Christmas at the beach

For as long as I can remember, it was impossible to buy my mom a present. She'd learned the hard way, by losing everything as a child when they left Cuba, that things didn't mean anything at all. This made her impossible to shop for. When you'd get her a seemingly perfect gift, one that was so thoughtful and just right, she'd find a way to give it away or to pass it on, always ensuring that everyone else had what they needed before ever thinking of herself. For nearly the last decade, Christmas has meant Lewes which was the only gift I think my mom ever really wanted. Each Christmas, we'd wake up first thing in the morning, dressed in the pajamas she'd hand picked for everyone in the family. She'd wait patiently for all of us to do eat breakfast and open presents, happy to see us so happy. Never in a rush, but always eager to get going to the beach. We'd finally get there and that was when my mom really celebrated. Being together by the ocean with her family and her dogs, that's when she was home and happy and it was really the only gift I think she ever cared about. On Charlie's first Christmas, she got to be there when his tiny toes touched the water for the first time. I don't think I've ever seen her happier.