My mother, Martha Grant, passed away from complications of a stroke on March 2, 2023, at the age of 100. What I miss most about her is how she used to dress up as Santa Claus.
She never did this when her children were young, because she was too busy, but when her grandchildren came along, she decided to resurrect a tradition from her own childhood in rural Ontario. After her family got home from the Christmas Eve church service, there would be loud banging on the back door. Not one, but several Santa Clauses would burst in, each one carrying a bag of candies to be handed out to children who obliged them by singing a song or saying a prayer.
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Wanting to recreate some of this fun for her family, my mom bought herself a Santa suit from Eaton’s.
On Christmas Eve, we would all gather at my parents’ house. Suddenly, from a distant part of the house, we would hear bells, which would grow louder until Santa shouted “Ho, ho, ho!” and burst into the living room.
Santa always had a red velvet bag containing small, wrapped gifts with name tags for everyone. To enhance the disguise, Santa would speak with some strange untraceable accent. Santa would ask if we had been good, sometimes give suggestions on what to do with our lives in the new year and then inquire what we wanted for Christmas. Most of us mentioned practical, modestly priced items, but one year, my nephew, who had two sisters, asked for a baby brother. Santa never came through with this request.
When all the gifts were distributed, we would sing “Jingle Bells.” My sister would lead Santa out of the room to the back door where he presumably proceeded to visit every other household on Christmas Eve.
A short time later, my mother would show up and everyone would inform her that she had just missed Santa Claus. She would sound disappointed and would claim that she had gone over to a neighbour’s house for a quick visit.
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This went on for many years. Adult children grew older and more grandchildren arrived, followed by great-grandchildren. Santa started visiting on Christmas morning to accommodate people who couldn’t make it on Christmas Eve.
During Covid, instead of a big indoor gathering, we huddled in heavy coats, mitts, hats and scarves on my mother’s veranda. Santa did not appear.
But in December 2022, 17 family members gathered for Christmas at my mother’s house. She was 100 years old at the time. Soon after we had settled around the Christmas tree in her living room, we heard the familiar bells. My sister appeared and cried, “Look who I found!”
In burst Santa, pushing a walker. His outfit was somewhat altered: below the waist, Santa was wearing a long skirt, partly obscured by the walker. As Santa made his way to his assigned chair, my two grandchildren, aged four and six, said, “I think Santa is wearing great-grandma’s shoes.”
“Shh,” I said, “Don’t tell anyone.” They joined with the adults and two teenage boys in an uproarious welcome. One by one, we went up to Santa as our names were called and accepted the gifts from his red velvet bag. When the gifts had been distributed, my sister helped Santa to his feet and to a rousing chorus of “Jingle Bells,” Santa pushed his walker from the room.
Shortly afterwards, my sister and mother rejoined us, and my mother was informed that she had just missed Santa. She had to invent another neighbour to visit since the one she had used in the past had died. After her display of disappointment, my mother sank into a comfortable chair and younger people began distributing the many gifts piled under the tree.
We didn’t know it then, but it would be her last Christmas. She died after a brief illness the following March. When I look back, I am so glad that we had the opportunity, post-Covid, to gather in a large group for her last Christmas. I am also grateful that for her last Christmas, my mother was able to play Santa.
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Sylvia Grant lives in Guelph, Ont., where she is a member of Trinity United.
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