Santa's Lap

Santa’s Lap

I was afraid at first—

the red suit too bright,

the beard too big,

for a child lifted onto a stranger’s knee.

I held my breath.

Then he talked.

I knew that voice.

Familiar.

Low and kind.

The same voice that read stories, rang bells, and filled rooms with warmth.

It said, you’re okay. It said, you’re safe here. I didn’t feel scared anymore.

This lap is safe, it said.

Grandma was right there. I could see her shoes. That helped.

Every Christmas you come back to me.

When I hear bells.

When I see a Santa walk in.

In church hallways.

In the hush before Christmas morning.

I miss the pride—hearing the bell as you entered the chapel,knowing my grandpa was Santa, knowing Santa was mine.

I liked knowing Santa was real.That he knew me.That he loved me.

I liked knowing he was my grandpa.

Now I hold the memories tight,

like a child clutching a coat sleeve,

afraid to let go.

Safe. Warm. Loved.