I don’t remember the moment she told me. Only the minutes (hours?) of tears that
followed. Crying in the only place where no one would bother me. The only place where
my many siblings wouldn’t be, where my parents wouldn’t interrupt. Grieving in the
bathroom on the second floor of my family’s home on Blackbird Lane. My best friend
was dead.
On some level, I suppose I must have known that the day would come. After all the
hospital stays and treatments and years of watching her be ill, I suppose I knew that
someday I would hear that her body had given out. But did I understand that at age 4?
At age 7? Or when she died, at age 12? When we bought matching dresses to wear to
church, when we were baptized on the same day, when we sang together at the school
talent show, when we went on field trips to San Francisco….did I know? Did I
understand? Did she ever talk about being afraid? I know she never ever complained.
Were we so enmeshed that we didn’t have to speak the words to feel it together?
After she was gone, all I had left were the memories in my heart and the photographs
we loved to take. Photographs and polaroids where we were silly (why we thought
pointing at the mushrooms growing in her yard after a storm was so funny, I don’t
know), or times when we were too serious, or when we were doing the things we loved.
Trips to the coast, camping in the redwoods, hugging and smiling and enjoying life.
Even now, she is in everything that I love. We were together, we were deeply
connected, and I had the proof. And when she was gone, that was all I had left. No
more hugs, no more sleepovers, no more listening to New Kids on the Block, no more
walks to the store to get Fun Dip. No more watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and
fighting over which one we were going to marry. I would grow older, I would get married,
I would become a mom. And Rachel wouldn’t.
Because of her, I was acquainted with loss at an early age. But also because of her, I
was acquainted with abundance. I was acquainted with courage. And I knew how it felt
to have a soul sister.
I take photos to honor the life she didn’t get to live, and to gift others with the proof that
they lived, they loved, and they are worth remembering.
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