the santa pocket

At left is the adorable key chain I bought at a certain fantastic retail location before Christmas. With the push of a tiny button on the back, his lantern lights up and he gives a hearty "Ho! Ho! Ho!" How could I resist such Santa-ness? Unfortunately, one of the links couldn't hold up against my robot clock key chain (at right), which has had much more practice at weathering the battleground that is my keys (mine is the same model as the picture here, though it's pink). So, to keep Santa safe, I tucked him into the outside pocket of my purse. Some other day, I'll go into detail of the screenplay I will someday pen about Santa battling an army of pink robots with clocks on their tummies.

Years ago, my Mom crocheted a lapel decoration for everyone in the family -- a fabulous, yarn brooch of dear old St. Nick, which adorned my overcoat for the holidays. Right around New Year's Day, I removed him from said lapel and, well, tucked him into the outside pocket of my purse.

Today, while looking for something all together unrelated, I stumbled across my Santa stash. And I realized that the same side pocket of my purse also contained an open package of hearing aid batteries. They belonged to my Dad. I'd gone to pick them up to bring them to him at the hospital the day before he died. I know I should donate them to an organization that will give them to someone who really needs them. But I can't bring myself to let them go.

I love my Dad. I miss my Dad. I am blessed that thoughts of him bring me happiness, that I was by his side much of the last week of his life, that we didn't leave important things unsaid. The therapists of the world might say that I have closure. Still, the hearing aid batteries aren't leaving the Santa pocket any time soon.