Growing up, every Christmas morning, I would come downstairs and walk past the sun-room, where the Christmas tree was. I would avert my eyes to avoid catching a glimpse of the presents that were waiting. I dug into my stocking, pretending to be excited about toothpaste and candy. The anticipation would build and build, and I would soon find out if Santa brought me what I really wished for.
I jumped out of bed a year ago this morning and went downstairs. It felt like Christmas morning. I averted my eyes, let the dogs outside and fed them, waiting patiently for them to get settled. The overwhelming excitement in the pit of my stomach was getting stronger and stronger as the moment came closer.
Last year, Santa came early. He gave me everything I wanted.