by Abby Miles
I lost my dad 4 months ago to liver disease. He had been battling with it for a year and a half after being told he only had 6 months to live. My favourite memory was meeting my dad. As he isn’t my biological father, I did get to meet him when my mum was going to take me and my younger brother to meet him at his work. I remember walking up to him and the first thing I remember noticing was his eyes. My dad had deep blue eyes and it felt like you could drown in all the different hues of blue—like an ocean and sky mixed together. He made plenty of jokes that day and it was the start of our 9 year long journey together as a family.
He was the best dad ever and he sacrificed so much for us. He took on the role of our father without a second thought and within 2 years of knowing us he married my mum. I miss him with all my heart and have recently moved out to go to university. I am reminded of his bravery every day and his strength to survive his disease for us and our family. He made me proud and I was proud to be his daughter.
Submitted by Abby Miles in loving memory of her dad, Paul O’Hare
by Maria Kubitz
The difficult thing about memories is that they fade. Most every day moments are lost to time. Even special days. I have lost the memory of the last Mother’s Day I spent with my daughter, Margareta, in 2009. I’m sure it was nice and an enjoyable day, but nothing so extraordinary that it stands out in my mind.
Margareta’s preschool teacher – who is now teaching her little brother, Paxton – reminded me this week that she and I participated in the preschool’s Mother’s Day tea party a few days before that last Mother’s Day. It brought up a fuzzy memory of sitting across from Margareta at a small table sharing cookies and Peet’s tea. Then she presented me with one of the best presents I have from her: a wooden heart with her hand-written message, “I (heart) you mom!” (It still amazes me that at 3-1/2 years old, she was able to write!) She also decorated a wooden box with paint and flowers.
That fuzzy memory and my keepsakes will have to be enough.
Mother’s Day remains hard for me. I have four wonderful boys who will honor and show their appreciation for me, and I will savor their love and affection. But underneath the surface will still be the painful longing for the daughter who won’t be there to hand me the card she drew or the lovely gift she made in school. I won’t feel the warmth of her hug or hear her beautiful voice tell me she loves me.
I will do my best to temper the sadness with the reminder that I had the privilege and honor to be the mother of that amazing little girl who loved and adored me with all her heart. And that is something I will never forget.
Submitted by Maria Kubitz in loving memory of Margareta Kubitz.
by Maria Kubitz
I was just watching TV and saw a commercial for a local street fair in a nearby town that my family has been to before. All of the sudden a forgotten memory of my daughter, Margareta, popped into my head. What a wonderful, unexpected gift.
We had gone to the street fair about four months before she died in 2009, when she was 3-1/2 years old. I remember our family walking along looking at booths and stores when we got sucked into a local toy store. Margareta loved most toys, but stuffed animals and puppets were her favorite, which is what she gravitated to.
After a little while, I recall that we saw a little pony ride with miniature ponies on a side street. To my knowledge, Margareta had never been on a pony ride before, so we decided to let her go on it. Boy, was she happy. Her eyes were beaming and her smile was as wide as the Cheshire cat.
Afterward, we continued walking up the street. We saw a booth that was giving away balloons and got a white one for Margareta. As we were walking away, I wanted to tie a slip knot on the string and put it around her wrist so it wouldn’t fly away if she let go. Being her normal strong willed self, she refused. I was stern in my warning that if she refused and accidentally let go and lost it, we would not go back and get her another one.
Saying that my daughter was headstrong would be an understatement. When I was telling her this, I was leaning down so that our heads were on the same level. She looked me straight in the eyes and with a serious expression, purposefully let the balloon go. Honestly, I don’t know exactly what she was trying to prove, but she was very deliberate in her actions.
I don’t remember her crying, but as we walked on, she was sullen and unpleasant, and it was obvious that she was testing my resolve. The rest of the memory is fuzzy, but I do remember this: she ended up getting another balloon! Apparently she won that battle with me.
Not every memory of my daughter is a sweet one. She was a normal child, and mixed in with the wonderful times were difficult times. We had our frustrations as well as our love and fun. But now, every memory up until the day she died is precious to me because it is all I have left. I am very, very happy to have gotten this one back.
Submitted by Maria Kubitz in loving memory of her daughter, Margareta Kubitz.
by Stephanie Loughery
I lost my ex-husband, Bill, (father to my 3 children) last July 2013. The grief struck me hard. He fought the disease of addiction. The addiction won the battle. He was just so tired and took his life. I too have seen signs via several ladybugs and one dragon fly. I believe wholeheartedly it was him trying to comfort me and let me know he was ok. I found aliveinmemory.org via a search on ladybugs and afterlife. I believe more than ever in life after death now.
by Gabriella Burman
Our oldest daughter, Michaela Noam, was a lively, intelligent, beautiful child who has cerebral palsy. She was thriving despite her physical limitations, and she elevated our existence and gave purpose to our lives. She unexpectedly passed away on May 23, 2009 at age 5 and a half, leaving behind not only her devastated parents, but also two younger sisters.
I had been a devoted special needs mother. I have not returned to writing and much of my non-fiction work — essays, memoir — has been published. It all has to do with Michaela. As well, I continue to fiercely advocate on behalf of the special needs population. You can follow me on Twitter @gabriellaburman.
This is a photo of our gorgeous, beloved, delightful Michaela, age 5.
Submitted by Gabriella Burman in loving memory of her daughter, Michaela Noam Kaplan.
by Purva Verma Khanna
Hi,
I lost my husband to lung cancer just two months ago. On 22nd Jan at 3.30 am. He battled with the disease for 3 years. We were married for 7 years. And together for a total of 15. Everything I know and have learnt, is from him. He was my best friend, my boy friend, my husband, my father, mother, my sister and my brother.
Losing him slowly, everyday to the disease was painful, but nothing had prepared me for losing him to death. We were prepared for the inevitable, but nothing can prepare you to live through the inevitable without your partner, who you prepared with… I miss him very single minute of the day and night.
All my memories are with him, of him and about him. From learning to e-mail, or to use the computer properly, way back in 1998. To learning to drive, traveling to different countries, eating all kinds of food. Everything.
All my conversations were always about my experiences with him and about him and us, our life, our love story, our stories. Period. Now I can either just speak about him or not at all. I have no words to talk about anything else other than him. It’s almost like I have re-learn everything, from social graces, to conversation topics, to living my life on my own. Restarting my career. Everything. And every place I visit and re-visit, for real and in my head, it’s all with him.
It’s a process I know, it don’t have an end, and neither does it have a set pattern or map that I can follow. And it is my journey and only mine, alone. I’ve never really done anything without him. But it is nevertheless, my only option. Taking it a day at a time. The only and only philosophy that has helped me so far.
May everyone find their peace, in this journey in some way or the other.
Purva
Submitted by Purva Verma Khanna in loving memory of her husband, Sachin Khanna.
This website was inspired by the memory of Margareta Sol Kubitz in hopes of helping others work through the pain of grief.