To the Boy Who Has My Daughter’s Heart

To the Boy Who Has My Daughter’s Heart

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The day after my four-year-old daughter died in 2009, we received a call asking if we would be willing to donate her heart valves and corneas. Being believers in the benefits of organ donation for years, we agreed. I was told that day that while the corneas would only be viable for a short amount of time, the heart valves would be frozen and kept for two years. During the call, I asked to be notified if and when any were used.

We hoped her donation would help give another child a second chance at life.

Over the next few years, we received occasional grief support letters and cards from the transplant organization. But we never received any word that Margareta’s heart valves had been transplanted into someone else.

As the end of the two year time frame neared, I decided to email the organization. I wanted confirmation that there was no longer any chance her heart valves would be used. That way I could stop wondering about it. This was a week or so before Thanksgiving in 2011.

The day before Thanksgiving, I received a call from Maggie, who was in charge of donor relations. She apologized, saying that it was not noted in our file that we had requested notification of transplants.

What she said next took my breath away.

One of Margareta’s heart valves had been sent to New Mexico, but had not been a perfect fit and sent back. After that, one of her valves had been sent to California (the state we live in) and had been transplanted into a six-month-old baby boy. We have no other details, and were told that it is entirely up to the recipient’s family to initiate any contact between them and our family. I immediately started crying.

I don’t know who this boy is or if we’ll ever meet him. All I know is that a piece of Margareta’s heart has helped give him a chance to live the full life that she didn’t get. I’m quite certain that this boy and his family are thankful every day for this gift of a second chance at life.

I’d like to tell him a little bit about the girl who literally gave a piece of her heart to him.

Hello,

We don’t know each other, but our lives are now forever intertwined. When you were six months old, you received one of our daughter’s heart valves. I can only imagine it gave you a renewed chance at a long life. The heart valve belonged to our daughter, Margareta, who died shortly after her fourth birthday. While we miss her terribly and always will, we are able to find some solace that she was able to grant you the gift of a healthier, longer life. There are a few things you should know about Margareta, and my hope is that they will inspire you in some way.

In her four short years, Margareta lived life to the fullest. While she loved dressing up and embracing her inner princess and diva, she wasn’t afraid to play rough, get dirty and scrape her knees if it meant having a good time. She was game for just about any adventure and wasn’t afraid to try new things. While she never had the chance to grow up and follow her dreams, I hope you will always follow yours. I want you to know that whatever life throws your way, you will always have all the strength and courage you need to follow your heart and reach for your dreams. Even if you get a few scraped knees on the way.

Margareta also danced to her own beat. She wasn’t one to conform to what she was “supposed to be” based on society’s rules. Her creativity and talents led her to explore life from new perspectives and we encouraged her to do so. She was quiet and observant when she wanted to learn, and she was loud and outspoken when she wanted to lead. She seemed to understand life is a continual balance of opposing forces. There was a wisdom in her of someone who had learned the lessons of a lifetime. I hope that you keep your heart and mind open to all of life’s possibilities and ideas. The love of learning and ability to look at problems from a new perspective can only improve your experience.

There are many more things I could tell you about Margareta, and I’ll always be happy to tell more stories or answer any questions you may have. I would love to think that in some way she helps inspire you to fully embrace this gift and the life you have and to live without regret. My hope for you is that you live a life filled with gratitude, compassion, kindness, and happiness. I wish you the wisdom to recognize that relationships with those you love matter more than anything else. And that you always take advantage of the opportunities to let those you love know how much you care.

I encourage you to always listen to your heart, and know that a vibrant, beautiful soul once shared a part of it.

Wishing you a long, healthy life,
Maria (Margareta’s mother)

How Can I Be Thankful?

How Can I Be Thankful?

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“How can I possibly be thankful for anything anymore?”

The thought constantly raced through my head in the days before the first Thanksgiving after the death of my 4-year-old daughter, Margareta. My husband and I had managed to skip Halloween completely that year. But the anticipation of the first big family holiday in the aftermath of Margareta’s death was overwhelming.

I discussed the anxiety with my grief counselor. What should I do? Should I accept my brother and sister-in-law’s invitation to Thanksgiving dinner? What if I burst into tears at the Thanksgiving table? Worse yet, what if I developed a full-blown panic attack?

And there was no way I was going to participate in the Thanksgiving tradition of going around the table saying what we were thankful for.

NOTHING! There was nothing I was thankful for. In fact I was the absolute opposite of thankful. My daughter was dead, and never coming back.

My counselor gave me helpful suggestions. I could talk to my brother and sister-in-law and let them know that I preferred a small gathering over a big one. She said I should request that we not say what we were thankful for that year. She also suggested I sit in a chair closest to a door where I could quietly excuse myself and leave if I started to panic or cry. The advice alleviated some of my anxiety.

The first Thanksgiving went rather uneventfully. I managed to get through it unscathed.

In the years since, our family has often opted for non-traditional Thanksgiving venues.

We’ve taken our other children skiing or to amusement parks. In those cases, Thanksgiving dinner was eaten unceremoniously at restaurants. Other times, we’ve participated in smaller traditional Thanksgiving dinners with relatives. We still don’t say what we’re thankful for. More recently, we’re able to have smaller celebrations with family.

I’m much better at dealing with holidays these days. But they’re still painful reminders that for the rest of my life, my daughter will remain missing from all our family events.

The holidays get easier to handle as the years go on. The gaping wound has closed over the years, but the scar of a broken heart will last forever. Intense pain has been replaced by a quiet longing for my daughter. Rather than focusing on the devastating pain of her death, I’ll keep trying to learn to focus on the joy her short life brought us – and for that, I am truly thankful.

A Thanksgiving Memory

A Thanksgiving Memory

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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.