The birth of a child is the defining milestone of life, filled with dread, awe and the humbling miracle of life. My thoughts wander back though that

gray haze of memory to a dreamy day like so many I have forgotten, when that frantic phone call sent me rushing to the hospital. Nothing prepares you for the numb shock of realizing you have the responsibility for a new life entering this sweet world. No practical knowledge is useful when the tyranny of emotions strips you to the naked soul, and fear and expectation are mixed to a volatile pitch. All the frail and selfish lies I had used to delude myself with were rendered to ashes in the wind, as I gazed into the tunnel of life that we must all pass.

   I was a child myself those sixteen years ago, despite my age; I had never

known the bittersweet trial that was to test my knowledge and capacity for

love.  My daughter was born cesarean section, in a mass of stained gauze and glaring lights, as the doctors worked with the practiced calm of mechanics. My head throbbed and pulsed with nausea as the doctors gloved hands tugged and pulled at Kris's organs, while her hand gripped mine with a frantic intensity. Then a silence that paused the doctor's conversation fell over the room, and from the warm flesh of a women body was extracted a blood and vernix sopped squirming girl child, sweet precious angel.

   As the nurse placed Rachel on a stainless steel platter, naked and innocent, I remember thinking in a cold panic that I had no idea how to act. I felt like a bumbling clown who had forgot his lines, dumb and speechless, staring at some huge grub-worm, more insect than human. The room shrank and the air grew thin and stale, as I groped for words or actions appropriate for the situation. I was shown scissors and instructed to perform the token trimming of Rachel's cord. Kris erupted with cries of joy and pain, her face ragged and tearful.

 

   Later after we had been moved to a room and the nurses had bundled Rachel in a tight white linen cocoon, we could touch and marvel over her delicate puckered feature that were so pale. I tried to imagine movies I had seen for clues as to how I should act, the emotions were more fear than blind love. How would I care for her, what could I show her of the mysteries of life, I was hopefully inadequate for the daunting task ahead. I thought in a hidden panic that I was no father, and I knew nothing about the role.

  As the sixteen years wore on, I learned a thousand lessons of humility and hope. Rachel exposed my selfishness and anger and forged my patience and love beyond anything I could not have vaguely imagined in the small sphere of a previous life. Rachel planted the seeds of hope and love in my barren soil, and I drank up her radiance. Her laughter was opiate, her smile the drug that sustained me. When the silent angel of death returned her soul to the black chaos of eternity, I was forced to learn the second crushing lesson of parenthood, howling like a wounded beast.                 data-boy@home.com

 

 

Rachel's Mom wrote:

 

    What I remember of Rachel's birth was her total perfection. She was 6 pounds exactly. She had no hair at all which revealed a perfectly shaped head. She looked so fair and pure and unblemished. I was nervous about breast feeding... having been warned in pre-birth classes that breast feeding may be difficult. I remember within an hour of birth, Rachel just grasping and sucking at that nipple - to my surprise and excitement. She didn't need to read manuals of how to... she knew what she wanted. As I think about it all now - Rachel was always in control. She was a child with a strong will that was deep and caring... and delicate. She was born in the Fall as the trees turned golden and their leaves began to die and start their trek back into the cycle of life. It was the Chinese year of the rat. And the rat did give Rachel special qualities - smart; clever; ambitious yet honest; prone to spend freely; seldom making lasting friendships. She began kindergarten at only four years old and was always one of the youngest and the most petite in her class ... as a child and as a teen. She was also one of the brightest and most creative.

    It was Rachel who got her dad and I together 7 years after her birth. How could any two people who share such a perfect and delicate child not relate? It was then when we conceived our second child... How wonderful I thought that Rachel would not be an only child. (And now Sarah will be an only child!) It was Rachel who got us together... but it was also her who separated us 13 years after her birth. Our control of her was lost when she started middle school... though our love for her was never gone or (I believe) her love for us. Middle school was three years of misery... but then she started to grow up and shape dreams for herself. My daughter had dreams and had all the talent and skills she needed to make those dreams come true. Her teachers acknowledged those special qualities Rachel had... and she would get A's or D's... it was always up to her. Her one high school activity was not trying to be a cheerleader or something shallow like that, it was being dedicated to a day of silence that symbolized non discrimination of anyone who may be different than you... people of different color, religion, sex orientation. I am proud of who my daughter is and would never want her to be anything but Rachel.

    She was born in Fall when nature lies to rest and, only 16 years later, she died in Spring when nature is reborn. She didn¹t mean to die... she briefly played with heroin and heroin won. She left me and gave me a quest to understand life and death and make sense of such a beautiful and precious child being gone. She has taught me, and is still teaching me so much.  I love you Rachel... you are that perfect child that I have always loved and will continue loving forever.

Rachel¹s mom                                                             k.unsicker@home.com