I stood there, waiting for some divine being to lead me into that brightly lit room. The stale air of hospitals has always left me nauseous. It is not joy that brings me back to these places, nor is it the pursuit of a better understanding to the enigma that is the fatality of life. It’s not even the money that compels me. This all seems a great mystery to me.
It’s not easy, pretending to be some divine being that brings joy to all children across the world, showering them with gifts and the joys of Christmas. A fraud, that’s what I am. How can I stand there, playing along with my act, and not feel as though I have wronged them, by falsely claiming who I am. Is it wrong to bring happiness to such a dreary and woeful end these children must face?
I lay my hands on that cold handle, opening before my the sight of a pale child, glowing with reverence. As I opened the door he laid his eyes on me, staring deeply into my soul. His clear blue eyes lit up brightly as I greeted him, as if a sudden realization of who has come to visit him. As declared to the parents before the meeting with the child, they all stood up and left us alone in the room. There he lay, sitting up, pale as can be.
“I can’t believe that you came!” he exclaimed with what little vigor he has left. “I’ve always wanted to meet you, Santa,” and here the act started. “Hello there Thomas, I have been told that you will not be attending Christmas this year? Is that so ?” idiotic words such as those came flying from my mouth, as if it were not clear that the boy was dying. Of course he wouldn’t be able to be there for Christmas. “ It seems so santa,” he says with a sense of indifference. “They say that I’m dying,” again he says with an ignorant tone. It seems that these kids have no sense of mortality. They’ve not wrapped their head around what it means to live, breathe, laugh, cry, wake, sleep, and all other which one does when living. But it feels as though they know what is their fate and they’ve accepted that soon enough they will cease to exist.
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Leukemia, they say. The poor boy has leukemia. When one faces realities such as this, they’ve to wonder what kind of maleficent being god has to be to entail such sickness to a pure hearted being as a child. Sometimes it seems that this game we lead is just a perverted lottery for beings of a depraved nature to look at and laugh every once and a while. What manner of loving being, injects man with sickness of such a horrid nature? No loving being can do such acts.
We conversed for a while more. Each time I try to remove my sights from the boy’s wide open eyes. I hold back what sadness and grief I find within this boy. Sickly as he can be, he doesn’t want to miss Christmas. He said that he wants to live a little bit longer until Christmas has come and passed, then only he would die happy. His shaven head flops around from time to time as he tells me his most cherished memories from past celebrations. That combined with the constant droning of the tube lights that illuminate the room, filled me with despair.
“They say I won’t live that long though, and I guess that’s why you’re here huh Santa?” Said the pale boy.
“Are you not afraid, Thomas?”
“Of what?”
“Of not living,”
“I haven’t given it a thought. Should I be?”
“I guess not. No you need not be afraid my dear boy, for when you glance at the pearly gates of heaven, tell O’l Peter that you are one of santa’s favorite elfs,”
“I am ?!”
“Sure you are boy. Sure you are,”
Not long after he said that he was feeling a bit tired. So we bid each other goodbye, and I went out the door. There tears starts to stream down my face. No longer able to hold back I begin sobbing quietly on the hallway. The family of the boy came over to where I was standing and there we wept. Oh how we wept.