For Eva on your 9th Birthday

Eva,

Today you are nine and even as I write those words, I can’t quite believe they are true. I know it’s a cliche but it genuinely feels like only yesterday I sat here, completely terrified as to whether you would make it safely into my arms, hoping and praying with everything I had in me that we’d get to keep you, to take you home, and to watch you grow into the most incredible little girl we always knew that you would be. And here we are, nine years on, and you are everything I had hoped you would be, and more than we could ever have dreamt you would be, and you will never know just how much we needed you to heal each of our hearts. Our beautiful little rainbow, you are still brightening the very darkest of days.

I found it really hard to write your birthday letter this year Eva, painfully aware that although right now the impact of the pandemic lies heavy on our minds, in years to come when you look back on your eighth year, there are so many more wonderful moments I want you to remember. What I will say is that lockdown was hard for all of us, and all three of your siblings struggled with it absolutely, but it is you who felt it the hardest, who expressed it the loudest, who cried more tears than all of us put together, and it broke my heart at times to see your whole world turned upside down.

And whilst it would be very easy to sit here and focus on the days you spent in tears, surrounded by work books and print outs, banging our heads off the walls with frustration over fronted adverbials and your complete inability to trust your own capablilities, that wouldn’t be a true reflection of your year. And although I could write line after line about how much you missed being at school, your friendships and your Grandparents, your freedom to do the things you knew and loved, nor is that the year I would want you to remember.

At a time when COVID has already taken away far too much of your childhood, I refuse to let it take away a single minute of your memories, so what I will tell you is this. The year you turned eight saw you grow into the kindest, most resilient, bravest and most beautiful little girl inside and out, and I was so proud of you at every step of the way. You learned so many valuable lessons this year about life and about loss, about disappointment and genuine fear, about who and what truly matters, and that ultimately, together was your favourite place to be.

And so I want you to remember a year of no distractions, no time restraints, no busy schedules or tasks to fulfil, a year when the world stood still but we didn’t stop living; when every day was still an amazing adventure, no matter how mundane, how repetitive or how exhausting it felt at times. I want you to remember the days when Lewis had all the time in the world to spend with you playing football, watching movies, letting you sneak chocolate nibbles from the back of his wardrobe. The year you were determined to beat Harry at Mario Kart or defeat Bowser on level five, when you would hoist him up onto your shoulders and race around the playroom in celebration, causing me to jump up and screech, “Don’t drop him!” on repeat. The year your Meggy never once left your side, through every good day and every bad; the year you realised that at a time you only had each other, how lucky you were to live with your very best friend.

I want you to remember how although the things we could do together were limited, your imagination had never been greater and you loved thinking up new ways to break up our days, to come up with exciting suggestions, however crazy some of those were! A year when picnics together on the lawn were met with shrieks of delight, when you wore your finest party dresses for afternoon tea in the sunshine, when rollerblading in the park before bed was the highlight of your day. A year you hatched tadpoles and made daisy chains, when you’d splash in the paddling pool from morning til night, when your hair went lighter and your skin went darker, when you’d slurp ice lollies together in your pyjamas as the sky grew dark.

I want you to remember the feeling of that first day at the beach when lockdown lifted and how you had kicked off your wellies, peeled off your jumpers, and ran into the sea with wild abandon. I want you to remember the taste of the sea salt on your lips, the feel of the sun on your face as it broke through the clouds, the sound of your laughter as the waves crashed above your leggings rolled up to the knee, and the look on your face that said “Who cares?!” as you ran in deeper. I want you to remember how it felt to experience our first taste of freedom in such a long time and how as we had drove home in contented silence, with soggy bottoms and sand between our toes, we knew that better days were on the horizon.

I want you to remember the feeling of that first time we drove to the airport at 3am in July, when the promise of adventure had been so welcomely received, and how as the plane took off and our tummies lurched you had squeezed my hand so tight and I just knew that you had needed this escape, just as much as I did. I want you to remember that first morning waking up to the sound of the ocean in Crete, the all you can eat breakfast in a fancy hotel, how your eyes had almost burst out of your head at the selection of donuts, pastries, chocolate milk and fresh watermelon. I want you to remember those blissful seven days when masks were cast aside, when strangers could touch and fear didn’t exist, when the weight of the world was lifted from your little shoulders and you held your head high for the first time in months.

I want you to remember the hottest day in Chania when we had walked for miles just to find cold water, the windiest day at Elafonisi when you had cried with panic every time sand blew against your legs, the excitement of seeing stalactites and stalagmites at Sofia caves, worth the hundreds of steps we had climbed to see the view from the top. I want you to remember the days when seeing the world through your eyes made my world so much bigger and so much brighter, when I could barely even bring myself to look at the smile on your face without a lump rising in my throat.

I want you to remember our Summer in Italy and how you came into your own with a new found confidence we had never witnessed in eight long years. How you made friends, led adventures, masterminded plans and enchanted the group with your wild tales and hilarious jokes. I want you to remember that right there and then, basking in the sunshine amongst rolling Tuscan hills, you have never been happier, and nor have I.

I want you to remember how amazing it felt to eat gelato on the streets of Florence, to walk hand in hand down the most picturesque of streets, stopping for pizza or fresh lemonade, enjoying the sun on our faces and the world at our feet. I want you to remember our visit to Siena and how you spent the whole day telling Meggy and Harry, “I’m the boss of this place because we have the same name!” and how they had simply rolled their eyes and said “Eva, it’s not even spelt the same way!”.

I want you to remember your amazement at visiting Pisa, how you had pushed the leaning tower and delighted at seeing the photo on Daddy’s camera. I want you to remember how you had agonised over which keyring to buy for Lilly, which postcard to send home to Nanna and Grandad, what time you could FacetTime Lewis to tell him about all of the things you had seen and tell him how much you wish he had been there to share it. I want you to remember how every single waiter in every restaurant told you that you were “Belissima” and how we literally couldn’t walk down the street without the old Italian ladies smiling at you and Meggy and your waist length blonde hair. I want you to remember how your happiness lit up your face like moonbeams just like in the Roald Dahl books we had read together earlier that year.

I want you to remember our trip to London and how you had marvelled at the view from The London Eye, fell in love with the penguins at the Sealife Centre, and giggled from behind your mask at Shrek’s Adventure. I want you to remember your excitement at double decker buses and red telephone boxes just like in the movies, your curiosity at the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace, your hesitation at the armed soldiers outside Number 10, and your amusement at Harry’s extensive knowledge of Pudding Lane.

I want you to remember our Autumn adventures, when the leaves turned orange and the skies grew grey, and how our weekends were filled with woodland walks, hot chocolates and marshmallows, pumpkin picking knee deep in mud. I want you to remember how even when lockdown kicked in again, we still felt like the luckiest people in all the world to have such wonderful Summer memories to see us through.

I want you to remember how brave you were taking part in a Halloween photo shoot, how your cheeks had flushed to see yourself on the posters inside our high street store and your silliness when you would tell me that it was a good job you were wearing a mask or people would be queueing up for your autograph. I want you to remember our Halloween party at home, how we still dressed up in our very best costumes and played Halloween twister and sang karaoke, and ate our body weight in Haribo and to hell with the sugar rush.

I want you to remember your excitement when Christmas came around and Nanna and Grandad could sit around our table for the first time that year, how you had refused to leave their side the whole day long and how you said it was the best Christmas gift you could ever have asked for. I want you to remember your complete disbelief when the snow came down and how we had rushed outside to throw snowballs and make a snowman who you immediately called “Bob” and later, a smaller one, “Skinny Bob”.

I want you to remember every single good day, every single happy moment, every single time Harry made us laugh until we cried, or Meggy smothered you with kisses until you’d be gasping for breath. I want you to remember how good it felt to snuggle up after a long walk in the woods, how hot chocolate on a cold day has never tasted so good, how the highlight of our Saturdays was The Masked Singer, cuddled up in our onesies shouting “Take it off!”.

I want you to remember how eight was the year you fell in love with sloths, when you earned the nickname Slothy McSloth Face and spent your days drawing sloth’s, talking about sloths, pretending to be a sloth, and dreaming of ways you could convert the under the stairs cupboard into a home for a real life sloth. ” We just need to get a really really hot radiator and some leaves!”…..

I want you to remember that the year you turned eight was a wonderful year Eva, no matter what others may say or you read about in history books in years to come. Despite everything, regardless of how much education you lost or precious time you missed out on with those you loved, you learned a thousand times more than you would have in a classroom, and you made so many wonderful memories to regale your grandparents with each night on the phone. And I want you to remember that during a year there was so much sadness in the world, you brought so much joy into ours.

Happy 9th Birthday Eva Sienna, our beautiful little rainbow and the one who healed our hearts.

Love you all the stars in the sky,

Mummy

xxxx