Learning How to Smile Again

Learning How to Smile Again

by

When my daughter died, the pain was overwhelming. The belief I could ever feel any ounce of happiness again felt ridiculous.

In those early days of grief, the mere idea of being happy didn’t just feel impossible, it felt wrong.

One evening during the first year after her death, my husband insisted I sit down with him and our boys to watch a funny TV show we’d watched for years. My husband knew that after their sister’s death, our boys needed life to return to as “normal” as possible in order for them to cope and feel safe. That didn’t just mean regular daily routines – it meant a return to the personal interactions with us they were used to.

Begrudgingly, I sat down to watch the show. During the show, something was so funny that for the first time since her death, I actually felt the urge to laugh. Instead of laughing, I bit the inside of my cheeks to force myself NOT to smile.

The idea that I could ever be happy again felt like a betrayal of my daughter.

The logic (or lack thereof) was this: if I allowed myself to be happy, it would mean that I was okay with the fact that she had died. Looking back, the self-imposed state of misery served several purposes.

First, it was a matter of basic survival. The pain of losing a child is so overwhelming and intolerable. Many people say they feel numb early on. I think it’s similar to the body’s natural defense mechanism of passing out while experiencing severe physical pain. When my initial numbness started to wear off about three months after her death, I tried to maintain it by suppressing my emotions. Since I couldn’t pick and choose, that meant trying to suppress ALL emotions, not just the pain and guilt. In reality, this misguided effort only suppressed everything BUT the pain and guilt.

Second, when my daughter died, life as I knew it ended. I was living in a world that suddenly felt alien and intolerable. Not only did I feel like I could never be happy again, I felt outright angry that people around me were happy. To smile, laugh, and have fun again felt like it would mean that there was no longer the possibility that I would wake up from this nightmare I was in. It would mean that I would have to accept that she really did die and life really did go on without her. But I couldn’t “move on”.

In a convoluted way, the pain had become the biggest connection I had to my daughter.

I could no longer see her, touch her, hold her, or hear her sweet voice. Family and friends stopped talking about her because it had become too painful for them. The pain of missing her was what kept her present in my thoughts almost every minute of my waking hours. It’s what I talked about at the support groups I went to. Talking about her was painful because she was no longer here, but it meant I was still talking about her. I was acknowledging the continuing importance of her place in my life and in my heart.

Before my daughter died, I’d heard the old adage that those who’ve died wouldn’t want to see us living in sorrow and misery. I didn’t fully understand or appreciate what that meant until I was faced with it myself. Sorrow and pain will come no matter what. However, we often allow ourselves to get stuck in those emotions when it feels like they’re the only connection we still have to our loved one.

Over time, the notion of happiness as a betrayal of my daughter faded.

At some point, I gave myself permission to smile and to be happy again. I don’t think there was any specific moment I can pinpoint. Instead, it was a slow realization that life was going to go on without her physically here whether I liked it or not. It helped that I still had four other children – one born after she died. The joy and happiness that they bring into my life is undeniable.

The pain of losing my daughter has not gone away, but it does not occupy as much room as it once did. I chose to allow myself to smile and be happy again. And I chose to focus less on her death and more on the happy memories of my daughter’s life. I choose love and happiness, and can’t think of a better way to honor her memory.

Dragonflies, Ladybugs, and Signs From My Daughter

Dragonflies, Ladybugs, and Signs From My Daughter

by

As a toddler, my daughter adored animals. We had three cats of our own, but she loved all animals. With the exception of spiders and wild animals, Margareta always took the opportunity to hold or touch any animal she could. She loved going to petting zoos with goats and sheep, even when they were aggressively trying to get food. And whenever we saw ladybugs, she insisted on having them crawl on her. Margareta loved ladybugs so dearly, we included a picture of one on her grave marker.

Soon after her death, signs took the form of animal sightings.

A few weeks after her death at the age of four, I took her older brother to his soccer game in a neighboring town. Emotional but still very numb, I sat down on the sidelines on one end of the field away from the other parents. While the teams warmed up, I noticed a swarm of dragonflies in the air about 10 to 15 feet in front of me.

It’s important to note that I’ve always been fascinated by dragonflies, though rarely seen them in person. Until that point in my life, I’d seen less than a dozen in person and usually at a water source. As I sat transfixed by the sheer number of dragonflies so close to me, I immediately thought of my daughter and how thrilled she would have been to see them. The dragonflies stayed over the field for almost the entire game.

A few days later, I was in my home and was startled by a “knock” on the picture window next to me. I turned to see a large dragonfly had hit the glass as it was flying straight towards me. After gathering its bearings, it landed on the bottom of an outdoor light fixture to rest.

The feeling suddenly came over me that this dragonfly was my daughter “visiting” me. 

I slowly walked over and opened the door. I whispered how much I loved her and just stared. After a few minutes, I closed the door and walked away. That dragonfly stayed there for over an hour before it finally flew away.

That event was the beginning of many, many dragonfly sightings. I see both live and artistic representations of them since the death of my daughter. I know now that many people experience dragonfly sightings after the death of a loved one. Whether they are messengers from the afterlife or just a symbol of death and rebirth, the sightings are special to many people.

Almost every sighting has happened when I’ve been intensely struggling with grief or when my thoughts are focused exclusively on her.

I’ve also had similar experiences with ladybugs. Sometimes they land on or close to me when I’m intently thinking of her. Other times I will feel the need to glance somewhere specific, only to find one like a needle in a haystack in its surroundings.

For example, while on a walk with my son, he asked me out of the blue what I would do if Margareta suddenly appeared in front of us. After discussing it, I turned my head toward our neighbor’s house for no apparent reason. My gaze zeroed in on a lone ladybug upon a leaf on a tree. Without knowing where to look, it would have been easily missed.

Another time, my sister-in-law was visiting and we had been talking about my signs from Margareta. On our way to the car I felt the urge to open my mailbox even though I knew there was no mail. There, sitting on the cold metal in the dark was a ladybug under the lid.

Are these really signs from my daughter?

Could these events be my daughter channeling her energy from some other dimension to control these bugs or nudge me to look their way? Yes. Could skeptics be right and these sightings are nothing more than pure coincidence? Yes. Regardless of what anyone thinks, they mean something very special to me.

Every time I have one of these experiences, it is as if my daughter has caressed my cheeks in her little hands, kissed me on the lips, and then given me a big bear hug. They are the equivalent of hearing her sweet voice say, “I love you mama, and I’m right here with you no matter what.” I treasure these “signs” and look forward to every single one of them.

The Princess

The Princess

by

On the surface, our daughter, Margareta, appeared to be a tom-boy. With three older brothers to keep up with, she was as rough and tumble as they come, and never afraid of getting down and dirty. Her legs and knees would rarely – if ever – be free of scrapes and bruises from all the climbing and adventures with the boys. While at the baseball and soccer games of her brothers, she most often played with the younger brothers that were also on the sidelines.

With that said, Margareta never lost sight of the fact that she was a girl. While her brothers rarely, if ever, cared what clothes they had on, Margareta definitely had a unique style and a love of clothes that she somehow inherited from her dad’s side of the family. She changed outfits many times each day. She loved dresses, clothing with sparkles, pinks and purples, bows and frills. She watched princess movies and wanted to wear makeup. She was impossible to categorize. Neither “tom-boy” or “girly-girl” — she was whatever suited her in each moment.

At three, she was invited to the birthday party of one of the few girls she knew. According to the invitation, it was a princess party! You should have seen the sparkle in her eyes when she heard this. We ran to her closet to see what dresses could be appropriate for a princess. There were a few to choose from, but the decision was easy: a maroon dress with a tulle skirt and a gold knit cardigan top. The day of the party finally came, and with her princess dress on, we were off to the party at Super Franks.

When we got there, we found the princess room, and discovered that they had princess dress up clothes. The host of the party remarked that Margareta already had on a beautiful princess dress, but not one to be left out, Margareta found a matching fairy “dress” to put on over the dress she was already wearing. Then, with a tiara on top, she emerged as one of seven princesses at the party. She partook of tea and cake — and for an hour, was a princess through and through. I only have one picture that captured the moment, but will forever remember my little princess and how happy she was that day (pictured on the bottom right of the photo).

004 3

Submitted by Maria Kubitz in memory of her daughter, Margareta Kubitz.

An Old Soul

An Old Soul

by

The Urban Dictionary definition of “Old Soul” is:

“A spiritual person whom is wise beyond their years; people of strong emotional stability. Basically, someone whom has more understanding of the world around them.”

There was one moment my daughter displayed the wisdom of an old soul that will forever stay with me. She was three years old. I was home by myself with her and her three older brothers on a summer day. Boys being boys, they have a tendency of driving me nuts after being cooped up too long. Long story short, after an extended period of them not listening and causing havoc, I lost my patience. I got angry, yelled, and sent them to their rooms. It left me in an exasperated mood.

Margareta had been coloring on the dining room table while all this happened. She had just went on about her business while her brothers were being dealt with…unlike me as a little girl, who would have gone and hid thinking that the anger would find it’s way to me next. As if fulfilling my childhood expectations, my angry mood turned on Margareta next for no good reason. I snapped at her, telling her to clean up the mess of crayons all over the table. Unlike me as a little girl, who would have burst into tears or cowered in my seat and promptly obeyed, Margareta simply looked at me and said, “Mama, talk nicely to me.”

It took my breath away. This little three year old girl had enough confidence and wisdom that she could calm me down and put me in my  place all at the same time. Those magical words immediately lifted the fog of anger off of me and brought me back down to earth. To the day I die, I will never forget her words of wisdom. I only wish that I can learn to react in the same state of grace as she did when someone loses their temper around me. Or that I can channel that wisdom to avoid losing my temper.

I miss my beautiful daughter, and can only hope that some day, I’ll grow up to be like her.

Submitted by Maria Kubitz in loving memory of Margareta Sol Kubitz.

A Thanksgiving Memory

A Thanksgiving Memory

by

Thanksgiving can be a difficult holiday for those who have lost someone close to them…especially a child. Since our daughter died in late September 2009, that first Thanksgiving was almost impossible. I was horrified at the idea that there was ANYTHING I could have possibly been thankful for? In the three years since, with the pain of losing her having softened a bit, I know that I have A LOT to be thankful for. One of the things I am most thankful for are my wonderful memories of Margareta and the joy she brought to our lives. I’ll share one with you…

One year, we decided to take advantage of the week-long Thanksgiving break from school, and treat the kids to a visit to Disneyland and Southern California. Our boys were ages eight, seven, and six, and our daughter, Margareta, had just turned three a few months before. The first day of vacation, we spent at Universal Studios. We stayed there that night and then drove to Disneyland early the next morning. After a full, fun-filled day with Mickey and the gang, we drove to our hotel to check in and crash for the night. When we arrived at the hotel, we checked in and made a beeline to our room. We took with us only necessities – clothes and toiletries; leaving all the kids’ toys in the car.

Once in the hotel suite, the boys plopped down on the couch and we turned on cartoons for them, and then we collapsed onto the bed in the next room. Margareta had no interest in cartoons or the football game Dad was watching. Exhausted, I begged her to go play with her brothers so I could rest a few moments before getting her evening bath ready.

Before I continue the story, I need to give you some background information. In the months before that trip, Margareta had become enamored with putting her dolls and stuffed animals to bed. This entailed laying them on the floor, covering them with a small receiving blanket, singing them a lullaby and then kissing them goodnight. She would do this anywhere it suited her – often leaving them in the middle of the hallway or living room.

Now… back to the hotel room in Anaheim.

I lay on the bed with my eyes closed. I could hear the football game, the cartoon, and Margareta keeping herself busy in the area near me. A short time later, I hear her singing a sweet lullaby. I open my eyes and looked over at her.

Having no toys to play with, Margareta had used her vivid imagination and improvised with what she had on hand. There on the floor, she had put her brother’s toothbrush to bed. Lovingly covered with a folded hand towel, she was singing to it and then leaned over to kiss it goodnight.

Good night sweet girl. I love you!

 

Submitted in loving memory of Margareta Kubitz by her mother, Maria Kubitz.