Saying Goodbye To Santa-In Memory of Ray Beesley

Do you remember the magic you felt as a child at Christmas? There was so much to love about this time of year you undoubtedly sported a permanent grin from Thanksgiving to December 26^th.  After all, you were a kid so Christmas was stress free and chock full of excitement. When I think about the things that made me happy as a kid I quickly remember baking cookies with my mom and sister, visiting relatives and playing with my cousins, watching Christmas movies in my footy pajamas, neighborhood parties, school parties, and ripping open every new delivery of Christmas cards from friends and family.  I loved all of it.

Of course the most excitement came from knowing that Santa Claus would be coming soon. Every year my parents brought us to take pictures with Santa and the whole way there in the car I would practice what I was going to say when he asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I would inevitably get nervous and only remember one of the things I had practiced, but either way I left there full of excitement. It was pure joy. It was innocent, magical, and a time of never doubting in jolly old Saint Nick. As we all know, that innocence sadly fades with time and age. Last week I posted a great story on Facebook about my friend’s son starting to doubt Santa. An amazing man named Bob, who just happens to look exactly like Santa, stepped up and took a picture with her elf to show her son. He had only been there to service the furnace but he left there restoring her son’s belief and giving her one more year of magic.

Everyone loved the story. A couple of days later sad news hit a local garden center. The Santa from the garden center, who everyone had loved, had passed away.  Facebook was flooded with story after story about Ray Beesley better known to most as Santa, and his amazing heart. My friend forwarded me a story from a friend of hers, and as I read it with tears rolling down my face, I just knew I had to share it.  We wound up connecting on Facebook and she gave me the go ahead to share her story. Get a tissue and be prepared to feel the magic of Christmas all over again.  This is Amy’s story.

Anyone who knows me knows my sincere affection for this man. He was more than "Santa" he was a genuine, gentle, sweet, compassionate human being. I have to share the reason why I fell in love with Christmas again after I thought I never could.

When my son Zach was diagnosed with Autism in 2004, I fell into a

deep, dark depression. The holidays were especially hard. Seeing the magic of
Christmas through your child's eyes is one of the joys of being a parent. I didn't have that magic. Zach didn't care about Christmas, didn't care about receiving presents, and he didn't care about the Christmas tree or any decorations. 
One day while shopping at the Wayne Town Center, Santa was just coming back from break, and there were no lines. I decided to have his picture taken, purely for a photo op. He wasn't able to tell Santa what he wanted for Christmas or tell him if he was a good boy. It was strictly a “What the Hell” moment. I thought maybe I could get a cute picture. I wasn't feeling the magic of Christmas at all. When his session was over, Santa stood up and hugged me real tight. I will never forget how he told me in his sweet gentle voice, "God gave him to you, and he wanted you to be his mom.  You are a special mom. Santa loves you, God bless you Mom.”  
It was almost like he knew! There I was sobbing in the middle of the mall hugging Santa so tight I thought I was going to break him while Christmas music was playing. Ray Beesley saved me that day; he gave me back the magic of Christmas. We went back every year. He always remembered us. He never let us wait on line, always waved us to the front. He always remembered Zach's name. I knew he was ill in the spring so last week, I stopped at the religious store and bought him a Saint Jude coin to give him when we saw him this weekend. Sadly, we never made it. This man will never be forgotten. I only wish he knew what a huge impact he had on our lives. To everyone else he was Santa, but to me he was a blessing!

Rest in the sweetest of peace "Santa."

Amy's son Zach and Santa

I realized after reading Amy’s story that the magic of Christmas doesn’t fade as we get older. We somehow just lose faith in all of it. We have so many other things in our lives to deal with that we struggle sometimes to find the joy in the simple spirit of the holiday. Ray gave that spirit back to countless people. Amy’s story is only one of thousands that have been popping up on social media. This man was undoubtedly the real Santa. When I think of Santa, I think of a kind, gentle, giving person who listens when someone needs him and knows exactly what people need. He didn’t need Amy to tell him what she wanted for Christmas. He knew. He knew she just wanted to feel the joy of Christmas with her son. She wanted him to feel the excitement. She wanted to feel the magic. Ray gave her that. He didn’t rush her and her son Zach through a line of crying kids. He stood up and looked at her when she needed it most and told her she mattered. He told her she was more than good enough and he hugged her.  

There are real Santas all around us. Bob showed me that last week, and Amy’s story further proved it to be true. You see Santa is real. He is the kindness we find in a person we don’t know. He is the joy we see in our children. He is the spirit of Christmas. Christmas is not about stressing out trying to find the hottest sold out toy. It’s not about getting your kids to smile perfectly for your overpriced card (guilty). It’s about finding time for people. It’s about finding time for love and kindness. It’s about letting those around you know that they matter to you.

Ray Beesley taught us that every year. There was a reason his lines were so long, and it wasn’t just because he did in fact look like the most perfect Santa. It wasn’t just because every child on that line believed he was Santa. It was because every parent believed it too. It was because, if only for a moment the stress seemed to lift and we were able to once again feel the magic. We walked into that building as adults full of stress thinking about our long lists and all the things we had left to do, but we left feeling the magic and joy of the season. We left not only full of joy as we watched our children smile and skip to the car. We left remembering the child we once were, and even if only for a couple of hours the innocence of the holiday returned to us.

Ray left us all too early, but I for one just know that he is somewhere else bringing the joy back to so many who have missed it for all too long. Ray “Santa” Beesley had bigger things to do, and there is no doubt that he is doing them as only he could. Thank you Ray. Thank you for reminding us about the true meaning of the Christmas season. Thank you for allowing us to Believe. 

My boys with Ray "Santa" Beesley

Ten Steps Towards A Real Friendship

There are times as a parent that I find myself looking at my kids and feeling a little bit of envy towards their youth. After all they have more energy than I can muster after a full night of sleep and an entire pot of coffee. They also have the endless ability to use their imaginations and act silly while receiving zero judgment (people look at me funny when I run around my yard chasing bubbles). They still believe in the good in everything. They don’t have adult responsibilities to ponder as they desperately try to fall asleep at night. No. My kids get in bed and blissfully fall asleep while dreaming about ice cream and a game of kickball, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Childhood should be chock full of innocence and smiles and void of stress and sleepless nights.

The one thing I don’t envy though is navigating through the ups and downs of unestablished friendships. If there is anything that I have learned in my forty years it’s how to know the difference between a real friendship and a fake one. I no longer have the patience for nonsense or fair weather friends. Age and experience have taught me a thing or two about friendships over the years. I haven’t escaped without a few cuts and bruises, mostly to my pride but I’m better off for it.

I think one of the most important lessons we can teach our children is how to be a good friend.  I want my kids to be able to recognize a good apple from a bad apple in the bunch but I also want them to know what it takes to be the good apple. It’s not always easy and if we are being honest I haven’t always been a good friend when I should have been, but with life lessons and maturity I have learned what it takes to be a good friend.

1. Be a good listener. Good friends take the time to not only hear your words but to really listen to them. No one wants to talk to someone who is always talking. Take a breath. Listen. It means more than you realize.
2.  Show up. It sounds easy but not many people do it so when you find someone who shows up without being asked you have found a friend. Be that friend. Show up for the good stuff. Show up for the bad stuff. Just show up. 
   
3. Stand next to and up for your friends. When someone is your friend you don’t always have to agree with them but you should always want to stand up for them. 
   
4. Don’t talk about them. Talk to them. If you have a problem with one of your buddies tell them. Don’t tell everyone else instead of them. Real friends tell each other when they’ve done something to upset them. Be direct. Be honest. It says a lot about your character.
5. Celebrate their achievements. You and your friends didn’t learn to crawl or walk at the same time. Your successes are going to ebb and flow. It might take you a little longer than your friend to find your success but be happy for them. Cheer them on and they will return the favor by rooting for you. 
   
6. Embrace them during their failures. Life is about learning. We cannot learn if we don’t fail along the way. When we fail we need someone to tell us it’s going to be okay. We need someone who will tell us to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and keep trying until we succeed. Be that person.
7.  Believe in your friend. Believe in their dreams. Believe in their hopes. Don’t minimize any of that because in doing so you deplete the air from their balloon. No one wants to be friends with someone who sucks the air out of their balloon. Balloons make people happy. 
   
8. Allow them to be who they are and be the real you whenever you are with them. Real friends don’t have to change themselves to be friends. They love each other for exactly who they are. They love the good, the bad, and the ugly. You don’t always have to like your friends but if you are real friends you will always love them. 
   
9. Be silly, be vulnerable, cry, laugh and have fun with your friends. Don’t be the fun vacuum. No one wants to be friends with someone who walks into the room and sucks the fun right out. Don’t be afraid to have fun. Don’t be afraid to laugh until you cry, and definitely don’t be afraid to cry when you need to. Friends who are willing to show emotion in front of each other form a deeper bond because of it. The things you laugh and cry about will change as you grow older but the bond will remain the same.
10. Call your friend out if they need it. You know who they are and you know who they want to be so if you see your friend headed down a path that will take them far away from both of those places call them out on it. You might lose them for a little while but they will come back.

Life is about making connections. The bonds we form and the relationships we build enhance the life we lead. They take work but they shouldn’t feel so hard that you are exhausted from them. The relationships worth fighting for and working on will not always be obvious to you, but when you realize one is, I know you will both give them your all. The thing is, every person who comes into your life comes into it for a reason. Some will leave you and some will stay, but each one will teach you something about yourself that you wouldn’t have known without them. Enjoy the simple things. Take in the moments. Don't worry so much about the years and the memories because in the end the moments that you show up for will make up the memories that you will look back upon for years. 

To My Last Baby

When the doctor announced you were a boy and gently laid you on my chest I didn’t know at the time that you would be my last. When you wrapped your little hand around my finger and our eyes met for the first time I had no idea that it would be the last time I experienced a bond so new. When I brought you home and rocked you in the nursery I didn’t know at the time that you would be the last baby to make that nursery a home.  Looking back, I realize that just like the firsts were so very special with your brother, the lasts were just as special with you.

It’s ironic that when I first found out I was pregnant with you I was both excited and yet somehow still nervous.  I was so very afraid there just wouldn’t be enough of me to equally love you and your brother. Oh how wrong I was. The moment you were born I quickly figured out that I didn’t have to share my heart with you both, instead my heart grew bigger. It grew so big that I immediately knew having “enough love” was never going to be a problem of ours.

There of course came a point in time that I did in fact realize you were the last puzzle piece. You were the part of our family that was missing and with you our family became complete. Of course with that epiphany came the realization that you were the last baby. I want you to know that being the last baby comes with a great deal of responsibility and honor. You see your brother paved the way. He was our first, but you my love, you are our last. Your brother started our family and you completed it. The engine of the train leads the way, but without the caboose the train would be missing something. You are our caboose. 

In case you should ever start to doubt just how much you mean to me I want you to take this letter and keep it with you always.

My dearest caboose,

My love for you was big from day one and only grew bigger.  I wasn’t always good about writing down your milestones but each and every one of them is etched in my mind and they will remain there…always. The first time you called me mama, the first time you laughed, the first time you crawled, the first time you walked, and the very first time you ran and didn’t look back right away.

I remember the smell of your head. I remember the softness of your feet. That is love. Love holds onto these little moments. I remember your first day of preschool and in a blink there we were at your preschool graduation.

I remember putting you on the big school bus for the first time and knowing you were ready but doubting that I was. I wasn’t.  I remember comforting you when you were scared and sharing in your excitement when you hit your first baseball. I remember your joy of art projects and spending my days picking up scraps of paper remnants while my feet stuck to random pieces of tape. I remember knowing that I would surely miss them both.

I remember the way you passionately called every child in your class your friend before saying their name when you would tell me a story about them at the dinner table. I remember the way you looked up to your brother. I remember the way you just wanted to play with the big kids. I remember when you became the big kid. I thought I was ready. I wasn’t.

I remember the way you gave everything your all. I remember knowing you were always going to try your hardest, you were going to love big, and you were going to always be a giant light shining in the dark.

I remember the many times I smiled with pride and hid the tears as to not embarrass you, but they were there. They were always there.  With every step, every turn, every milestone you amaze me. You make my heart continue to grow.  One day I will be standing in a sea of parents watching our babies graduate from high school. I want you to know that the tears are my way of trying to let go of the baby who first wrapped his hand around my finger and the smile is my way of letting you know that it’s okay. It’s OK, because in letting go you somehow make my heart continue to grow.  In the end your brother is the engine and you are the caboose, but I am the engineer and once I get you both safely to where you are going my job is complete, which is ironic because my dear caboose you completed me.  

"and 

she loved

a 

little boy

very, very much

-even more

than

-she loved

herself."

Shel Silverstein The Giving Tree