Rachel

This edition of our family news is not fun or lighthearted because there has been a death in the family, a type of death that I have never had to process before. If this is not something you want to read right now I recommend stopping here.

Early last Monday morning as I was preparing for the day I received this text from Kenny: “Morgan went into labor around 11:00 but the baby no longer has a heartbeat. We are preparing for a sad time. Please pray for Morgan and Jimmy.”

I felt like I had received a knock out punch from Muhammad Ali. As far as I know, there were never any health concerns with the baby who, after the gender reveal party back in the spring, was named Rachel Elizabeth Ring.

I’ve seen a lot of death in my lifetime. Looking back on my childhood, I visited the funeral home and attended funerals a lot for someone whose family is not in the business. If you only consider my relatives who live locally, I was born a full generation behind most of my first cousins (consequently, my children are about a half generation out of sync with our family) so my grandparents, aunts, and uncles were all much older than those of my classmates in school. It was only natural that funerals would be a part of my life.

This never really struck me until I got to college and I was going to funerals often enough that my friends started to take notice. I remember one roommate asking if I was going to have any family left by the time I graduated. As we talked I learned that he had only attended one funeral in his life and he was so young he barely remembered it. He asked me questions about funeral customs as if he were from a foreign country learning about the practices of a different culture. Keep in mind this fellow, like me, was born and raised in Middle Tennessee. As other conversations happened I discovered many of my friends had only lost one or two loved ones in their lives. I had, by my early 20s, lost count of how many times I had served as a pall bearer.

I have seen many people I love pass away too early due to some sort of ailment—Dad had heart disease; Uncle George, Aunt Helen, and Robert Hancock all had cancer; Mr. Kenneth (Rachel’s great grandfather) had kidney failure which lead to a staph infection—but I am glad to say that as tragic as that is I’ve not lost anyone due to an accident, military service, etc. Most have simply been old and their bodies were worn out. This is different, even different from when Ethan lost his battle with brain cancer before his 10th birthday.

I wish I could eulogize Rachel. I wish she had gotten the chance for us to get to hold her and love her and watch her grow up. That opportunity was not meant to be, and I really don’t know what to do with that. I stood there in the cemetery watching as Rachel’s grandfathers performed the honor of being her pall bearers. One thing grabbed hold of me and has not let me go.

Her casket was so small.

Caskets shouldn’t be that small.

I have always noticed headstones with a lamb on top or with dates too close together when walking through an old cemetery. Now I know just a little something of how that feels.

I went back to the cemetery Saturday night after closing Mom’s curtains. In all the searing pain I am confident of this: Rachel is in the presence of the King, basking in the radiance of our Creator. We have His word that all with be restored because death will not win. And if Rachel has hooked up with Mr. Kenneth, Uncle George, and my dad there is no telling what sort of mischief they’ve already gotten her into.

Please pray for Morgan, Jimmy, and their families.

Joe