Santa's WHAT?!?!

My poor sister-in-law Mary was not feeling well over Christmas. She slept wrong one night, resulting in a kinked neck. Nothing she did helped it, and she couldn't sleep because of it.

In addition to no sleep, she was also juggling a hectic work schedule, a visiting mother, and all the chaos of a large family over Christmas.

But she took her small moments when she could find them. One was with her son Grant, who's 8. They were wrapping presents together when Grant spied a present that troubled him. It was a gift for his sister Gabi, from Santa. And it was two days BEFORE Christmas.

"Grant saw the present, Auntie Heather," my nephew Nic told me, very concerned. "And I think Aunt Mary told him the truth."

I stopped in my tracks when he said that.

"I know!" he said. "I hope she didn't, but I think she did. I didn't wanna tell him...I just couldn't do that to a little kid." He was so sweet and earnest, I had to hug him.

I completely forgot about the story until a few hours later. I had all the boys in my car and I asked what Santa was going to bring them.

Grant answered before anyone else. In the smallest, saddest voice I've ever heard, he said, "Santa's dead. But his spirit still delivers presents to us."

The car immediately went silent. I realized the story Mary had probably told him--about the real-life Saint Nicholas--and how he'd misinterpreted that story. I felt Mark and Nic both go rigid in their seats. I tensed up pretty good, too.

Mark nudged me from the passenger seat and whispered urgently, "Mom, there's something important I have to tell you later."

I knew it was the story about Grant seeing the present, so I whispered back, "I already know."

"No," Mark insisted. "It's important!"

I waved my hand at Mark in an "I got this" motion, although it was the farthest thing from the truth. I cleared my throat, stalled a moment, and asked in my best non-committal therapist voice, "Uhhhh...how do you feel about that?"

"Sad!" Grant cried, and I mentally slapped myself. Idiot!

"Me too!" I said. The car was still tense; there was an 8-year-old who thought Santa was dead, and the 12-year-olds were silently freaking out. I had to do something, fast.

"I don't believe it," I said, firmly. "I believe Santa's coming tonight--of course he is!! I believe in Santa!"

"Me too!" Nic shouted.

"I do, too!" Mark yelled. "I TOTALLY believe in Santa!"

I was grateful to them, and proud of them. They shouted so many Santa affirmations Grant couldn't help but smile.
 
"I believe in Santa, too!" he cried, and we all made a lot of whooping noises for Santa and his imminent arrival. I just sighed...whew, crisis (narrowly) averted!

When Mary got home, I told her the story. She yelped and turned bright red, covering her face in her hands. She said, "I told him about Saint Nicholas, and how he gave gifts, and how that tradition carried on after he died."

"That's what I figured," I said. "But that's not the message he took away..."

"I was just so tired!" she said. "And he caught me off guard...I didn't know what to tell him!"

Mary, Nathalie and I caused quite a ruckus from laughing so loud. Someone knocked on the door, and we immediately shut up. Tim slowly opened the door, poked his head in, looked at Mary and said in an accusatory tone, "DEAD?" Then he shut the door again and left without another word.

We erupted into a whole new fit of laughter.

My dad thought the story was hilarious, but my mom fretted about it.

"Oh no!" she cried. "Santa died at my house." 

She worried that would be Grant's only memory of his 8th Christmas.

But the kids were determined to right the situation. I put on the movie "Elf," which has a scene where one elf tells another, "Some kids don't believe in Santa--they think its their parents, but how can a parent deliver that many gifts in one night?"

All five of the big kids, who'd now heard the "Santa's dead" story, started yelling at the TV.

"It's not parents!" "I believe in Santa!" "Santa's REAL!" they shouted, and Grant happily shouted along with them.

But Grant's sad little proclamation lived on...we spent the rest of the holiday week whispering, "Santa's dead," and bursting into laughter afterwards. Poor Mary--she really has the best heart, and the most sincere intentions in the entire family, but those good intentions sometimes miss the mark. 

And so yes, Grant, no matter what your mom says...there really IS a Santa Claus. And he's not dead!