Here Comes Santa Claus

Facebook doesn’t seem to get that I don’t really want to see memories from the year Sofia died.  I didn’t want to see the pictures of when I was pregnant, and I don’t particularly want to see the blog posts that I shared.  But there is one thing that I’ve noticed.  Those blog posts were all about firsts.  The first this after her death, the first that.  And I’m still writing about firsts, but not my firsts, or at least not only my firsts.

We went to see Santa today.  I’m a little sad that the Real Santa of my childhood is no longer with us.  He was an excellent Santa, from the department store where my dad worked at the time.  We saw him every year.  And even though we knew that one could go see Santa at other places, we knew that the one we went to, the one at Gilmore’s, was the Real One.

And I know that it’s silly.  I mean she’s only nine months old.  It’s not like she’s going to remember this.  But I really wanted Anna to meet Santa this first Christmas.  And I really wanted her to have a Santa like mine.  But Gilmore’s is no more, and my dad tells me my Santa is equally no more.  I was hoping she could meet a friend in his Santa alter-ego, but his schedule was not amenable to hers.  So we went out to the mall.  And it was okay.  I have a feeling whoever is Anna’s Real Santa will only ever be okay to me.  After all, he won’t be my Santa.

But the spirit is kept alive, and that’s what really matters.  As the editor of The New York Sun told Virginia, that’s the true existence of Santa Claus.

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