Funny. I’m excited for Halloween, but for this #OWC, I’m writing about Christmas. Life is strange, huh? But in case you’ve missed it before; I may not be Christian, but I simply adore Christmas. Christmas brings me hope, and it reminds me of the good in humanity and in life. Even though the season is cold, and the sky dark, there’s a magic we as humans have. An endurance and kindness that shines brighter than any darkness. And no one better represents that than Santa Claus.
Who is Santa Claus?
I’ve already talked about this before, but quick recap; Santa Claus is a figure starting out from Norwegian Mythology. Theories propose he was influenced by Odin from Norse mythology, others point to Saint Nicholas (one of the names also given to Santa). You also find Santa figures in the mythologies of Iceland, , Austria, Denmark and so on.
The Memory
Well... here’s the thing. I don’t fully this happening. I must’ve been incredibly young, maybe a toddler, when this happened. Here’s the thing though; if you know me and are expecting my grandfather is part of this story you are...
...
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100% correct. Yep. Not even escaping him when talking about winter. So, let’s get to the story. Now, when I was a child, my grandfather was given a rather important role in our church. He was given the role of creating parties and events. He LOVED it. How could he not? He’s the kind of man who makes jokes to make people laugh and smile. He was the kind of elderly man who looked at a child and saw their innocence and potential. No time of the year was ever more loved by him than Christmas. That I’ve mentioned before. So this one year, he had planned this Christmas party and I was there. Of course, Santa came at one point.
Now, I need to go off track for a second and discuss briefly the impact of what happened next. Typically, something like this would shatter the so-called “illusion” of Santa Claus, but it didn’t for me. Hell, I’m 21 and I still believe in him! At some point, though, I recognise he won’t last forever. Not cause I’d stop believing in him, but because of a natural progression in time. The way I view Santa is that he isn’t a physical being, merely a spiritual being fuelled by the energy of our emotions around the season. Why do I still believe in Santa? I’ll explain after I’ve finished the story.
So, Santa walks in, and alarm bells start ringing in my head. Something doesn’t feel right about this Santa. At this point, my mum realised what was going on. I had never ONCE been scared of Santa - I’d usually race to his side in hopes of being the first child he spoke to! So when I refused to even go near him, she knew something was desperately wrong. This Santa, though, really wanted to see me and so my mum walked me over. In a state of confusion and fear, I must’ve looked at his eyes. What I saw should’ve been a comfort to me - that was the intention all along. But no. After looking into his eyes, I began crying and pushed my way out of the party. This part I vaguely ; I was in the entrance section of the church in a daze, someone calling out my name. I knew it was Santa but I refused to turn around. But... I recognised the voice.
Many years later, me and my mother were in discussion about grandad, and she brought this story up. Revealing a fact that breaks my heart, in all the right and wrong ways. A man so generous, that he did this hoping it may help with my Autism. And yet, it ended with us both hurt. That “Santa” that scared me so much was none other than my grandfather. My heart shatters when I this story; he meant well, and I’m happy he would take my Autism as seriously as he did, yet that well intent didn’t change the fact it freaked me out beyond comprehension. Probably even beyond ing too.
So, how could such a traumatic event not shatter my belief in Santa? How on Earth after all that could I still believe? Well, it’s simple really. Every time I saw him, grandad never needed to put on a red costume or a fake wool beard (as I mentioned, I don’t think he’s a physical being, but hey, I can indulge myself in the fake if I desire). To me, whenever I saw him, he already was Santa. A man so loving and comionate. A man who only ever sees the good in people. A man who overflows with love. One other memory solidified that fact for me, and all it involves was a Christmas tree and some chocolate. This story shaped my beliefs in Santa today, and it’d be stupid to say my Claus-esque grandad didn’t impact me too. He was the definition, in my eyes, of a perfect saint. Loving, caring, comionate, selfless, and yet ready to protect their loved ones from other forces, not just human. My mum said to me once; “Your grandad would fight Heaven and Hell himself if it meant he could ensure your safety.”
In Conclusion
What kind of person I aspire to be, what kind of acts I wish to do as a witch, why I love the warmth of winter, and even why I still believe in jolly ol’ Saint Nick, is all thanks to a literal gift. A man too good for this world. “Walking a road of a thousand thorns, you were my only companion.” (‘Yaad’ by Bloodywood.) Even as a witch, I feel him still. Around me and deep within. As long as I live, he will always impact me and my craft. This is why he is one of my guides. This is why he is one of my protectors. This is why I still believe in Saint Nick; I was lucky enough to meet and know a man just like him. A man I loved, and still love, with every breath I take, with every word I speak, every tear I cry, every song I sing.
”Do you when I said I would love you forever?
And you thought it would only last as long as we were together...
I see your coming as a gift, not your leaving as a curse,
And even though it hurts, it makes me feel like I’m one with the universe.
’Yaad’ - Bloodywood
Thanks for reading. Merry meet, and blessed be.
Comments (2)
Thank you for sharing your heartwarming memories with us. Having someone like that, in your life, makes this life well worth the trip here.
It does. To be honest, as scary as death is, I have one comfort in the fact I’ll be reunited with my grandfather, one way or another.