For Jewel (Eldoich): The One Who Smiled Like She Meant It

A playful, heartfelt tribute to my niece Eldoich—nicknamed Jewel

You didn’t grow up in my arms but you grew up in my gaze--   a look-alike with giggles that spilled out when you thought I was your mom, and the trick was too funny to spoil.

You were the homework hider, the bag crinkler, the “I don’t got none” girl who always ended up laughing when the truth peeked out of your backpack.

You weren’t raised under my roof, but you knew your way to me--   after school, with untied shoes and that I’m-not-girly-but-I’m-gold energy. Tough. But never rude. Thick skin, soft heart.

When Grandpa passed, you didn’t cry for the world to see. You folded your grief into a corner, held it in your chest like it wasn’t allowed out--  until it cracked, and you needed arms, not words.

I know that cry. I remember pretending to be strong when death came for someone close. I remember being fifteen, acting like the boys because emotions felt too unsafe to wear like jewelry.

So if you ever feel that again --that tug of grief in an empty room, that wish for someone to just get it

I want you to remember this:

Even girls who don’t wear lace still carry the fabric of others. Even girls who joke, have a voice that can shake the sky when used right. You don’t need permission to be soft when it hurts, or strong when it matters.

You’re Jewel and you sparkle, even when you think you're all stone.

And I will always be the aunty who knew the trick, saw the sparkle, and still couldn’t resist loving you anyway.

Author's Note

This piece is for anyone who wore a brave face when it hurt too much to explain. For the kids who didn’t talk much—but noticed everything. For the strong, quiet ones who still needed a hug. Jewel, like many girls, was softer than she let on. And she’s always been loved—loudly, even in silence.