We sat together in the still of the night, simply sitting there on the side of the bed.  My sweet little mama’s feet swung back and forth, her lips pursed as a tiny frown crossed her face.

“What’s the matter Mama, dear,” I asked softly.  At this point Mama was in the final stages of ovarian cancer and every moment spent with her was more precious than gold.  Sleep could be caught up on when she was no longer with us.  There were times throughout the long days, and longer nights, when she would be as lucid as in her early years, and then there were those times when she reverted to her memories of days gone by.

After a few quiet moments, she looked over at me from the corner of her eyes, and as her head tilted ever so slightly, she murmured in the voice of a little six or seven year old, “I’m really mad at Santa Claus.”

And she waited, as if wondering what my reaction would be to this ghastly declaration.  I sat quietly, eyes lowered, wondering what might come next.

As her little girl voice continued, she explained that she and her brother Henry had waited up all night, watching for the elusive Santa Claus to make his appearance.  She had asked for a new pair of ice skates, and Henry was hoping for a sled. . .  but that year, Santa never came.  To her it was as if it had only happened yesterday.

“We crept down the stairs and watched all night, and he never ever came.  I wanted Henry to get that new sled, and I really did want some skates.  But Santa didn’t come. . .”

From what I could understand, that was a year when things were very hard for a lot of families.  The Great Depression had begun and money was barely available for the necessities of life, much less Christmas gifts.

As I sat there rubbing my thumb across the back of my mama’s soft hand, it struck me clearly why all the years of my growing up, Mama had expressed a dislike of Santa Claus.  For the first time I understood why the whole idea of telling little children that he would come and bring gifts on Christmas Eve was abhorrent to her.

Putting my arm around her shrunken shoulders, I hugged her close.  “It’s alright,” I whispered.  “Santa didn’t know that you were waiting up so long, or I am sure he would have come.  You know he never wanted to disappoint you and Henry.  He likely just wasn’t able to find your house.”

She sat perfectly still for a long few moments.  The swinging feet limp against the bed skirt. Then she looked up at me with a gleam in her faded blue eyes.  “Well, I won’t be mad at him anymore then!”

In the twinkling of an eye, the mood changed, as she reached out and smacked me on my hand.  “Whatever on this earth are you doing up this late at night Diana Lynette!” said my precious little mama.  She only ever called me that if she was exasperated with me, or teasing me a bit.

Glad to have my mama back if even for a few more moments, I hugged her close and told her I just needed to check on her and see if she needed anything.

“Well why on earth would I need a thing in the middle of the night!” said she.  “Now get back to bed and let’s get a good night’s rest.”

And so we did. . .