Do They Even Remember Your Name?

Do They Even Remember Your Name?

by

Margareta.

For the four short years you were in our lives, your name was spoken more times than I could ever possibly count.

Not just by me, your dad and brothers, but by a multitude of family and friends. We spoke it, sang it, and wrote it every day. You corrected people on the pronunciation of your name by emphasizing every syllable. “My name is Mar-Gar-Eh-Tah.” Your name was part of the daily fabric of our lives. And we took it for granted that it always would be.

And then one day…it wasn’t.

On the day you died, a wave of shock and despair hit everyone who knew you. It took our breath away and left us speechless. Nobody seemed to know the right words to say to make sense of this sudden tragedy. But they tried their best to offer us comfort. They showed their support in condolence calls and cards.

Many quoted the bible, and offered us sayings they thought would soothe our broken hearts.

“God needed an angel.”

“She’s at peace in the arms of Jesus.”

Others just spoke their hearts in the simplest way possible.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. I don’t know what to say.”

“I can’t believe she’s dead. I feel sick.”

No matter the words spoken and whether they resonated with me or not, I felt supported. I felt our family wasn’t alone in our horror.

But then the funeral was over and everyone went home to resume their lives. The cards stopped coming. The phone stopped ringing. And yet our grief was just beginning. It didn’t end the day we buried you. It grew.

How could we go back to living our normal lives if you weren’t here to live it with us? And how could the earth keep spinning? How could people keep going about their daily business – laughing and happy – when everything in our life had been ruined? The feeling was maddening.

Occasionally we would get a call to see how we were doing. But it was never about you.

It was always about their concern for us and how they could help support us. They didn’t mention your name. While I was filled with gratitude to know that people still cared, all I wanted to do was talk about you and how your absence in our life was suffocating.

Over time the calls of concern stopped coming and were replaced by invitations to get back to our previous routines. We were invited to parties, dinners, outings, etc. We were encouraged to get back to the land of the living. At first, we often declined, but the invitations kept coming. And your name was virtually never mentioned.

Years after your death, your name is rarely said. Virtually the only way I can still hear your beautiful name – Margareta – is if I say it. I have to bring you up in conversation.

It makes me wonder whether people still think of you. It makes me fear that you are already forgotten.

After all, you were only here for four short years.

I’m not the only one who feels this way. This is a common topic – and source of despair – at grief support groups. Those who are bereaved live in a world where those we love remain at the forefront of our thoughts. This isn’t just in the first few months or years after your death. It is for the rest of our lives.

We may even get chastised from family and friends who want us to get over your death and get back to being the way we were before you died. Like that will ever happen.

I’ve heard many times a few theories of why people never say your name.

First, they think it will remind me of the pain of your death. As if that pain has ever gone away. If they only knew that hearing your name eases the pain…even if just for a brief moment.

Second, they don’t know the “right” words to say. I suppose it is a twisted interpretation of the phrase, “If you don’t have something nice to say don’t say anything at all.” To which I reply, even if they say something that doesn’t come out quite right, at least they’ve shown me that you’re still on their mind.

One of the greatest gifts someone can give to me is the act of saying your name.

Not waiting until I bring you up in conversation. Or only mentioning you on your birthday or the anniversary of your death. But any time they happen to think of you . Even if just for a brief second. I’d love to know that outside of our immediate family, we’re not the only ones who still think of you, love you, and acknowledge that you existed.

Margareta. How I love hearing your name.

The Keepers of Your Flame

The Keepers of Your Flame

by

When you died, the whole world did not mourn you.

You were not a celebrity, a world leader, and didn’t make the nightly news. You didn’t invent things that changed the world and will not end up in history books. But you made an indelible mark in our lives and in our hearts.

You meant the world to us.

You are our spouses, mothers and fathers; our grandparents, sisters and brothers. Our favorite aunts and uncles and cherished cousins and friends. You are our children; who may have only lived a few precious years or never even lived to take your first breath.

Long after the funeral is over – long after the rest of our world appears to have forgotten you – you stay fresh in our minds. We think of you in the quiet moments. When your favorite song comes on. Or when we see something we think you’d have liked…or hated. We think of how you’re missing from the special occasions in our lives. In our times of sorrow, we wish you were here to give us the hug and reassurance we desperately need from you.

We think of you.

Your legacy is not that of the job you held or the number of houses or cars you owned. It doesn’t matter how much money you made or how much influence you had in your community. Your legacy is that of tender moments and loving embraces. It is how wonderful and important you made us feel while you were with us. It is the smiles you put on our faces and the laughter we shared. Even if we never got the chance to hold you.

You mattered to us.

Your body died, but you live on in our memories. You live in the sparkle of our eyes every time we speak your name or hold you in our hearts. There will never be a time when we don’t remember you.

We miss you and love you.

We are the keepers of your flame.

Her Favorite Things

Her Favorite Things

by

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens…”

My daughter, Margareta, never got to sing this song from the Sound of Music, but my guess is that she would have loved both the song and the movie. She died before she was old enough to see it. I was recently asked what things she liked while she was alive. So, with the catchy tune playing in my head, here are a few of Margareta’s “favorite things”. I’m quite certain this doesn’t nearly capture them all, and they are in no particular order.

Her Thumb
Margareta is in the midst of a long line of thumb-suckers. I have an ultrasound of her sucking her thumb in the womb. As soon as she got any sort of control over her hands, she started sucking her left thumb. No one was going to be able to get her to stop until she wanted to. No one.

Stuffed Animals
Just like all of my children, when Margareta was brought home from the hospital, her crib was lined with stuffed animals. Unlike any of my other children, Margareta was the only one who actually loved stuffed animals. She played with all of them, and had a knack for finding them in other people’s houses – especially households that didn’t have little kids in them. When she found them, she would gather all of them in one big pile, as if to have a stuffed animal conference.

Books
Margareta loved books to the point where she would sit and “read” them by herself in her room even though she didn’t know how to read. I read her three books at bedtime, and other times throughout the day. Books were so important to her that they could be used as motivation for getting her to do something she didn’t want to do. All I’d have to say is “No bedtime books if you don’t…” and she would immediately give in. She loved books so much I had to keep adding bookshelves in her room to hold her growing collection. She would sit patiently and listen to books that were written for children much older than her. After she died, her Aunt Cindy – who with her friends had built a school library for a Mayan community in Mexico –  named it in honor of Margareta. It is called Biblioteca del Sol (Sol is her middle name). We think it is a wonderful way to honor her.

Chocolate
Actually, anything sweet would do, but chocolate was her favorite. Having two parents with major sweet tooths, she inherited that gene in full force. I’ve already written about her affinity for ice cream. We would use chocolate to bribe her on occasion. We used it in potty training and for getting her to stop crying when being dropped off at her new preschool. When she ate trail mix, I had to institute the rule of five raisins and nuts for every one M&M. On her third birthday, I made chocolate leaves on her cake which left such an impression on her that she asked for them for her fourth birthday cake.

Stealing George
037George is a black gorilla. He belonged to her big brother Michael, who snuggled with George every night at bed time. Margareta took great delight in stealing George and hiding him from Michael. Michael was not very amused, but then again, isn’t annoying big brothers what little sisters do best?

Dress Up
Margareta LOVED playing dress up. We had a huge collection of costumes, but any clothes would do. Whether it be unusual combinations of her own clothes, dressing up in her brother Michael’s pajamas and soccer socks, or her latest favorite costume…Margareta would change clothes as often as she could. I think of it like a singer changing clothes between songs during a concert. The only problem was any clothes she took off would be left in a pile on her floor, which meant her room was constantly messy.

Puzzles
From an early age, Margareta became a master puzzle solver. She quickly became bored of the baby/toddler puzzles where you fit pieces into corresponding shapes, so I introduced basic jigsaw puzzles. To my amazement, I had to keep getting her harder and harder puzzles to do because she would figure out how to put them together so quickly. Her favorite puzzle was of an underwater scene with fish, octopus, jellyfish, lobster, etc. It was one of those large floor puzzles that was bigger than her.

Animals
Margareta loved animals with a passion. One of her favorite books was an Amazon animal alphabet book. She delighted in going to the zoo, and aside from spiders, she never seemed shy about approaching or petting animals no matter what kind. She would quietly watch the deer who came near our house for afternoon snacks or a drink of water in our pond. Margareta began naming the deer; usually nonsensical names that were hard for me to repeat, but I remember clearly one deer who had lost a hoof was endearingly named “Rock Star”. She also had a soft spot for dogs. No matter how big, she would want to pet them and talk to them. I remember our friend Jimmy telling a story at her memorial service that his son was amazed that she was brave enough to try to hug their dog, who was taller than she was. When asked, “Why isn’t she scared of him?”, Jimmy answered, “Her love for him is stronger than any fear she might feel”. I couldn’t have said it any better.

There are many more favorite things, but that will have to wait for “Her Favorite Things: Part 2”.

What are some of your loved one’s favorites? I’d love to hear.

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