Last week I wrote about the matriarchs of my childhood. The women of my mother’s and grandmothers’ generations who set the example of how to be a good wife, mother, and friend. Many of these women lived long lives. My grandmother lived to be 95. My dear friends’ mother who passed away recently was 91. We had many years of knowing, loving, and emulating them.
It’s natural to reminisce about past times with these ladies. To talk about all the things we did together as friends. To bring up stories they told us about their own exploits and accomplishments before we were born. (None of which were embellished at all, I’m sure.) Oh, how I miss them!
I also talked last week about how proud I am of the woman my older daughter has become. An example of a good wife, mother, and friend. She is on her way to attaining matriarch status. (In another 20 years, or so.) I am privileged to get to see her mature and to see her children blossom and grow.
What feels unfair is that I don’t get to have that same experience with her sister. One of the hardest things about child loss is missing what could have been.
Rachel and her husband had known each other for almost exactly a year when they got married. And they only had two months as man and wife when Rachel died in a car accident. I’m sure like all young couples they had many late-night talks about their plans, hopes, and dreams. They hoped to buy a house. They were considering being foster parents. Rachel had been on two mission trips as a college student, and she was looking forward to more such trips with her husband. They were very involved as youth group leaders in their church. She was also diligently working to advance in her career.
I was so very proud of her, as well. And looking forward to being witness to her stepping in to new roles. And eventually passing the torch of matriarchy to her and her sister. Knowing they would each carry that torch in her own unique way. Teaching me to accept and appreciate those differences.
All of this was cut short.
Can you miss something that never happened? Yes. Yes, you can. Even knowing that my plans and dreams for Rachel weren’t necessarily what she had in mind. My older daughter hasn’t followed the exact path I had laid out for her, either. (And, yet she has exceeded my expectations!)
I know Rachel would have continued to make me proud. She would have made her unique mark on the world.
Well, in fact she did. She left a legacy of joy, love, determination, righteous indignation, fierce loyalty, and high expectations in others. When she died, a dear friend said that God “must have adored Rachel to take her Home so soon and she must have been quite the young woman to complete the work He had for her at such a young age.”
As much as my friend’s words touch my heart, I still will always miss what could have been. But I am comforted by the knowledge of what is yet to come.
Laura
A Light for My Path 
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