I am writing this on Thursday, October 30th. Tomorrow would be Rachel’s 39th birthday.
After I typed that sentence, I had to walk around and compose myself a bit. Your child should never be in your past. I’ve talked before about what not to say to a bereaved parent. Pretty much any sentence that starts with the words “at least” should just be avoided. But I’m going to violate my own rule and say that, although I would give anything not to have lost my daughter, at least I have memories, and I am thankful that many of those memories were captured on camera.
So, please bear with me while I walk through some memories.
We hadn’t planned on a Halloween baby. Rachel was due sometime around October 13th. Her sister Casey was in kindergarten. We lived in Virginia at the time. My parents lived in Tennessee where my mother was a teacher and right in the middle of fall semester. So, my husband’s sister agreed to come up a few days before my due date to look after Casey until I came home from the hospital and then my mom would fly up for several days. My sister-in-law had no idea she would be there almost 3 weeks with only one pair of pajamas and three outfits in rotation.
We were all relieved when Rachel FINALLY made her appearance. I’m pretty sure my sister-in-law met my mom at the door and said “Tag, you’re it. Bye!”
We didn’t know ahead of time we were having a girl. Casey was thrilled that she had a little sister. But she was somewhat dismayed that Rachel didn’t have a huge mop of hair like she did. In fact, Rachel was almost bald until she was a year old. Casey compensated by sticking gift bows on her sister’s head whenever there was one handy.
It may have taken a while, but Rachel eventually had hair almost to her waist.
Many children who have a birthday on a major holiday feel slighted that their big day isn’t all theirs. That wasn’t the case with Rachel. As a toddler she was sure the candy and costumes and trick-or-treating were all in celebration of her.
Occasionally for Casey, the novelty of having a younger sibling wore thin and having a tag-along was annoying. Especially if they had to wear matching outfits lovingly made by their grandmother. There were also personality clashes and mutual accusations of favoritism. But, by the time Rachel started school, Casey was already in 7th grade. Their interests and friend circles rarely intermingled. Rachel was just finishing high school when Casey got married.
From around age 16 Rachel wanted a tattoo. Her dad was old-school and adamantly against it. Tattoos were for thugs and sailors. Rachel waited until she graduated from college to get inked. Her ankle tattoo was a picture of an old oil lamp and the words Psalm 119:105. Despite the Biblical reference, her dad was furious and refused to go on her graduation trip. She and her stepmom went to New York City and had a fine time together.
As a young adult, Rachel valued her independence. She excelled at her job in the transportation and logistics industry. She loved her church family, many of whom had been college buddies. She doted over her nieces and nephews. As her self-confidence grew, she came to appreciate both time with family and adventures on her own, including several overseas mission trips.
She was introduced to the love of her life by mutual church friends. They were married a year after they met and had two short months as man and wife before her fatal car accident. As a family we mourned her, celebrated her, and buried her ashes under a tree on our river property because this is where we gather to sustain each other.
Still, in the back of my mind I always wanted a marker for her. A tangible recognition of Rachel’s earthly existence. So, a few years ago, I told my husband for my birthday I wanted a memorial stone for my daughter. Placed in the beautiful old cemetery, at the foot of my parents’ graves, in my small Tennessee hometown where most of my ancestors’ bodies await their physical resurrection. He said it was not the kind of happy birthday gift he had in mind, but my wish was his command.
The pictures in this story are not all the pictures I have of my younger daughter. But the ones I have are all the ones I’ll ever have. So, I cherish them.
Just like my memories.
Laura
A Light for My Path 
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