Dear Margareta,

On September 1, you would have turned eight years old. It will be the fourth birthday we have to celebrate without you here to celebrate it with us. The fourth time we have to sing “Happy Birthday” while holding back the tears. After this month is over, you will have been gone longer than you were alive.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You were supposed to live a long, full life. A life full of adventure. A life full of creativity and quirkiness. You were supposed to continue to surprise us with your choices and path in life. You were supposed to be my best friend and confidant. You were supposed to continue to challenge my status quo and widen my horizons. You were supposed to…

Whatever you were “supposed to do” was lost the day you died. My dreams for you will never come true. I am left sitting here holding my shattered dreams of raising a daughter. I kindly brush off the question, “Are you going to try for a girl?” when some stranger sees or hears I have four boys. I can’t bring myself to prolong the conversation by saying that I already have a daughter…because the pain that comes with that statement still feels like a knife was just stuck in my heart all over again.

Despite my continuing anguish over not having you by my side, you still continue to teach me each and every day. You have taught me a deeper appreciation of life than I could have ever imagined. Everything has more meaning now. The joy I have learned to feel again is that much sweeter. The love I feel is that much more profound. The respect I have for this earth and all its gifts is that much more substantial. I pause longer and savor the beauty around me more than I once did. And while the sadness and violence throughout this world can now be overwhelming and bring tears more easily, I feel more compassion than I did before because I now understand pain that transcends words to describe it.

I am no longer satisfied to just “survive” life as I once did. I am no longer able to just bury painful emotions and pretend that it will magically get better someday. I now truly understand that our lives require a lot of work, and we cannot just sit idly by and blame others and lament that they are not acting or being the way we need them to be. I have fully learned that only I am responsible for my own situation and path in life. That is not to say that I don’t still falter and fall back into old bad habits and thoughts. But now that I have seen this gift that is life so quickly taken away, I am compelled to keep moving forward whenever I stumble.

I look forward to your many signs and whispers to me every day. They not only remind me of your continuing presence and importance in my life; they keep me grounded in the moment. They keep me tuned to love. For if I have learned anything from both your life and your death, it is that love is always within us, around us, and the way through. I often hear other parents faced with the tremendous pain of losing a child ask, “How do I go on?” Many times, both I and others answer, “You just do. One day, or one moment, at a time.” But the real answer is love. Our love is what gets us through the darkest moments.

Margareta, it is through you that I’m able to fulfill a lifelong dream. Since I was a little girl, I’ve known that I want to help people. I’ve never quite known how, but here it is. I’m helping others through their grief by being honest about my own. I’m able to show others there is hope. I do this in your name and in your honor. With only four short years on this earth, you left an indelible mark on the hearts of those who knew you, but you weren’t able to make your mark on the world. Here is your mark. You are helping others make it through their darkest hours. And you’re leaving your mark through love and compassion.

Your light shines on, and it shines ever so brightly as it did while you were here with us. You truly are our sunshine, and I continue to bask in your loving light.

With all my love,
Mama

Written by Maria Kubitz for her daughter, Margareta Kubitz