The Fashionista

The Fashionista

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Ever since Margareta could dress herself at the age of two, she had a very distinct style that was all her own. She was very deliberate about what she wore (or didn’t wear!).

One of her first self-styled trends was to rummage her brother Michael’s drawers and decided that his pajama tops, swim trunks, and soccer socks were the look she was going for. Other times, it was just a ultra-cool artistic combination of her own clothes and accessories.

Many times, less was more, and she chose to wear as little clothes as possible. Naked was preferable at times, but occasionally she liked to accessorize with a skirt or cape.

Costumes were always a favorite of Margareta’s. Sometimes she would create her own combinations, but other times she would just enjoy a costume for what it was.

As she got close to four, her eye for style sharpened and she pushed the boundaries of her creativity. One day, she invented her own take on “the layered look” and put on as many clothes as her little body could wear at one time. Quite an impressive sight in person (she could barely walk and her arms hung like a sumo wrestler)!

Her last trend was her most spectacular. She channeled Michael Jackson, Elton John, and, of course, Margareta. The look defies any attempt at description or commentary. The photos speak for themselves.

Miss you sweet girl!

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Submitted by Maria Kubitz in memory of Margareta Kubitz.

 

A Letter to My Daughter on Her (Would Have Been) 7th Birthday

A Letter to My Daughter on Her (Would Have Been) 7th Birthday

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Dear Margareta,

Seven years ago today, you came into our lives. Unlike all of your brothers, who arrived in some form of chaos, you made a graceful entrance. Not too long; not too short. Just right. You were the only one who allowed me the comfort of an epidural. You came with a quiet but powerful presence. You were the daughter I had dreamed of since I was a little girl playing with dolls.

While we will always celebrate your life and the joy it brought us, your birthday has become bittersweet. You are not here to celebrate it with us. You are not here to devour a cake covered with chocolate leaves, blow out candles, or tear through presents with glee.

I am left with a heavy heart and millions of questions. What would you have looked like? I find myself looking at other girls your age with wonder. What clothes would you be into now? What hairstyle? What music would you be listening to? Would you still be doing gymnastics? I know soccer was not your thing. Maybe softball?

You would have started second grade this year. Would you have become the teacher’s pet, or would you drive your teacher crazy instead because you always know how to do things better than anyone else? Would you have friends who were mostly girls, or be friends with boys too since that is who you were used to at home? Would you only have a few close friends, or would you have figured out how to make friends with just about everyone so you could somehow be the queen bee? I know these questions will forever be unanswered.

I am left with my precious memories of you, which bring comfort even on the hardest days. I will do my best to continue to write them down before they are lost over time. Even if I knew in advance how it would all end, I would have never traded a second of having you here with us for those four years. I love you more than words can ever convey.

Love,
Mama

 

Written by Maria Kubitz in memory of Margareta Kubitz

The Cup

The Cup

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One of the traditions we had with our daughter, Margareta, was that she would get a hot chocolate whenever Dad or Mom got coffee at the coffee shop. On occasion, even the “kids” hot chocolate was too hot for her taste. So, one one visit to a local Peet’s Coffee I decided to taste the hot chocolate before giving it to her to make sure it was a cool enough temperature.

Unfortunately, Margareta saw this, and when I handed it to her, she refused, saying she wanted her own. I tried reasoning with her, but apparently a strong-willed three year old is not open to reason and logic. The protest got louder in the crowded shop. Desperate, but unwilling to be bullied by a three year old into buying an unnecessary new cup of hot chocolate, I turned to the barista and quietly asked if she could take this hot chocolate and pour it into a different cup with a different design on it. She smiled and understood immediately. Then, with the same hot chocolate in a new cup, Miss Margareta was satisfied that she had gotten her own “untouched” cup of hot chocolate.

All I can say is THANK GOODNESS that Peet’s has various designs on their cups. Who knows what would have happened if we were at Starbucks!

 

We All Scream for Ice Cream

We All Scream for Ice Cream

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Margareta had a huge sweet tooth. Her favorite sweet was chocolate, but any form of sugar would suffice. She inherited the sweet tooth gene from both parents. We don’t keep dessert on hand at home because we don’t have the will power to eat sweets in a controlled, smart-portion size. So, when our family does splurge on dessert or a special treat, it is a big deal.

On a warm summer afternoon, I decided to take the kids to get ice cream at one of our town’s local ice cream parlors. This parlor is the old fashion type: wrought iron chairs around round tables and ice cream served in glass dishes. They also only take cash. After looking at the prices and how much I had on me, I figured I only had enough to buy a scoop for each of her three big brothers and then one for she and I to share. I told her she would have to share an ice cream with mom, to which she indignantly replied, “No!” But when I told her she needed to share or not get any, she sadly gave in.

When the ice cream was served, the wheels in her three-year old mind had been spinning. My little Margareta had figured out that the faster she ate, the more she would get…so she attempted to eat the shared ice cream at light speed.  She even tried to block my spoon a few times. I couldn’t help but be amused. But not so amused that I let her eat it all. It was ice cream, after all.

Submitted by Maria Kubitz in memory of Margareta Kubitz.

A New “Normal” After My Child’s Death

A New “Normal” After My Child’s Death

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What exactly is “normal” after a child’s death? Our daughter, Margareta, died suddenly a month after her fourth birthday in September 2009. On that day, in those moments, the world as I knew it shattered. Years later, I am still learning how to pick up the pieces.

I live my life as “normal” as I can. My activities as a busy mom of four active boys haven’t changed (chef, chauffeur, drill sergeant, nurse, circus ringleader, etc.). I love my family and still experience genuine joy and happiness.

But lurking below the surface is a pain and longing so deep and profound that it defies description.

The activities of everyday life usually keep these intense feelings of grief at bay. But in the quiet moments, or if something triggers me, emotions can suddenly overwhelm me like a sneaker wave on an otherwise calm day at the beach.

It can cause me to cry for no reason. Or sap my energy completely. It can rob me of any ounce of patience for seemingly “trivial” matters, and cause my brain to short-circuit and become forgetful. Sometimes it can make me feel like I’m going crazy. The list goes on. Holidays and celebrations involving family and children continue to be significant triggers for me.

My new “normal” includes regular trips to the cemetery. My new normal means having to think about how to answer the question “how many children do you have?” based on if I’m ever going to see this person again. Or cringing every time I hear, “Are you going to try for a girl?” when someone sees me with all my boys. It means looking longingly at girls in the park that are about the age Margareta would be and wondering what she would be like now?

The new normal means learning how to live with a pain that will never completely go away, but will soften over time.

Time alone will not heal this wound. Unlike the early days of grief, it might be feasible to stuff these feelings down inside and actively keep them at bay. But the longer I push the feelings away, the worse they get. Instead, I choose to acknowledge them and figure out how to accept them as part of my life as it currently is.

I seek out support from various resources on a regular basis, which helps, but it is still a slow healing process. One of the greatest sources of working through my grief is talking about it. I also love talking about my daughter, Margareta. Sharing stories about her — and all my kids for that matter — is one sure fire way to bring a smile to my face.