The Sister I Never Knew

In the spring of ’97 my mom told me, my brother Nathaniel, and my sister Alyssa that she had some good news. She sat us all down in the living room and said,

“I’m going to have a baby, and her name is going to be Rachel,” everybody was in such high spirits it was like the world had stopped for those couple of minutes while we celebrated. Life was so joyful those months anticipating Rachel’s arrival. While we were waiting for Rachel to arrive we were living with my great aunt in a big, old house with a huge barn that had a ton of old tools, wood, and it always smelled like tobacco from a pipe that my great uncle used to smoke. The house had a big yard were I could play with my dog Zippy. Zippy was a big, fat German Shepard-Golden Retriever mix that couldn’t swim but was a mighty fine sinker. She also was a very obedient and protective dog that loved kids. My family had a lot of fun there, and some great memories.

But on December 2, 1997 disaster struck, I was at my aunt’s house sitting on a big fluffy couch watching the sparks from the fire jump up the chimney like fireflies escaping from a jar. My dad came back from being with my mom at the hospital with a look that I will never forget. A look so downcast he looked liked he had just lost the one thing most important. He said to me “There’s something wrong with the baby, the doctors… they couldn’t… couldn’t find a heartbeat… and I just want to let you know that this isn’t yours or anyone’s fault. Its not because you did something bad and are being punished for it.”

I was so stunned that I didn’t know what to make of what was going on. I had so many questions, but didn’t know how to say them. Like, is the baby dead, is mom dead; I just didn’t know. Also I didn’t know if my questions would hurt anybody in the room. So I just sat there as all these thoughts were flying through my head. But as I was worrying about everything else, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to hold this baby and play with her.

And how I longed to hold that baby and play with her like I did with my brother. But now that little bundle of joy is gone, that same baby who one month ago was alive

and kicking in my mother’s stomach. The shock of it all came so fast, I didn’t really believe-no I couldn’t believe it was true.

A few days later my dad and me went to the funeral home and gave a tall; well dressed man, in charge of funeral home, a the little; blue outfit. My dad asked him,

“How much would it be for a nine month old?”

“ Nothing, we don’t charge for anybody under a year.” The man said. While my

Dad and the man were talking I was looking around this huge house with vast stained glass windows and lofty ceilings with pictures of flowers on them. The place was shadowy, damp and had sort of a spooky feel to it.

When we got in the car I asked my dad,

“Why’d we do that?”

“It’s for Rachel to wear”. He said. It was kind of a stupid question because I already knew the answer; I was just trying to make conversation. The car ride home was a long and quiet one. Though I tried to talk to him, I just couldn’t think of the right thing to say. I felt so bad for him; I just wish I could’ve said something to make him feel better-to make me… feel better. The eerie silence was killing me; I couldn’t take it any more I had to say something.

“So ja see the sox game last night?” I said.

“No, I didn’t get the chance.” He said. I felt so stupid after that I just wanted disappear.

Then the next thing I new it several days later and I was sitting in my church for the funeral looking at a little; white casket in the middle of the room with the beanie baby duck that my sister gave to her, and the cross drooped over it; that I gave to her. Not really listening to what the pastor was saying but one part caught my attention He said,

“Rachel wasn’t born into this world but was born into the hands of God.” While I was thinking of that I was staring at the picturesque stained glass windows and smelling the coffee from last Sunday still lingering in the building. I realized that Rachel’s in a better place because she’s home and now she’s free, Moreover that I didn’t have to worry because maybe God took her away for the reason that she might have died in a more painful way. Plus, if she had died when we knew her more and had played with her and loved her more, it would have been harder for everybody. I was thinking of this stuff, as though, to try and not think of what was going on around me. But when I did look around the service was coming to an end and my cousin was crying with my whole extended family crowded around him to try and comfort him. Then one of them came over to me and said,

“Why aren’t you crying?” as though I was supposed to be crying. Then she said, “ You know the pastor said it was ok to cry.” I didn’t say anything; I just stared at the ground until she walked away. Her saying that just made me feel even worse, right about then is when I just wanted to run away. But there’s no way to run away from the pain.

A few hours later we were driving to the cemetery with the most people I had ever seen at a funeral. When we got there everybody was standing around my grandpa George’s grave, Rachel was going to be at the foot of his coffin. Everybody was silent for a few minutes, but then my aunt stepped forward, put some flowers on the coffin and said,

“I’ll miss you Rachel…”

“We’ll all miss you.” said my farmor

“But I’m glad you don’t have to suffer through all the cruel things that this world has in store.” Then my aunt stepped back and started to cry again. Nobody else had much to say so the funeral director stepped up and said a few words. Then everybody talked and they started to trickle out and go home.

Even though some of the memories of her are in the little, blue box on the windowsill, with her foot and handprint; her little, pink cap; and some pictures. Thinking of her is still hard. Although those are good memories, the best ones are in my head. Those 9 months of feeling her kick; and hearing her little, tiny baby hiccups from inside my mom’s stomach were some of the best memories.

Even two years later everyone’s still a little sad around Christmas. Just as every Christmas passes, so the pain of the bad memories goes too. I suppose someday I’ll get over the hurt, but the good memories of her will never go away.

What made dealing with Rachel’s death even harder is that Zippy was a trash picker and she would sneak out on trash night but we would catch her, and when she came back with a real guilty look on her face. But one night she got out and we didn’t notice so a car, around the same time Rachel died, hit her.

Even though She’s gone and miss her I have a new baby sister to hold and play with. In the pictures I have of Rachel she looked a lot like my new sister Michaela, and probably would have acted, almost, the same. Even though Michaela takes most of my attention; I will never forget Rachel and the joy of watching her grow for those short, but wonderful, nine months inside my mother’s stomach. Never forgetting is the key to great memories, because if you forget there’s nothing to hold on to. Even though you sometimes want to forget, later on in life you will wish you hadn’t.