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.