by Maria Kubitz
I remember you arrived in the aftermath
of hurricane Katrina
You turned my world upside-down
but in the best way possible
I remember you sleeping peacefully
surrounded by many stuffed animals
who would later become
your treasured playmates
I remember your smiles and laughter
intermixed with a quiet seriousness
as if you were contemplating
the mysteries of the universe
I remember how excited I was
when your hair was long enough to put in pigtails and braids
and how you pulled them out
because you preferred your hair free and messy
I remember the many pretty dresses
you loved to wear
and how they showed off your scrapes and bruises
from playing rough and keeping up with the big boys
I remember you asking me to sleep with you
pulling me as close as you could
face to face and noses touching
giving each other eskimo kisses
I remember your intelligence and confidence
as you started to navigate your own way
through this confusing world
and how I wished I could be more like you
I remember the joy
I remember the love
I remember you
every day and
with every breath
Submitted by Maria Kubitz in loving memory of her daughter, Margareta.
by Deb Jones
There is a time in everyone’s life when everything seems to come together like the pieces of a puzzle. We have to share the gift of our faith and of God’s love, and demonstrate how God even shows it physically to us. In my case, it is a rock – a simple rock picked up off the ground and handed to me by my child. Big Deal? How many times do our kids give us rocks, leaves, bugs?? How many times have you missed the message God sent to you through a child? I know I have several times, I wasn’t always watching, or listening close enough.
Jeremy had been sick off and on that winter (everyone was sick with colds or flu). It was Wednesday, and we were walking down to John’s shop to get into the car. I took Jeremy to school each morning to St. Joe, then would drive to the Cleaner’s where I worked (they were only about 3 blocks apart at the most). This was just an ordinary day, like every other day, as far as I was concerned. Little did I know ..this would be our last day like this.
I remember Jeremy bent down and picked up a rock and handed it to me. I asked, “What’s this for ?”
One of us said “Something to hold on to”. Being a typical parent on a typical day, I put it on the seat between us, and forgot about it.
Jeremy stayed home from school the next day. He was not feeling well so I let him stay home. I did not leave until 8:30 and would be home at 11:00 for lunch. Pooh and Shawn would be in and out during the day. And John would be home by 3:45. No problems, just a typical day in the lives of a typical family. That was Thursday, remember.
Jeremy had a restless night, I got up and sat with him during the night. At one point, he said, “Mommy, as tired as I am, you’ve got to be more tired.” I said, “Baby, when you go to sleep and get some rest, I’ll go to bed…” I covered him with a quilt. We held hands and I said, “I love you, baby,” and he said, “I love you too, Mommy.”
I know I dozed a little later. I woke up when my chin hit my chest. I looked at Jeremy who looked like he he was sleeping peacefully and I went to bed. I looked at the alarm clock. It was 2:30. I get up in 3 hours to start my day for work. I went to sleep.
The next thing I remember was John’s voice, moaning and calling my name. I went into Jeremy’s bedroom. Our son had died in his sleep. My baby was gone from his body.
I will not go into all of details from the next few days. That is not the purpose for me to write this down today. I feel like I should move onto the next part, ok? Please bear with me?
Jeremy’s funeral was on Monday. It was painful, sad, and beautiful. There was so much love around us, yet each of us felt alone in our own thoughts and emotions. Grief does that to you.
We hugged a lot, cried buckets of tears, and moved deliberately step by step. I was afraid to stop, for fear I could not begin again if I lost momentum.
Pooh and I went to do some errands on Tuesday. This was the first time I had driven my car since Thursday. I put my hand down to fasten the seat belt, and my hand touched “The Rock”. The words “something to hold onto” held a different meaning this day. I carry that rock with me now always.
Sometimes it is in my pocket, sometimes it is in my purse, but it is always with me somewhere. John picked upon the rock, but never knew the story in the beginning. He went up on our roof to get one of the rocks that Jeremy used to knock up there with a tennis racket… John still carries his rock in his pocket every day.
A plain ordinary rock…like the ones we see every day…but we ignore. We just cannot always see the meaning in all the little signs that we are given every day. We get too busy in living our crazy lives, and we miss the things that God has given to us. “His Love is the Solid Rock” that we should “Hold On To”…and never set it down.
Now I am asking each of you to pick up a rock, keep it for yourself, or give it away to some one who needs to be encouraged. Tell them it is a gift from God, through the heart of a child. Then pass on Jeremy’s story and what he told me with his rock. We never know if it might be our last chance to make a difference in their lives — or in our own life.
Hold onto the Rock! Peace be with you always, Debbie.
Written Sept 27, 2006
Submitted to Alive in Memory by Deb Jones in loving memory of her son, Jeremy.
by Maria Kubitz
Even from a young age, Margareta could keep herself occupied for long periods of time. Whether playing with toys or using her imagination, she would often just sit intently and concentrate on whatever it was she was doing. I appreciated this time, as it allowed me to get things done, whether it be working from home for my job or doing chores. I remember one particular time when she was 1-1/2 years old that had a funny result.
Margareta was sitting in the living room/dining room combo and occupying herself with a toy, sitting on a chest that had the kids’ art supplies in it. I was busy doing chores nearby. The chest is on the other side of a half wall separating the kitchen and dining room, so I couldn’t see exactly what she was doing, but was close enough to keep an eye and ear on her. After a little while of silence, I checked in on her and found the following:
What impressed me the most was how detailed she had been…even getting the bottom of her feet:
Miss you sweet girl!
Submitted by Maria Kubitz in loving memory of her daughter, Margareta Kubitz.
by Jill Ritts
In 2010, I had crazy mornings. Getting four kids out of the house by 7:20. But we did it. I’d wake everyone up for a quick bowl of cereal in front of “Full House.” Maddie always asked for “Ciminin toast crunch, no milk” At two and half she had figured that if she skipped the milk part of the cereal, she would be the first to eat. Smart little bugger!
Anyway, once in the car we would drop Anthony and Shannon off at their school. Wait in the car until they were crossed by the crossing guard and then make the u-turn to get the 4 year old Julia off to preschool. Julia had quite the case of separation anxiety and every morning at about this point she would begin crying. Madison and I would do our best to comfort her as I inevitably had to carry her into the school building. All parents know the routine, no lingering, give the child to her teacher and walk away quickly, but Julia would always ask if Madison could stay…”Next year Julia.” Madison would inform her big sister as we were flying out the door.
Maddie was last to be dropped off at the babysitters. Alone in car she would ask me to put on Cornfllake girl (Fornflake girl) by tori amos. And then she would sign along real loud until 2 blocks before the sitters house. At this point she would got completely quiet and put her head on her shoulder. I would turn down the music and get out of the car real quietly and open the back down. While unstrapping her car seat I would ask “are you real sleeping or fake sleeping?” Madison would answer quietly “I’m real sleeping.” I would carry her in my arms like a new born into the house were I would inform the sitter, “Shh, Madison is real sleeping,” as I placed her on the couch. I would whisper my goodbyes as we all played along with game, and finally head off to work.
Submitted by Jill Ritts in loving memory of her daughter, Madison Ritts.
by Maria Kubitz
Margareta’s baby brother, Paxton – who isn’t much of a baby anymore – just started preschool this month. He is about the same age as Margareta was when she started, and he goes to the same preschool she went to. While there are many, many similarities between Margareta and the brother she never met, there are some very distinct differences. Paxton is a very outgoing kid. He often says “Hi” to strangers he sees in the store or on the street. He often introduces himself to other kids on the playground in an effort to play with them. He rarely acts shy. Margareta, on the other hand, was very choosy who she let see her talkative, vibrant side.
While she was loud and boisterous with her family and close friends, strangers would have to earn her trust before they were allowed to see that side of her. Often, she would meet new kids at her brothers’ baseball or soccer games and shadow them quietly, waiting for the right time to inject herself into their play. She would charm adults with her sparkling eyes and coy smiles, but rarely open her mouth around them. And yet, if she were interested in something they had (snacks, shade on a hot day…), she would inevitably, silently get it from them like a snake charmer.
This shy, quiet side of her seemed to be amplified when she first started preschool at the age of three. The first day I dropped her off, she was fine. No tears. She was happy to be there. But on the second day, she saw another girl crying when her dad dropped her off and it occurred to Margareta that she was supposed to do that too. It then took a few weeks – and bribes of chocolate – to get her to stop crying when being dropped off.
About a month after she started, we received an invitation to a classmate’s birthday party. I thought it was a good opportunity to meet some of her classmates and their parents, so Margareta, a couple of her brothers and I went. It was at a local park. We were one of the first guests to arrive and decided to play a game together as we waited for the party to officially start. Margareta was being her normal self – the normal side we were used to. Then I overheard the birthday boy remark to his mom about Margareta, “She can talk?”
I laughed out loud hearing that. And so did her brothers. Boy…if they only knew.
Even though Margareta LOVED preschool and talked about all the wonderful things there, apparently she was still her shy, quiet as a mouse side while she was there. Even a month or so after that when I was dropping her off, I stood by her side while she told her favorite teacher about what she did during spring break, only to hear another girl remark, “That’s what her voice sounds like?”
I do know that Margareta made friends at preschool. She loved Bianca, and talked about her often. I’m not sure why it took her so long to open up to kids at school. Perhaps it was that most of the kids in her class were slightly older than her. I’ll never know. I just know that I miss my loud, talkative, often outrageous girl who could sometimes appear quiet as a mouse to others.
Submitted by Maria Kubitz in loving memory of her daughter, Margareta Kubitz.
by Todd Nigro
Six-year-old Ellie was always watching people. One day, she noticed that I was leaving encouraging sticky notes around the house for Mommy. She informed me “Daddy, where is my note?” She was irresistible! I began to write her notes and leave them where she would find them. I always wrote her one because it made her so happy (even if Mommy didn’t get one sometimes).
Ellie learned and wanted to give back. She began to write notes and cards to everyone. She took it to a whole new level! Her nice words are on all the neighbors’ refrigerators and were delivered to her swim team coaches. She always had time to write a nice note.
One day last year, I came home for lunch. Just before I left, I was walking out of the garage to my car and I saw Ellie run across the driveway as fast as she could. She darted around the back of the house. I walked up to the car and saw her last sticky note to me. It touched my heart and I put it over the tachometer, and that is where it was for the last few days I had with her.
Ellie was killed in a tragic accident. What a wonderful memory for me. I love you too, princess, you are the best daughter ever!
Submitted by Todd Nigro in loving memory of his daughter, Ellie Ruth Nigro. This was originally published on www.ElliesWay.org/blog.
This website was inspired by the memory of Margareta Sol Kubitz in hopes of helping others work through the pain of grief.