Member-only story
A Stone for Rachel
And the journey to deliver it
Rachel took her life nine days ago. On Monday, I walked to her apartment. I wasn’t quite sure what I would do there. I had a vague notion of wanting to clip a branch from one of the succulents on her front porch, to memorialize her somehow.
Around the corner from my house, a smooth, shiny, black stone presented itself to me in the middle of the street. Rachel was Jewish. I thought of the Jewish tradition of leaving a visitation stone as an act of remembrance. I picked up the stone, grateful to have something tangible to do when I got there.
It was a strange walk to Rachel’s apartment. I don’t know if it was the sad task and my bad mood, the toxic air from the devastating wildfires blanketing the region for the last two weeks, or what, but Oakland, California was ugly on Monday.
The air was foul. Thick and ashy, I got winded quickly. I left my son’s green face mask on the dining room table because I don’t really believe those flimsy things will help. Also because I was mad and irritable. It didn’t seem to matter.
It occurred to me as I walked that the fires may have played a role in Rachel making the terrible decision she did. It was truly apocalyptic around here, for two weeks. Today, the rain began, the first rain in many months. Palpable and intense sighs of…
