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While You Were Goneà
By Patricia Heimbrock
My most memorable holiday has to be the Christmas after my mother passed away. I was 7, and I had long before determined exactly who Santa really was.
Every year, my parents had taken my brother and I to midnight mass. Despite my mom's passing, this year was no exception. To make the evening special, my dad invited relatives and friends who'd been helping care for us to attend with us.
So it was with extraordinary wonder when we came home from church that evening to discover that Santa had been in our house. Since everyone who was close to us had been with us at church, I was stumped by who it could possibly have been. My brother and I kept asking our dad to tell us who it was, but all he would say, through a big, wide grin, was "Santa." We finally just accepted that a wonderful friend had come, bringing pleasure to what was an otherwise painful holiday season for my family.
Even now, 25 years later, I have no idea exactly who it was who came to our house that night. And my dad, still wearing that grin, continues to swear it really was "Santa."