Every Christmas Eve, my mother followed a quiet tradition that never made it into holiday photos. She cooked a full dinner, but one plate was always wrapped in foil and placed in a grocery bag. When I finally asked who it was for, she said simply, “Someone who needs it.” That someone was Eli, a quiet young man who slept in the corner of our local laundromat. My mother never questioned him or asked for explanations. She knelt beside him each year, handed him the meal, and offered a warm smile. Over time, I realized her kindness wasn’t about charity—it was about dignity.
As the years passed, Eli became part of our Christmas routine. Bits of his story emerged: foster care, loss, and years of instability. My mother listened without judgment. Some years she added gloves or socks. Once she offered help finding housing, but when he declined, she respected his choice and simply kept showing up.
