Rachel's Story, By TreAnna B.

Rachel's Story

By TreAnna B.

Rachel Alexis Black was the type of girl no one thought twice about. She was average height and a bit chubby at eighteen years of age. She had crooked teeth and a slight lisp—both problems her family was too poor to correct. Lank black hair that held a slight curl and thin wire-frame glasses made her face look slightly rounder than it actually was. She was what would be considered a misfit in most social circles, and that's one reason she fit so well into mine.

Throughout my freshman and sophomore year many of my friends were like Rachel—poor, socially challenged, and just different . There was something about them that the average high school population just wouldn't accept. I believe I often viewed myself in that light, at least to a degree. That's how we were all drawn to each other—how we all came to belong to our little group. There are several stories that came out of my circle of friends, but none more painful to me than Rachel's story.
It begins the start of my sophomore year.

I walked out of the building, glad for the tendrils of heat that kissed the bare skin of my arms. It was always freezing in Greene County High School's cafeteria, even if there were almost a hundred people milling about for registration. After working the senior packet table for the last four hours, I finally had the chance to step outside for a ten minute break. I spotted my nana sitting in her white Chevy Traverse where she waited as my aunt and cousin finished registration activities. I walked over and got into the passenger seat. “How long have they been in there?” She glanced at the clock on the dash. “Almost an hour and a half.” I could believe it. Before I had the chance to ask her why she hadn't went inside, her face broke into a smile as a man passed by my window. “Hey George,” she called. “How’s your daughter doing?” I was so used to these types of conversations, I didn't even blink. It seemed to me that my nana knew the entire population of our county—and then again her job in Human Resources probably meant she did. “Not too good, Ms. Ruby.” George replied from my window. “I'm sorry to hear that.” Nana frowned. She waved to me as a change of subject. “This is my granddaughter, TreAnna, Becki's eldest.” The man finally seemed to notice me. “You're one of Rachel's friends aren't you?” I smiled. “Yes sir. We hang out a lot.” He turned his gaze back on Nana. “Rachel's still in the hospital. They say she may have Ovarian Cancer, but they're not quite sure. They removed a tumor from her stomach the size of a baseball last week.” The weight of his words finally dawned on me. This was Rachel's father—and she was in the hospital. With cancer. The rest of their conversation passed in a blur as I tried to fight off the tears I felt rising within me. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. “It'll be okay, Sweetie. Rachel wouldn't want you to cry. She would want you to be happy. Smile for her.” His kind words were my breaking point. The tears began to flow and I tried to scrub them away with the back of my hand. He looked back at my nana. “She's a kind-hearted girl just like you, Ms. Ruby.” His compliments and Nana's responses were lost to me as I sat trying to get over the shock of what I had heard. Rachel had cancer. I stayed on break a little longer than I should have. George eventually left and I had to get back to work. When I finally got out of the car, it was as if my entire world had changed. I walked back through the doors of the school, still brushing tears from my eyes.

The first day of school arrived quickly after that. Of course registration was only one of the various activities members of our school's leadership organization, WILDPAT, had to perform. I stood just inside the three sets of glass doors, a paper box lid full of blue R's held in my hands. I was nervous—even though this project had been my idea, and I had received approval from the sponsors. I had no way of knowing if it would be a success or not. I could just become a laughingstock. The first group of students entered, and I was relieved they were in my grade, meaning I somewhat knew them. I plastered a smile on my face, bolstering all my confidence. “Would you like to wear an R for Rachel today?” The three girls stopped and looked at me. One of them family asked, “What?” “Rachel Black is a girl in our grade here, and she was diagnosed with cancer over the summer. We're handing out R's to people to wear today and some of the WILDPAT kids are going to take pictures. Then we'll send them to Rachel in the hospital to show her that we're thinking about her.” The girls looked at each other and then reached in the box for and R and a safety-pin. They walked away, still trying to pin them onto their shirts. The remainder of my morning consisted of handing out blue R's. Not many people declined taking one even if they didn't know Rachel. That was just the way our high school worked. Like the rest of the county, it was community based, hosting a type of closeness only those who've been to the Deep South know and understand. At one point that morning, a mother came in with her son to complete his transfer from a school in Alabama. I smiled and asked again, “Would you like to wear an R for Rachel today?” After delivering the story for the thousandth time, the mother reached over and plucked an R from the stack, handing it to her son. “You're wearing it.” was all she said before she turned and disappeared back to her car.

As the days passed, guilt began to gnaw at my heart as I consistently prayed and pleaded for Rachel's healing. One thought was always persistent in the back of my mind. She's not saved and it's your fault. It's your fault because you've never told her about Jesus. If she dies, her blood will be on your hands. It was these thoughts that kept me awake at night, tossing and turning in my sleep. Most nights I could push them away, ignore that they even existed. “It's going to be okay.” I told myself one night. “God, please let it all be okay.” It was after one A.M. and I had a pounding headache from caffeine and sleep deprivation. I turned over on the couch in our living room for the thousandth time, trying to justify or rationalize my deeds—and lack thereof—for the millionth. “I know You can make it okay.” I prayed again. “I know You have the power to heal her. So please. Heal Rachel.” Sometime that night I finally fell into a fitful sleep. It didn't take long at all for Rachel's story to circumnavigate our whole county, and even though she wasn't part of any church, her name was soon the top priority on all twenty prayer lists in our county—if not more. My youth group prayed for her every night and even my fourth block second year business and communications class read and responded to the updates her mother posted on the hospital's blog. I spent at least an hour everyday keeping Rachel updated on school events—which usually included things like what was being served in the cafeteria and which grade won the spirit stick at pep-rallies. Of course, I would also talk about the things she liked: Mexicans and chickens. I've always assumed her obsession with the Mexican race stemmed from a family heritage or something. She never said, and I never bothered to ask. Chickens, on the other hand, I knew a lot about. She would show them and win prizes at fairs. She was always talking about her chickens. That was one thing I missed, I realized, Rachel's constant ramblings about her birds. I focused back on the computer screen before me and typed a P.S to my message. —Do you have any chickens at the hospital with you? pressed send, knowing that would make her smile. Weeks dragged by. Some days Rachel was doing better. Some days she was doing worse. She had her highs and lows, but she was making it—and I began to hope even harder. She would pull through. I repeated what had become my mantra: “Have faith. It'll be okay.” As the months passed, I honestly began to believe that everything would work out. I knew it would. My life adopted an almost pattern of do-not-worry. I had gone to youth that Wednesday night, just like every other week prior. We were in a transition period of searching for a new youth pastor, as we had been for almost a year and half now. We met upstairs in our youth room. The guy we had at this time insisted we sing a few hymns...and most of us did. Afterwards we sat down on the hard metal chairs and tried to tune into his sermon. It was just as short and simple that night as any other Wednesday night. He dismissed us and our group of twenty or so students stampeded down the stairs and outside to freedom. I walked out into the crisp night air, being one of the last ones to exit the building. Around me the rest of my friends were laughing and joking about. Leah jumped me from behind. I laughed and she ran away, sticking her tongue out at me in the process. For some reason I was extremely hyper. Soon I was joining everyone else as they joked with one another. I finally saw Nana's transverse and waved goodbye to Mellie and Meghan as she pulled up. They waved at me as I slipped into the back seat of the car. I closed the door and began to prattle on about service. Nana took some of the back roads, giving me time to talk. When she finally pulled up to the post office, she cut the engine. My aunt got out of the car and went inside leaving us alone in the darkness. “They're taking Rachel off the ventilator tonight.” She said quietly. At first her words didn’t' register with me. Only after my aunt had gotten back into the car and we were on our way home did I realize the gravity of her statement. Tears began to flow and as we pulled into the carport, they were no longer silent ones. Sobs wracked my body. Nana cut the engine and my aunt got out of the car. She let me sit there for a few minutes as I struggled to get myself back under control. I walked into the house, not noticing the pitying glance my cousin shot me as I walked past. I walked into the room I shared with Nana and sank down beside the bed and started crying again. At some point my aunt came in. “TreA?” I stood up and let her pull me into a hug, still crying. “Do you think it’s possible they may be taking her off the ventilator to baptize her and then putting her back on?” She asked gently. I shrugged. This was the first time I had been told she was saved. Some part of my mind wondered, When did that happen? But it was a small part and easily blocked out by my grief. I pulled away from her to see that she was crying now too. “Is there anything I can do? Someone I need to call?” I took a deep breath, trying to regain control of my breathing. “I-I need to c-call Haley.” I finally said. “Do you want me to do it?” I shook my head. “No. I-I need to. I just n-need to c-calm down first.” She hugged me once more and then left. I sank back down beside the bed and dialed my mom. She already knew. “Do you think there's a chance they'll put her back on the ventilator?” “Baby, I think when they take her off it's for good.” I sucked in a deep breath as tears threatened again. “I don't want to go to school tomorrow and I need to call Haley and I just don't know what to do.” “You need to go to school tomorrow. Maybe there will be arrangements announced.” “Okay.” “I love you.” “Love you too.” I hung up. I don't know how long I stared at the phone before I dialed Haley's number—my best friend and a mutual friend of Rachel. She picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” I could hear her sister laughing in the background. “Haley?” She immediately heard the tears in my voice and I heard her shush her sister. “Hey. What's wrong? Why are you crying?” I started to pace a small section of the bedroom. “Are you sitting down?” “Yes.” I could hear the fear in her voice and it was hard for me to keep the tears at bay. “I just found out they're taking Rachel off the ventilator tonight.” There was a heavy silence on the line for several seconds. Then as if from far-away, “Thanks for telling me.” The phone shut off without either one of us saying goodbye.

The next day at school was horrible. Haley and I met in the cafeteria just like every other morning. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, much like I'm sure mine were. “I just don't know what to expect.” I said honestly. She nodded. “Me either.” I was a zombie the rest of the day. As I made my way to homeroom English, one of my teachers and youth leader, Ms. Kandie Ham, stopped me in the hall and gave me a hug. “If you need anything today, just come to my room, okay?” I nodded mumbled and continued to homeroom. When I got there, my teacher, Mrs. April Howell, wrapped me in another big hug. “If you need to leave at any point during class today, just go. You don't even have to tell me.” I smiled. “Thank you.” At that point something very rare happened, my younger sister, Karissa, walked up and gave me a hug. I hugged her back, and realized she was crying. She didn't even know Rachel and yet she was crying...for me? Not even ten minutes into class, we get the announcement from our principle, Scott Bray. “Students, if you will, move into the gym at this time. This is going to be a Christian-based presentation. If you don't want to attend, you can sit in the library.” We all exit the classroom and shuffle to the gym. I found my drama teacher and second mom, Mrs. Jennifer McNeal and sat down next to her. Coach Bray is standing at a podium in the middle of the gym. “Last night I had the honor and the privilege to go see one of our students, Ms. Rachel Black. Her parents talked with me and they told me they were going to be taking her off the ventilator today at some point. But I know we have a God that heals and if it’s in His will He can heal her right now. I want to ask you to bow your heads and pray with me.” We closed our eyes, bowed our heads, and prayed. After the assembly, I was in zombie-mode again. There was that faint ray of hope. Rachel hadn't ...left yet so there was still hope. The Spanish teacher, Ms. Tracie Hillman, gave me a hug with tears in her eyes. “I'm here if you need anything, okay?” I nodded, genuinely shocked. School passed by. I rode the bus home without Rachel. When I did get home, I couldn't focus on anything. I was too agitated to do homework. I couldn't eat, read, write. I just couldn't function. The next day at school, we finally get the announcement, “Students, Rachel passed away yesterday at 5 P.M. She was able to breathe on her own for three hours after she was taken off the ventilator.” Coach Bray continued talking, naming the time and place for Rachel's wake and funeral, but I was once again a zombie.

The day for Rachel's wake and funeral came. It was my cousin's birthday ironically enough. Haley, Karissa, and I showed up at the funeral home, feeling out of place amongst the family members. We saw Rachel's father almost immediately. Nana gave him a hug. “I'm so sorry, George.” He smiled a small smile, “She's in a better place. When we asked about arrangements, she said she wanted it to be closed casket. She didn't want anyone seeing her like that.” Nana nodded. George turned to me and Haley. “Don't cry, girls. Rachel wouldn't want you to cry. She would want you to smile. She's not in pain anymore. We put a little chicken figurine in the casket with her. You know how she loved her chickens.” This response did solicit a small smile from both Haley and me. We both wandered off, and paid our respects to our friend. After the wake was over Haley faced me outside. “I can't do it. I can't go to the funeral.” I gave her a hug. “Okay. Well, we don't have to go.” She nodded. “I just...I don't want to see her going in the ground.” I nodded this time, understanding the words she didn't voice. Because that would make it all too real.

Two years later I stood in front of a group of girls at the second Awaken Rally to be sponsored by our school's Fellowship of Christian Students. I sighed as I looked at them. “I wasn't going to get up here and say anything, but I just felt like it was something God wanted me to do. Two years ago I lost one of my friends, Rachel, to cancer. “I had known Rachel ever since she moved here to Leakesville in fourth grade, but I had never made it a priority to tell her about Christ. I knew she wasn't saved and yet I allowed my fear to keep me for having the most important conversation with her. “When I found out she had cancer, guilt gnawed at my insides. I kept telling myself that I didn't have to get involved because God would heal her. And I kept telling myself that. Until it was too late. Rachel did get saved, but not because of me. Some man she barely knew came to her hours before she died and talked to her. “Guys, when I found out, I felt lower than dirt. Because I had never taken the time to tell her about Jesus she could have spent an eternity in Hell. And it would have been my fault. I told you this story because I don't want any of you to make my mistake. Don't be afraid or ashamed to share the love of Christ with others because you'll never know when too late will be.” I sat down amid applause from the girls I knew so well, feeling somewhat relieved to have said my feelings out loud. The following Wednesday, one of the girls that was there, Mary Grace came to me and asked me to share my testimony with the youth group. I did. But even after sharing my pain with those girls and my youth group, I still felt responsible. It wouldn't be until a few months later that I would sit down with my youth pastor, Chris and finally feel alleviated of some of the burden. Rachel's story caused me to look deeply into myself and I didn't like what I saw—a roiling black mass of fear, anger, shame, and guilt. This is perhaps the first time I'm spoken Rachel's story aloud, in its entirety. That day in Chris's office when he finally sat me down and looked me in the eye, I realized something, yes it was partially my fault for not telling Rachel about Jesus, but at the same time God would forgive me. Rachel would forgive me. I needed to forgive myself. That day I made a promise to myself: I will never sit by and allow my silence to cost me another friend's life, not matter what my voice may cost me.