Today I was standing next to my son Michael, watching another perfect sunset on the ocean horizon in Dorado, Puerto Rico.
They are all perfect sunsets with their little imperfections. Tiny or big clouds get in the way, creating a different kind of red in the sky each night.
We were both mesmerized when, in a matter of seconds, a tropical storm took over our magical moment.
My son laughed so hard trying to open an impossible umbrella while I just held onto his arm, feeling the wind and the rain in my face and forcing a smile.
We walked back against the wind to his apartment, soaked, laughing, understanding the uniqueness.
I would not trade that moment for anything else in the world.
When we got to the apartment, I was quite surprised to find out my prescription glasses were completely gone.
We went back, retracing the walk. But no glasses.
All I found was one great memory of me with my oldest son, standing there forever, with my glasses perhaps underneath a rock.
Would I ever trade my $700 glasses for that memory? Never.
I drove to Walgreens with no glasses, still raining, completely soaked in tropical rain, and got a cheap pair of reading glasses. Perfect enough, I thought.
But I spent days appreciating my eyes, remembering the days when I could so easily see everything around me.
Burned our peppers, undercooked the homemade olive oil fries and the pizza, and dreamt of new glasses so I could see my son’s face again clearly. His mischievous eyes, his intelligent and soft nature. His expression when he listens; he really listens. He may not do what I say, but he always listens.
The next day, my son stood beside me, making sure the fries cooked well.
Con cariño,
Almudena
