Dear Eva,

Ten years ago today, I packed you up and brought you home to stay.  From tiny and dressed in a pink and white dress, to my own 77 pound wrecking ball who wouldn't wear pink (or a dress for that matter) if it killed her.  You have shown me what quiet strength is.

No, you aren't a typical kid.  Because typical is boring and predictable and average.

You are a pinball, a whirling dervish, a gift of life.

This year, you have changed so much.  From the quiet kid in the back of the class to the flourishing girl who can stand her own.  From the timid soccer player who didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings by stealing the ball to the first girl (and behind only 6 boys) to finish the cross country race that included much older kids.  From the whateveryouwantisfine kid to the nothanksilikethisbetter girl.  

This year, my love you found your voice.

And, you are less afraid to use it.

I couldn't be more proud of that.

You have handled every change and every struggle with a grace and a strength that I can only watch from the sidelines.  You have faced confusion and hurt and mistreatment with the kind of dignity that they name saints after.  You have continually shown me the way, and there's not a better shadow for any of us to stand in.

Eva, you are one of a kind.  Others may doubt you or misunderstand you or tell you different, but there is no one more valuable than you.

As I sang to you ten years ago, you remain my sunshine, my only sunshine,

Mama