Delivering Wishes

That big white ticking box, laced with black, hanging on the wall, has always beat me in every race. I bagged just a few shoddy victories though, but they were too flimsy to tag me as punctual; I know almost none, who were late in their first date and wedding. But today, I knew I would tire out those hands, who never failed to show their dexterity at me as their winning ticks sounded like hiss.

I must admit I was waiting for this moment for quite a long time. Infact, I have been rehearsing for this since the day I came to know about the delivery date. Afterall, everyone gets excited about gifts, why not me? I may not look like a little blonde girl who wrote a dozen letters to Santa, but that girl is still alive within. And I haven't stopped writing letters to Santa either; so what if I write them in my daily journal before going to bed.

Santa and I go back in time, way back in time. How can I forget those naive demands I would write and hand them over to Papa, thinking he would post them to the North Pole. Now when I came to think of it, I almost got everything I desired. Even the most quirky wishes got fulfilled by such weird means.

I remember asking Santa how the clouds tasted. After mom passed away, I would be cloud painting for hours. They looked just like marshmallows to me, only better and tastier. Little did we know that the same year Papa and I would travel to RoyalView resort. Following a landslide near our resort, we were stranded there for another week. A resort in Los Angeles valley that seldom saw much snow, welcomed clouds in its lounge as mercury dropped. I was mad with the cloud tasting frenzy. Oh god! It was a crazy day.

Now it seems funny, but each time I rummaged through the wedding album of Mom and Papa I wished to see myself there. And then came the moment of Mazel Tov - Papa wedded Mother. I was the bride’s maid and also the star of the wedding.

Even my foolish desire to get my childhood back, during my stressed out moments of adolescence, were met when Papa and Mother gifted all the Santa letters on my wedding day. I took no notice of my melting makeup as my eyes welled up, as my view became hazy, as I hugged Mother and Papa and as I wished, “please make these two people my Secret Santa for life”. I bet there cannot be a more poignant moment in my life than this. Even today’s day is no match.

It might sound a lie, but truly I don't remember those excruciating pain of 6 miscarriages anymore. Neither do I recall those moments of vacuum, between me and George, as we drove past that preschool each day. No, they don't bother me anymore. Not when my wish of Secret Santa was secretly fulfilled.


Its time to start the engine and head straight to hospital. I have to witness the wonder as it happens. The dark tunnel will finally lead me to the light. And I know Mother needs me now. She witnessed all my first moments - first date, first breakup, first soccer match, first trophy, first tutu, first love every damn thing. Even on the day of embryo transfer she held me with her motherly warmth. Today is my turn. Not because she is giving birth to our baby, because it is her first time. I am going to my Secret Santa.