Picture Perfect - Harvest

Harvest
Verb
3.) To receive (the benefit or consequences of one’s actions)

Harvesting Love

Henry was the In-Store Santa in town from 1945-1985. He Ho! Ho! Ho!-ed his way through countless Christmas seasons. His time came to hang up his beard and put to rest the jingling bells. He entered the Nursing Home without notice, without fanfare and without debate. He remembered no more the delight in the eyes of the children that came to him for magical visits through the years. Sometimes he forgot his own name; he rarely remembered his sweet wife of over 60 years when she came to visit.

I called the director. “Can I bring my class of 36 - 3 year olds this December to sing Christmas Carols for all the Grampas and Grandmas there?”

Three days prior to our arrival, I was told by the director, Henry refused to shave. He became agitated and unruly. He was searching the home for something he couldn’t bring voice to. They summoned his wife. She came in a hurry to settle her dearest down. “I know right where it is, Henry” she told him. “I’ll bring it”, she promised.

The children got off the bus and sang their little hearts out. Off key, bodies twirling, super fast renditions of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, We Wish You A Merry Christmas, Little Toy Trains, and the finale, Santa Claus is Coming to Town.

The children scattered from the hearth side and sat on couches to pass out the cards they made and cookies they brought. In amongst the hugs and sticky kisses with the old folks, we heard it....

The sweet silver tinkling of jingle bells from down the hall. The massive, unmistakable “HO! HO! HO! MERRY CHRISTMAS! “ That only Santa himself can muster. The room became hushed as expectant eyes searched for the man...

and then he was there...

He sat in an armchair, patiently listening to each and every one of the childhood dreams, making magic happen for my children in the old folks home. His wife brought his outfit to surprise the children. He had not wore it in years, but it fit him perfectly. Little eyes danced with tales of trucks and dolls, balls and dresses. The children hugged, kissed and sometimes waved as they left Santa’s lap that day. They boarded the bus with red striped candy canes and smiles.

I slipped back into the home to say thank you to Henry and his wife. I hugged them both; she snapped this photo of me and Santa Henry. Then she pulled me aside. She wanted to thank me!

“For giving him a day filled with joy. For the past three days he thought of nothing more than being Santa. When he heard the children were coming, he stopped shaving so his beard would be full. He searched for his outfit. He had me bring candycanes. Thank you for bringing life back to my husband for Christmas.”

I hugged her again and jotted her address down so I could send her a photo or two of the children with Santa Henry.

Just before Christmas I mailed off a scrapbook of thank you notes and photos to Mrs. Claus. About a month or so later I received a letter in the mail from her....

Henry had passed away just after Christmas that year. Four years later I look at this photo and still get misty eyed. This man who one last time brought magic into the lives of little children. As his eyes twinkled with delight, he had remembered who he was.... Santa Claus.

and I am smiling...

love me later~tj

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