Why every person needs to read this heart-wrenching essay a man wrote about the death of his 2-year-old daughter

I have two children. And in a life full of uncertainty, it’s hard to remember they will inevitably leave, somehow, someway. In this heart-shattering essay written for the New York Times, writer Jayson Greene shared a story about the death of his daughter — little two-year-old, Greta. The essay serves as a reminder to hug your loved ones close — not just your children, but your friends, your parents, your significant other. Everyone should read it in its entirety. Soak in it, and—whether you have children or not— walk away with a newfound gratitude for the life you live, and the life around you as there’s no guarantee when it will end.

Greene writes, "My daughter, Greta, was 2 years old when she died — or rather, when she was killed. A piece of masonry fell eight stories from an improperly maintained building and struck her in the head while she sat on a bench on the Upper West Side of Manhattan with her grandmother. No single agent set it on its path: It wasn’t knocked off scaffolding by the poorly placed heel of a construction worker, or fumbled from careless hands. Negligence, coupled with a series of bureaucratic failures, led it to simply sigh loose, a piece of impersonal calamity sent to rearrange the structure and meaning of our universe."

The author goes on to say Greta underwent emergency brain surgery. She was declared brain-dead. He and his wife donated her organs though, days, weeks, and months after her death would, understandably, torment them.

He goes on, "The incident was freakish enough to be newsworthy. Requests for interviews flooded our email while we still were at our daughter’s bedside; television trucks trawled Manhattan looking for us. When we left the hospital, I caught my daughter waving at me from the corner of my eye. A picture of her from my wife’s Facebook page was on the cover of The Daily News."

His powerful imagery of now having a second child — a son — has proven to be of the utmost challenge as he’s realizing how complicated the forever-grief process is.

"Lying on the floor, talking to my son in soothing tones and jingling bright, interesting-looking things in front of his eyes, as I did with his sister, I yearn for him to feel his sister’s touch. Then I remember with a start: We were never going to have him. We always said Greta was enough — why have another kid? I gaze in awe. He wouldn’t exist if his sister had not died. I have two children. Where is the other one?"

The comparisons of Greta was a baby seem to be an ever-present reminder that she is no longer there. He goes on to ask a question, I think, all parents have (or have had at some point) and it’s an important one.

What happens when that child is swiftly killed by a runaway piece of everyday environment, at the exact moment you had given up thinking that something could take all of this away from you? When I am on the playground years from now, watching my son take a fall from the monkey bars, I might not panic. But some part of me will remember: A heartbeat can stop. ...Children — yours, mine — they don’t necessarily live.

A heart-breaking thought that a child — yours, mine, anyone’s — may not live. It makes me pause to consider this with my own children and honestly, I can’t bear the thought. The author does end on a positive note, though.

He writes, "But life is good: Greta loved it. She found every second of it delightful, and at its best when appreciated with others. I think of her hand touching my cheek and I muster up every drop of bravery I can: 'It is a beautiful world,' I tell him, willing myself to believe it. We are here to share it."

Our hearts are certainly with the family. You can read the full essay, “Children Don’t Always Live,” on the New York Times website.