Today is my daughter’s birthday.
If she were still alive, Margareta would have been 10-years-old. This is the sixth bittersweet celebration of a life that was over after four short years. Four years of blissful ignorance of the impending tragedy that took her life. Our hearts will ache because she is not physically here with us to blow out the candles on her cake. But today, we choose to remember all the love she brought into our lives during those four short years. We will celebrate her continued daily presence in our hearts and minds.
I can no longer buy presents for my daughter on her birthday. Instead, I’d like to share with you a few of the gifts she has given me. Not hand-written cards or tokens of her love during those four years, but gifts of wisdom she has brought into my life.
The gift of acceptance.
Most of my life, I struggled to try to change things that were not mine to change. I tried changing others. Their behaviors, their thoughts, and their reactions. Only to be disappointed every time. I tried changing the past by rewriting it in my head. I tried changing a future that hadn’t occurred yet.
Basically, if it didn’t bring me a sense of security…I tried changing it.
Margareta’s death helped me truly understand that most of what happens to us in this life is not ours to control. Only when we accept what we cannot change (and what is not our part of our responsibility anyway) can we find happiness and contentment.
The gift of appreciation.
I used to think I was an appreciative person. But then I lost one of the most important people in my life and realized just how unappreciative I had been. I understand now that embracing the little things we usually take for granted makes all the difference in the world.
Savoring that kind word or hug a little longer. Noticing a smile on a stranger’s face. Knowing that every day could be our last makes it that much more meaningful and important. I now better appreciate what I have versus always wanting something else; something more. This level of appreciation brings with it a sense of inner peace I always craved but never knew how to achieve.
The gift of courage.
For the longest time, I never felt strong. I didn’t feel strong enough to stand up for myself or leave toxic situations and relationships. I felt I was a victim and learned to play that role really well.
But when the worst actually happens to you – and you survive it – you discover a source of strength within you that you never knew existed.
In my journey of grief, I have begun to discover my courage. Courage to believe my needs matter just as much as anyone else’s. Courage to try to always speak my mind even if I fear the reaction it may cause. Most of all, the courage to learn accept myself for who I am instead of trying to become the person I thought others wanted me to be. I’ll never be perfect. I’ll always be a work in progress. But my daughter’s life – and death – has taught me that life is too short to try to be anything other than who you are at this moment. It has given me the freedom and courage to do what it takes to follow my dreams.
While my dream of watching my beautiful daughter grow will never come true, I will continue to create new dreams that are inspired by all the gifts she has given me.
Happy birthday, sweet girl. Words cannot convey how much we miss you.
This website was inspired by the memory of Margareta Sol Kubitz in hopes of helping others work through the pain of grief.
As my friend’s said to me one month after the death of my son, who on January 22nd would have been 23… Nick is celebrating his birthday with God in heaven. So is Margareta!
I know that gifts like these are not easy to come by, Maria. They are yours only if you are willing to work hard enough to recognize and embrace them, and if you are determined to do your best to live them each and every day. I see that willingness and determination in you, and I honor you for using it to inspire the rest of us. Blessings to you, and thank you ♥
I lost my daughter 5 years ago this Sept 7th. I know all about the veil…I still wear it off and on. For me the sadness is always a constant companion. I hated hearing “Sorry for your loss”….like I lost a set of keys or something. People can be so stupid.
Maria – I enjoy your posts. Thank you. I know we each have our own journey and in our own time. Two and a half long years have gone by since Robin died. Most of the time I don’t feel any stronger, although I do have “snip its” of proof it is happening. I hope that someday I will sound as strong as you do in this post. With love – Laverna
My daughter drowned much like yours may 4 2015 I am in the darkness but your posts have helped me to get further along than I ever thought possible.
Maria, you have been a wonderful inspiration for me. When I lost my son in June, I didn’t think I could go on. I have two other sons. One is the twin of the one I lost. I go on for them and my grand children. Bill was 34 when he died. He left two children behind. I need to be here for them. Between your inspirations and them, I find a lot of strength. I miss him so much. I still cry everyday. But it does get a little easier each time. I thank you for your words and thoughts. God Bless you.
Donna, thank you for your words. They mean a lot to me. I will continue to think of you, your son, and your family. Take care, Maria
What a beautiful tribute to Margareta on her birthday. I’m sure she knew how loved she was every single day of her precious life with you.
Maria, you are the strongest, bravest, most honest person I have found on the blogs I’ve been following. You have given me a beautiful gift right here in this post. I love this. Thank you for sharing Margareta’s gifts. Pretty incredible how our beloved daughters can keep us growing. Cheers!
My daughter’s birthday was on the 31st of August. It was her 3rd birthday in heaven. Vicky’s greatest gift to me was her two beautiful boys. Her gift to the world was a Hospice, honoring her selfless journey. This was a beautiful tribute to Margareta.
I love the description of the first gift … acceptance. My grief journey has just begun, less than 3 weeks ago. Maybe I need to revisit this step in the future, but for now, I don’t focus on the ‘why’ he is gone, but just the fact he is gone. My focus at this point is “now what”, and taking my first step. That is why we chose a home funeral, and that is why I think I did not experience any ambiguity when figuring out next step.