Christmas Pontiac (Part 4)

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“Rash would presume something not seriously contemplated.  Would it not?” he replied.

“And what have you been contemplating?”

 Santa set down his coffee and fingered the rim of the cup.  “That there’s really no point to continuing in a life that was meant for the two of us now that she’s gone.”

 “But you’re still alive.  You can go on and meet someone else.  Many people have found love after tragedy.”

 “But they have something I don’t.”

“What’s that?”

“The desire to go on with their life,” he replied.  “I have no yearning to trudge forward with some new woman by my side.”

“Yes, but then cancer wins,” I insisted.  “Are you going to let it kill your wife’s memory as well as take her life?”

 Santa looked at me curiously.  “My dear man, I sold my home and car and gave all the money to cancer research.  The only thing I have left is that old Pontiac and the clothes on my back, ragged as they may seem.”

“And now you’re going to kill yourself?”

“Kill myself?”  He smiled wryly.  “Yes, I die a bit more every day, but there’s a much larger picture to consider.”

“And that is?”  I couldn’t decide if he was purposefully confusing me or had some grandiose delusion that suicide was noble.

“The man I mentioned, the cabinet finisher, inspired me to do something.  He and his wife ran that motel for years, but when she became sick, they closed it down.  After she died, he had nothing left.  When he lost purpose, he lay down and died.  I lay down to live again.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“There’s so much work to be done in this world and so few to do it.  I travel from town to town to mend the tattered homes of those too poor from illness to do anything more than feed me.”

 I stared into the eyes of the grand old gentleman and saw his sincerity.  He had become a hobo in memory of the woman he loved.  “So you’re living out of your car to help the less fortunate?  How long will you keep that up?”
Santa sipped his coffee and smiled.  “As long as there are those who need it, I’ll give what gifts I have to bring some joy into their lives.”

“How do you pay for the supplies you need like wood, nails, and paint?  Where do you get the money?”

“Donations from a select few provide all the materials.  I simply ask strangers to help and they always do.”

“Do you ever get the door slammed in your face?”

“Never.”

“People never do that?”  I found that rather odd considering his shabby attire and the state of giving in the world.

 “They go to the project, see the need, and buy the supplies without my ever touching the money.  It works that way every time.”

“But how do you find people who’ll donate so willingly?”

“Quite simple, dear man…I merely ask the One upstairs to tell me which home to park in front of.  We usually settle the matter over coffee.”

(The End…But a New Beginning)

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6 responses to this post.

  1. What a wonderful story… Great job PJ!

    Reply

  2. Awwwwwww. I LOVED this. Sniff.

    Reply

  3. Thanks, Jennifer! I’m glad you enjoyed it. 🙂

    Reply

  4. I really enjoyed this story, & loved the way you always left me wanting more after each part. A very heartrending, thought provoking tale….

    Reply

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