Friday, December 01, 2006

Dear Santa...

Even though Stacy Without An E is in his (ahem) 30's, he still writes to Santa on a yearly basis. In the past, his letters have been primarily about "stuff" that he desired at that moment in his life. Due to circumstances dealt Stacy by the Hand of Fate, "stuff" just seems a little less important these days.

Dear Santa,

Hi Santa, remember me? Sure you do. You honored me with many great presents over the years and I have always been eternally grateful.

When I was nine you blessed me with the amazingly entertaining Matchbox garage. It had three stories and could be arranged into different configurations. I never could get the elevator quite right though. Every time I tried to rotate a car through the three levels the entire structure would collapse. With that simple gift you allowed my imagination to create StacyVille on the top of our huge family cedar chest.

The following year you triggered my imagination again with Brix Blox. They were a less expensive version of Lego's, but they added homes and businesses to StacyVille. I wiled away hours wondering aloud what it would be like to be an adult and own all the cool cars in my Matchbox collection. I had the Trans-Am (stop laughing, it was the 70's), the BMW with the gull doors (the only car in StacyVille that could fly) and even a Rolls-Royce.

But that next year, things changed. StacyVille gathered dust as I wiled away my youth being shuttled from one hospital to another. That's not your fault though. As time went on and my treatments began, the floor of the living room became my home. My toys became dry and listless without my creativity to give them life.

You remember, don't you Santa?

I've mused for many hours wondering what I should ask for this year. I realize I'm probably on the naughty list. Some days I'm not as nice to people as I should be. I get riled easily when people don't use their blinker and my temper is short with those who I don't believe are using as much mental power to get through their daily lives.

I could really use one of those portable DVD players so I could fully immerse myself in my movies and forget that I'm forced to endure Dialysis each and every week. Maybe I could finally block out ol' Farty Snorey they always seem to place me next to.

There's also this really cool watch at Eddie Bauer I've been eyeing too.

But none of those things would really give me an ounce of happiness. Not really.

I know what you're thinking Santa. You think I'm going to ask for a kidney.

I wouldn't dare to request what you cannot possibly give.

Last Thursday in hour two of my treatment, as I dreamed of knawing off my arm at the shoulder just to gain some relief, the idea came to me.

I just want some peace this year Santa. That's all. Some peace.

No more depressing thoughts. No more weakening pain.

I'm not sure how much peace you can stuff into my stocking, but I'll hang it dangling by my office door. I'm working through the holidays because my family won't be with me this year.

Just some peace. And maybe some quiet. Peace and quiet.

And when you're done with me, if you have any left over, feel free to splash some around the globe during your yearly trek.

You know we need it.

Thanks Santa. You rule.