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 Maria Kubitz
We try to go to parades throughout the year, and many of them result in a collection of colorful mardi gras beads. Our daughter, Margareta, loved to wear them, as it brought out the “girly” side of her dual tomboy/girly girl personality.
Not satisfied with just wearing them around her neck, she would take her shirt off and put them across her back and around her arms, as if she had put on the straps of a backpack. When she started wearing the beads, we would remark how fancy she looked. She liked hearing it much, she started calling them “fancy beads”.
She would insist on collecting any strand of fancy beads she found in the house and hoarding them in her room. She loved them so much, she was buried with some of those beads so she could stay looking fancy forever. I keep some hanging around my rear-view mirror in memory of my fancy girl in her fancy beads.
Submitted by Maria Kubitz in loving memory of her daughter, Margareta Kubitz.
by Maria Kubitz
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
This website was inspired by the memory of Margareta Sol Kubitz in hopes of helping others work through the pain of grief.