similar thoughts….right down to the heart b.s. and “the” alzheimer’s, that I worried about just yesterday. And that Holiday, at just less than 9 years old, does not believe anymore but humored us this year I am sure, And that Miles may always believe, and that aches my heart even worse.
Amy, once again your stories have reminded me of my own stories. Here’s what this post makes me think of: when I was growing up, I got to watch an elderly man at my church taking care of his ailing wife. Bernice Olton had advanced alzheimers, the kind that made her sometimes come back from the bathroom wearing her underwear outside her clothes. That kind of elderly helplessness that was shocking to seven-year-old me.
Charlie Olton was endlessly patient with Bernice, hugging her all the time, gently wiping the spittle off her chin, guiding her through the world that was growing increasingly confusing to her.
One day, I heard another adult tell Charlie, “Wow, Bernice really must have been something special. I can tell by how lovingly you care for her now.”
Charlie reacted with surprise at the very idea. “Well, Bernice has always been terrific,” he said. “But that’s not why I care for her. I’m not paying her back for earlier good years. It doesn’t work that way. You just love the one you’re with, now, whoever they are. That’s all.”
Charlie was right. Charlie is right. You love the one you’re with, whoever they are.
Watching Charlie and Bernice’s marriage may have been one of the deepest lessons I learned in church, far deeper than any sermon the minister gave.
You love the one you’re with.
Thank you, Elaine. Your insights are one of my very favorite things about this blog and if you didn’t already know that, you need to. Happy New Year! xo