She didn't know anything about popular culture. However she knew about The Grinch. About how he had a dog, and how he was bitter. And how he wanted to steal the children's Christmas. How he realized he only stole the gifts, and Christmas could never be taken away.
How the toys aren't Christmas sprit.
How the people forgave him.
Yes, she was familiar with the story.
However she did not talk of why only Christmas stories she was familiar with. Why the concept of Christmas was ridiculous but homey, and warming.
It wasn't Santa Clause, or Chris Cringle who kept Christmas coming. It was the essence of life that Christmas created that kept it alive. The pure honesty of a child, their smile, their laugh, their joy.
That was the meaning of Christmas- that was how it continued through each contrasting generation, through fact, through science.
It created smiles, love, gave the gift of sharing, the moment of happiness, the feel of getting a present, small, large. The fact that your family is right beside you, the celebrated meal, the time stopping smell of the tree, the swooshing nut meg.
The feel in general, it gave her light.
It made her happy, made her feel high, weightless.
That's why she knew about Christmas, it wasn't a lie, the happiness it gave everyone- the promise of Christmas was not based on a lie. It gave and it received.
Chris Cringle wasn't alive, or perhaps never was, but Santa Clause. Santa Clause in his sled. It was real, and more stable then a heartbeat. Constantly giving, sharing, loving, caring for children around the world.
Because the definition of Santa Clause is Christmas' Helper or Giver, and everyone is Santa Clause once in their life.
North Pole? Is sacred. Even to her.
Christmas even warms her cold, shaking, broken, heart.
Warms her soul, her aura, it gives her a reason to do the work she does- to seek the identity of a lost soul.
And this Christmas, her second spent with him, he is her Santa Clause and she is his.
There is no greater destiny, no denial, no vanity- only the pureness of their hearts coming together.
The clarifying sweet protection of his tongue, proving he's alive, he's there.
Yes, Christmas is proof. This Christmas is proof.
And unlike some fact, it can never be proven wrong. The purity of those feelings isn't replaceable.
No one else could give her what he gave her.
The constant proof of his pulse- therefore his heart.
Open, big, pure, heart.
Christmas had been taken away from her all those years ago, the real Christmas, and he had given all of it back. With his reassuring smile, hair flip, hug, presence he gave her every last moment of joy- the smell and the feel, that she had lost.
That was his gift. It was the best one she had ever received, more then she could ever imagine, more then she could ever ask for.