The Impossible

We never planned on doing “The Santa Thing”. From the beginning we told my oldest the story of Saint Nicholas and how the legend of Santa Clause had spun off that. We went to take pictures with Santa, but talked about how those men were part of keeping that beautiful legend alive. (Besides, they knew that Santa couldn’t be at 500 different malls at once, even if he was magic.)

However, at three years old, Parker marched in one day after a trip to the BX with Michael and informed me that I was wrong, and Santa was indeed real. Turns out, there had been a free Santa at the BX that day who, when Parker told him he wanted Legos more than anything in the world, proceeded to pull a Lego set out of his sack to present to my star struck tot. Once that happened it didn’t matter what Michael or I said. He’d seen Christmas magic and believed with all his heart.

We went with it. That was the year we got our first elf, Luke. (Star Wars was big in our house during this time.) We still did things our way though. From the start our elf, and all the elves to follow, were there to be snuggled, loved on, and played with. They don’t report to Santa, there is no Naughty List, and we don’t threaten to cancel Christmas. We all know that nothing short of a 5 state killing spree would cause me to cancel the holidays, and I’ve not yet threatened my children with the all seeing eyes of Santa to have them listen. (This does not mean they always behave, at all. We just don’t tell them Santa is watching to get them to. No judgement to anyone who does. We use our own threats.)

We’ve never really confirmed or denied in the years since then. We’re big about asking “What do you think?” when they ask us questions. (Not just about Santa, but almost any major subjects. Try it. Some of the answers are amazing.) However, it’s been pretty obvious in the last couple of years that Parker knows, and I’ve made it clear to him that we will answer him honestly if he asks. The last time we had this conversation he simply said “I don’t want to know yet.”. I get him.

I don’t remember ever believing in the myth Santa, but I knew without a doubt that my grandmother was Santa in the flesh, she and the other amazing adults that make this time of year magic for the people around them. I knew that the fat, jolly man who broke into your house on Christmas Eve was a story, but firmly believe that the world is full of real Santas making real magic every day. However, I was also the kid who put out milk and cookies every year, even knowing that it was my father (and later my husband) eating them. I was, and always will be, the person who refuses to put gifts under the tree until Christmas Eve, because I get such joy out of coming downstairs to see presents Christmas morning where there were none the night before. (Yes, even if it is me putting them out.)

We never label any of our presents from Santa, (as a matter of fact, our only labeled gifts are usually the ones they picked out for each other and the ones from their great-grandparents, aunts, uncles, and unties.) however we do make an effort to get them the one thing they ask “Santa’s Helper” for every year when we go for pictures. It’s usually the thing they’ve been most consistently mentioning, the thing that hasn’t wavered from their list, and if we haven’t already bought it we’ll do our best to get it.

We’ve always got kick out of Sebastian’s requests, because they’re always unique, and usually pretty easy to obtain. There was the year he asked for one of those tall plastic candy canes that people usually stick in their yard along a walkway. He’s also asked for a $3 mini-Hatchimal stocking stuffer, a raptor claw, a blue fish, and even a bag of rocks. Before now, the most difficult year was the year he asked us for a live hamster. Mall Santa looked to us for a confirmation nod before telling him that might just be possible that year, but even that gift was doable for our little boy who asks for so little. He’s been a bit secretive about his requests this year, which has made shopping for him a bit more difficult than usual, but I’ve been looking forward to hearing what he might come up with.

This morning he woke me up by whispering a simple question in my ear.

“Mommy, do you think if I asked Santa he could use his magic to get rid of my diabetes?”

There are no books for this. There is no advice column. There is no preparing for what something like that does to your heart. There is just a mother, more wide awake than she’s ever been in her life, sitting up in her bed at dawn while her son stands next to her patiently waiting for an answer. But “No.” isn’t good enough, and it’s not fair, and I can’t make myself say it for a minute.

“That’s not something Santa can do.”

“But he’s magic.”

“Not that kind of magic, Bud. Diabetes can’t be fixed by magic. Even Christmas magic.”

“I still think I’ll ask.” His little hands, fingers bruised as a result of more frequent finger pokes at the moment while we figure out an insurance snafu with his CGM, were clutched together as if in prayer. His blue eyes were hopeful, and I wondered how long he’s been going over this in his mind before verbalizing it. I’m sure, to him, it seems like the best request he’s ever come up with. I’m sure he’s not the first diabetic child to have this idea, and I am sure I’m not the first mother to find myself sitting there staring at my child like a deer in headlights because I didn’t see it coming.

He’s so strong. He’s so brave. He’s also 8 years old and sick of being diabetic. He doesn’t want to hear me say that they could find a cure in his lifetime, he just wants it gone now. And so do I.