Santa – beatingcowdens

I can not take credit for the content of this letter. I found it on the internet, but it met my needs, as the questions started coming fast and furious. How can Santa…? How big is the tooth fairy…? All ways for her to let me know she “knew” and was ready for me to tell her. I on the other hand was not ready at all.

January, 2013

Dear Meghan,

You asked a very good question: “Are you and Dad Santa?”

I know you’ve wanted the answer to this question for a long time, and I’ve had to give it careful thought to know just what to say.

The answer is no. We are not Santa. There is no one Santa.

I am the person who fills your stockings with presents, though. I also choose and wrap the presents under the tree, the same way my mom did for me, and the same way her mom did for her. (And yes, Daddy helps, too.)

I imagine you will someday do this for your children, and I know you will love seeing them run down the stairs on Christmas morning. You will love seeing them sit under the tree, their small faces lit with Christmas lights.

This won’t make you Santa, though.

Santa is bigger than any person, and his work has gone on longer than any of us have lived. What he does is simple, but it is powerful. He teaches children how to have belief in something they can’t see or touch.

It’s a big job, and it’s an important one. Throughout your life, you will need this capacity to believe: in yourself, in your friends, in your talents and in your family. You’ll also need to believe in things you can’t measure or even hold in your hand. Here, I am talking about love, that great power that will light your life from the inside out, even during its darkest, coldest moments.

Santa is a teacher, and I have been his student, and now you know the secret of how he gets down all those chimneys on Christmas Eve: he has help from all the people whose hearts he’s filled with joy.

With full hearts, people like Daddy and me take our turns helping Santa do a job that would otherwise be impossible.

So, no. I am not Santa. Santa is love and magic and hope and happiness. I’m on his team, and now you are, too.

I love you and I always will.

Mommy

I cried for at least an hour. She handled it with her normal grace and poise.

I hope she never loses her sense of wonder. Sometimes I wonder how broad the shoulders of a 9 year old should have to be. I know they all have to find out some time, but life is tough enough, escpecially when chronic illness fills your days. They should stay young as long as possible.

She already has plans to fill my stocking next year. She said I shouldn’t have to do my own – lol. ❤

And… Just in case I was worried – she said, “Don’t worry Mom, Disney is still the happiest place on earth!”

I mean no disrespect to the “Man of Steel,” but I think parents of kids with chronic illnesses have it more difficult.

We need “Nerves of Steel.”

I am trying to settle in to bed. Tomorrow bright and early we head out for the thyroid sonogram and appointment. My stomach is twisted in a million directions.

At this point I should be calmer. I should relax, and have faith – as I am sure that everything will somehow be alright. Yet, still, it is so hard to keep your mind from wandering.

I will take it all, every illness, every horrible twist and turn that this wretched Cowden’s Syndrome will toss at me. Just PLEASE… leave my kid out of it.

Today we stayed home. The three of us, (and Allie and Lucky) as a family. We did some work, and we rested. We also did a little bit of shopping.

My girl had only three things on her list for Santa. She asked for an American Girl Doll, a dog ring, and money to buy toys for the children in the hospital. Santa left her $100. Today she carefully selected some toys, “a kid stuck in a hospital might appreciate.” And she would know. She has spent her share of time stuck in a hospital.