BEGINNING

This is not really the beginning, as in the beginning of Rachel's life. This is the beginning of grief. I want to get the story down before I forget. I won't forget her. Ever. But I may forget the story.

An HR person from work, whom I have not seen before or since and one of the supevisors, Aaron, came to my desk about 2:30PM, Monday July 30th. She (whoever she is) said your husband is here, log out of your computer, bring your stuff and come with me. Of course, I freaked. Big time. "Why?" says I. "We don't know why your husband is here, usually when a spouse shows up at the workplace it is serious". I knew immediately, before I said why, before they said anything that Rachel was dead. I joked with them and said "Maybe it's his father, he's 97". I was hoping. I took the long walk and saw John. He walked over to me put his arm around me and said"You should sit down". I said "No, let's go outside". We walked outside and John said that the Jeff (my brother-in-law and a cop) called. The police had found Rachel dead in her apartment, they didn't think she took her own life, but that's all he knew.

I went back inside work, and said "It's my daughter, she's dead". The HR lady said "We'll take care of everything, Go, you need to be with your family." My first thought was how I could possibly tell the girls. I didn't want to go home, but instead I insisted that we drive to the girls house and tell them. John drove. John had a number for the coroner who wanted me to call her right away, so I did. She confirmed that they had Rachel, Jeff had verified that it was Rachel and she advised me they were going to do an autopsy the next day, I gave a verbal ok. We then continued driving to Long Beach. We parked somewhere. I opened the gate and came up the stairs. Sarah opened the door. She saw that I was crying, she was asking me what was wrong, I finally said "Rachel" and she was saying "NO NO NO NO NO" I managed to say yes, and barely said "She's dead." Sarah wanted to know how, and I said I don't know some kind of overdose, not intentional. Sarah was hysterical and threw herself on her bed wailing, her boyfriend was there to comfort her. I laid down on Keturah's bed in the other room.

While I was lying on Keturah's bed, Rachel flew away. I saw Rachel running as fast as she could, flying really, she looked back to smile at me but I got the feeling she didn't have time to wave. All I could see was a long flowing gown, and then arms, picking Rachel up and throwing her up to heaven. And then she was gone.

John was sitting down by the gate, smoking, and he had the same sensation of Rachel running and then being lifted up to heaven. Hallelujah.

Rachel

Here's the other story. Rachel. Rachel was my first-born, beautiful daughter and she died. Died at 29. The End.

Nothing else seems important about me, my children, my life, the universe except this, Rachel was my firstborn and she is dead.

The only reason why I am trying to write is because I want to leave something to her son, Jacob, or as he calls himself" Jacob Alexander Halloween "Boo!" Thanksgiving Chaffin Wall. I want him to know that he was loved and cared for by a wonderful, fun, expressive, flighty, emotional, loving mom, Rachel. When he is grown, I want him to know he lacked for nothing in his first five years because he was loved, freely and with great passion by his mother, Rachel. I want him to know that he was the fattest baby anywhere because she nursed him all the time and he was attached to her always. I want him to know that she delighted in his every squeal and taught him what a hexagon was. I want him to know that she listened to Thomas, the tank engine over and over again with him, because she loved him, not because she loved Thomas, who is inane at best. I want him to know that she hocked her engagement ring to help pay for a lawyer so she could keep him when she and his dad started the fight about custody. I want him to know that she died because she was trying to keep the pain away, not because she was trying to be away from him. I want him to remember the love, the affection and the kisses that were always his and his alone. I want the five years to last. the rest of his life and to comfort him when times are bad. I want him to know all this and much, much more.

I miss you, I miss you and Jacob barely got the chance to know you.

Beginning

It irks the heck out of me that my best friend, Robin, wastes her time reading my ex-husband's bog. Oops, I mean blog, or maybe I did mean bog. Rhymes with Fog, and that's what the years of my marriage to him are now. She has to spend a lot of time at the computer sitting with her son , a brilliant, and I'm talking genius level gent while he completes his homework. Why does she do that? That's for her to answer. Anyway, I am jealous. JEALOUS! And her answer to all that is "Start your own blog (bog) and I will read that. So , here it is, just for you, Robin.

Now, the reason why I called the blog (bog) DANGITALLLIBBY is because of my frustration at finding a name for the blog. I thought of REFLECTIONS, or MUSINGS, and I actually went so far as to sign up Libbysmusings, but dangitall somebody had the name already. I tried libbyslibbyslibbys but somebody else obviously has heard the stupid song a gabillion times just as I have and used it first. Ms. Computer was kind enough to offer up libbyslibbyslibbyslibbys but it just doesn't sing-song well enough. So I just said "Dangitall!" Now those of you who know me, already know that is a BIG FAT LIE, and know what I really said, but I am TRYING to stop the vicious cursing and be a good girl. So there you have it. The blog, DANGITALLLIBBY

I must mention that my other BEST FRIEND FOREVER, Sherry, might be upset that I said that Robin is my BFF. Well, guess what, you are also my BFF. Best Friends are best in twos, like legs, or breasts or arms or legs or hands. One will work in a pinch, but two are best. Now, you know my childhood, Sherry and Robin, best friends with me for 40 plus years which is a miracle, since I turned 29 again this year. So did my darling Rachel, and she will stay 29, but that's another story.

Kisses and Hugs, Libby

Libby