Forty years ago on this date, about mid-afternoon, my husband and I were headed to the hospital on Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland. FINALLY, two weeks past my due date, I was in labor. We didn’t know if we were having a boy or a girl, but we had names picked out for either. About six hours later, I was thrilled to say hello to Rachel Elizabeth Slone. She was almost nine pounds and had no hair, but she was beautiful, and blessedly welcomed. Her big sister was waiting anxiously at home with her aunt. When her daddy showed her the video of baby Rachel, she kissed the TV screen.
I’m pretty sure that birth date was the one and only time in her life she was late for anything, unless it was someone else’s fault. (Ahem, when big sister was driving.) She was embarrassed if we walked into church when the first hymn was already being sung. She was mortified to be late to school and get a “tardy.” The idea of Mama having to chase down the school bus blowing the car horn was enough to make her beg to take a sick day. And, as an adult, she felt it was rude to bosses and co-workers not to be at work on time.
Perhaps that’s why she left for Heaven so early. To those of us still on this side of eternity, thirty-and-a-half years on Earth doesn’t seem nearly enough.
But I like to think Saint Peter met her at the Pearly Gates saying, “Well, look who’s here; right on time.”
Happy birthday in Heaven, Rachel. I miss you.
Laura
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