She is only happy when her feet are covered in sand. My little Evelyn. She was born early, deprived of oxygen for just a tad too long they said. She looks like other little girls her age but that is where the resemblance ends.

Evelyn is locked in her own world. Lost in a place of mystery, away from me. She is my child but doesn't really belong to me.

Evelyn stares at the waves, her thin arms rising and falling like a conductor who feels the music. The sun casts a warm halo on her head.

"Evelyn," I say softly. "Don't get to close to the water."

She squats down, her fingers sifting through the wet sand. She lifts a sand dollar up to examine it. It's brown tinged, not bleached white like the kind in the tourist shops. Gently, she puts it back down.

I point out the fins of the dolphin pod as it cuts in and out of the ocean. If she hears me, I have no idea. She continues to sift the sand.

After several minutes, she comes up to the blanket I have spread out and sits. She's close enough to touch but I don't dare.

I was so lost when she was born. There were no baby milestones. No first words, no pattycake. I remember crying, begging for God to make me understand what I had done to deserve this.

Now I thank him. Every trip to the beach is a first. Every day with Evelyn is a blessing. I see a miracle. A beautiful miracle who's innocence will never fade.

I used to be lost.

Now I have found a miracle.