The Year My Mom Brought the Beach to Me

I’ve always loved the beach and ocean. Just listening to the rhythm of the waves as they crash upon one another, the warm feeling of the sun on my skin, the sand in my toes, the breeze through my hair and the smell of the sea easily transports me into my own utopia.

One summer I desperately needed to be at the beach where no sickness existed and I was invincible. Due to financial reasons, going to the beach was out of the question, so my Mom brought the beach to me.

We lived in a very quiet subdivision with lots of space between houses and people. Our backyard was quite and shaded by trees. There were two trees that were the perfect width apart for a hammock and below was a good place for sand. My Mom used some wood and made a sand box underneath my hammock with sea shells we had gathered from vacations past. It became my personal beach that spring and summer. I would lie in the hammock for hours listening to ocean sounds or music from my walkman, read and sometimes nap. I would feel the sun on my skin and feel my own beach sand between my toes. My beach was my sanctuary. I hope she still knows today how much “my beach” meant to me, and that I think of it often.