Rachel did not believe in ghosts. However, when she revealed to her friend that she sometimes sensed her father talking to her she felt ridiculed on hearing, “Oh, so you believe in ghosts.” From then on this experience became too precious to share with strangers. And so, it was under her father’s guidance that she drove to The Avenues Mall.
She cherished this unseen relationship especially since she woke up three years ago in a hospital to discover she’d lost her partner, the child she was carrying and a good piece of her memory – three months before the auto accident until she woke from her coma had all become vacant blank space. As she found her place in the parking lot she enjoyed a reverie, a subtle, esoteric expectation of good. She was glad to get out of her apartment. Ever since checking out of the hospital, with her triple loss and its unrelenting weight she never felt at home anywhere. She needed to get out.
She turned off the ignition and sat still feeling herself breathe. She touched her belly and forced herself to believe she’d actually had a child inside her; strange to do since she simply could not remember. Once inside the mall she spied a Santa with a queue of mothers and children waiting to see him. How strange, she thought, this would have been the first year her little girl, (she decided it was a girl, somehow that comforted her) would have recognized the jolly, red-suited, generous Santa.
She stood still and listened to the sounds around her. She’d found mindfulness a good practice to help her center and free herself from distractions and regret; and especially grief. She started feeling her feet in her shoes on the hard floor, the rattle of strollers, the chirping insistence of children’s voices; the strained, anxious, trying–to-keep-it-together voices of vigilant frenzied mothers; the sales pitch of vendors, the rustle of packages being dropped and repositioned and certainly her own breathing.
“Go on over closer to Santa,” she felt her father say. “Don’t be afraid. Get closer.” She walked carefully towards the edge of the perimeter marked off by seasonal traffic markers. She joined a few others who were not in line but taking a breather to enjoy the innocence of the children. After watching three children take their turns she decided she would also go and maybe do some window shopping.
Before she turned around she noticed Santa stand and quietly address the mother next in line. He asked her if she could please wait a moment. He caught Rachel’s eye and lifted a finger to grab her attention.
She felt a bit awkward. She did not know this man. His Santa suit certainly did nothing to cause her to trust him – nor distrust him, for that matter. She thought to herself, he’s probably just a sad guy needing to make a little extra money.
Once he got in front of her, at a comfortable talking distance, he stopped and smiled. He began sweetly and cautiously, “Don’t be alarmed. Grant me, please, a few seconds of your time, if you will.” She smiled, indicating it was OK. “I see your child is not with you.” She trembled slightly and felt the cold shock of it. She found his words perplexing. Santa noticed and lifted his palm in a calming gesture. “I think what I’m trying to say is you lost your child didn’t you?” She stuttered inarticulately.
“Listen please. I don’t mean to frighten you. I, uh, I pastor a church in Bayard and occasionally the Spirit gives me a little insight. I don’t pick and choose when it happens, but I feel it right now. I need to say – or, maybe I should say, I hope you want to hear – that your child is real. She is with you as surely as those tears I can now see on your cheek. And, there will be a reuniting. Just believe, trust and hope.” His smile felt genuine and without obligation. When he reached out his hands she responded in kind. He squeezed her hand across the thickly braided traffic rope.
She only had a moment more to stare into his eyes. An ordinary guy. In a silly suit. Yet, a special moment. And, as softly and simply as he came to her he returned to his seat and the impatient children. She turned around. The reverie that began in the parking lot had not abated. She could not feel her footsteps. She could not hear the frenzy or conversations or stroller wheels. It was a mindless float to a bench by a seasonal display featuring poinsettias. She took a seat. She began to notice how good she felt.
She alternately rubbed the flesh of each forearm with a gentle palm. Once again she felt that familiar presence. She knew she was loved. She got up to leave the mall but was apprehended by a particular painting in an open display of framed illustrations. The hippie proprietor said, “I like that one too. I have one. Everywhere I live, and I seem to move a lot, that picture goes with me. When I see it that’s when I know I’m home.”
That intrigued her. She held it in her hands and heard. “Half price today or you can have the set.” He picked up another, “These two go together.” A house on a hill and a couple holding hands looking at their kitchen garden.
“Then give me both,” she said.
“Cool! It’ll be like giving yourself a Christmas present.”
She chuckled at that, gave him the money, and walked away with something that she believed, trusted and hoped would help her apartment feel like home.
9
