“I’m not ready to stop believing in Santa Claus,” declared my 75-year-old father from his ICU hospital bed.

“Daddy, I think you are confused. You’re JEWISH!” I giggled while texting a message to my husband reminding him of my son’s guitar concert the next day. 

This was life for my father now; confusing reality, having flashbacks, and commenting randomly like this were not uncommon. I would nonchalantly point out the muddled memory or thought, and we would both laugh about it. Humor had always been the go-to response to everything in our family, and no one appreciated a good chuckle more than Dad. But I soon learned that he was not joking, nor were his thoughts cloudy or jumbled that day.

It was obvious my father had something important to get off his chest, so I put my phone down and scooted my chair closer to his bed. I braced myself for what I thought would be another one of “those” conversations – you know, dad preaches to daughter about how she needs to do this or should have done that and “For God’s sake, would you put on a sweater and pull down your skirt?” type of talk. The guy was lying in a hospital bed connected to heart monitors; I had to listen. I turned my chair and attention toward Dad and told him to explain. I was taken aback by the serious look in my father’s eyes.

“As a person, we may not always be proud of what we do or say, but we need to remember that we are humans. Humans are not perfect, and that is okay. But if we could learn to just shut up and listen to one another, what a better place this would be.” He paused for dramatic effect.

I said nothing, after all my father had just told me that we needed to learn to shut up and listen. I may be thick headed, but I was smart enough to know that this man, whom I looked up to all my life, was about to lay some pearls of wisdom on me. And I desperately wanted to hear what he had to say.

“Good, you stayed quiet. That was a test!” He laughed. Then, he grew somber again and continued. “What the world needs is for us all to believe in Santa Claus, and yes, I am a Jewish grown man saying that. Don’t scrunch your nose up like that, Sharon. Listen to me. Open your heart. Santa represents hope for what can be and for what the future has in store for us. I am not ready to stop believing in Santa Claus. Do you understand what I mean by this, Sharon?”

I honestly thought I did understand what he meant. I thought he meant that he was not ready to die. I thought he was not ready to leave me, my sister, my brother, my mother – his bride of 51 years – his grandkids, and friends. So I told him, “Yes.” He shook his head as if he knew better, which he did.

“You do not believe in Santa! GRINCH!” And with that, he laughed, grabbed my hand, brought it to his lips, and ever so gently kissed it as he whispered, “But you will one day!”

My father passed away a few weeks after this conversation. Before they shut his coffin, I slipped a picture of Santa Claus with the words “I believe!” written inside it.

I really thought I understood what my dad meant that day, but it wasn’t until recently that I truly got it! At a time where everything is so uncertain, where people seem more divided, and all that we had known is no longer the norm, it is hard to hold on to hope. But perhaps, what my father was trying to tell me that day in the hospital is that when things look the darkest, that is when we need to believe the most. And I think we can all agree that a little more shutting up and a lot more listening would certainly help things right now, too.

Yes, my father was right when he told me, “What the world needs is for us all to believe in Santa Claus.” I don’t know about you, but I am choosing to believe!

Happy holidays from my family to yours, and may 2021 be a year filled with HOPE!