So I was in the mood to write (which doesn't happen often these days) and needed something original. I threw this together, thinking it up as I went along. Didn't turn out as bad as I thought it would. And I know this isn't really a House and Cuddy story, but they don't have a search filter for Rachel. But in a way this IS a Huddy, so yeah :)
Enjoy :)
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There's so much to say and not a lot of time to say it. Unfortunately, neither of us have a lot of time in this world to begin with, so things have to be cut short. When someone you love dies, you always say "why couldn't it have been your aunt?" or "why couldn't it have been your sister?" In this case, "why couldn't it have been your mom?" It's not something you vocalize to others to make them feel bad. No one knows how to grieve properly and this is one of those moments where you don't edit the words in your head before you say them. You figure no one in this world is grieving the way you are right now. It hurts, and it will continue hurting for a long time, if not forever. Tragedy struck someone who the world thought was invincible.
This is Rachel's story.
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My name is Rachel Cuddy. From the moment I was born, I was blessed. I didn't know it, but I was, regardless of the atmosphere I was brought into at the time of my birth. I had a loving and successful doctor that was willing to adopt me and give me the world at my fingertips. I was told that things didn't go very smoothly at first once I was taken in. Mom didn't go right into detail but I understood. I knew how my mom was. It took her a while to adjust to long-term things and adopting a baby changes everything, no matter how prepared you are for it. She went through post partum depression anyway. But it was her love for me that kept me around. As I grew older, I knew about babies and how tough they were to take care of. You're never really quite ready for one. I came to know this early in life.
When I was old enough to talk, I was told that the word 'mama' was the only word in this world that made my mother melt. She had to call everyone and have me repeat it over the phone. Of course, everyone found it adorable, except Gregory House. Even though he was always like that, mom said it was love at first sight between us, especially after I threw up on him when he held me. "Kodak moment" Greg would say.
He drove her insane on a daily basis, but mom loved him. My earliest memory of Greg was when I was three. He came over with a stuffed dog he had named Lancer. I have no idea where that name came from. It was picked from the cosmos he said.
Greg's visits became more and more frequent. When I was five, I didn't understand the meaning of a relationship, nor did I understand what it was like to love someone in the way Greg loved my mom. When I got older, I understood that he loved her all along but could never find the right way to tell her. I saw them kiss for the first time the day before I started kindergarten. It was a Wednesday. I never forgot the day of the week for some reason.
It wasn't long before my mom had a permanent smile on her face. Greg had moved in with us. He made her happy and before I knew it, I was calling him dad. I never had a dad and since he's the only male that ever appeared in my life at that early age, he was 'dad' to me. From what I can tell, it never bothered him. We became close. They were never married, but Greg accepted me as his own. I would go to work with him on summer vacations and try to diagnose his patients. Obviously I couldn't, so I would just keep to myself most of the time while they worked and they would play with me when they weren't. Those were some of my best memories right there. I loved being with Greg. It took a while for me to grasp his sarcasm, but once I did, growing up on it made me develop an itch to use sarcasm as well on a regular basis. I was Greg's little "junior." I could do no wrong in his eyes. I must've had a profound effect on him because before I knew it, mom was pregnant. I was six.
Honestly, can anyone out there see Gregory House with a baby? I know I can't. Or let me rephrase that—how many can see him happy at Christmas time, opening gifts with a family? Seven years old and baby Greg Jr's first Christmas, Greg hands out gifts to us and helps his son open his gift. Safe to say, I was no longer Greg's little junior. I was his little Rachel instead. How original. But since I was old enough to understand, I understood. They reassured me up and down that they loved me just the same as Greg Jr., but we all know how that goes when it comes to sibling rivalry. The oldest always feels left out. The older they are, the harder it is. They no longer have mommy and daddy paying their fullest attention to them. But I had to be the big strong girl. I have to admit that I did feel like an outcast. I was the adopted one here.
I felt that way for the longest time. And then I entered my crazy mixed up teenage years where everything was cool, except your parents. Boys came at me left and right the second I hit eleven and entered puberty. I discovered a lot of things about myself then, including that I was quite the looker. Even though I was adopted, I looked more and more like my mom every day. I had dark, wavy hair and her bright blue eyes. The boys could see this blessing as well and since I was very outgoing, I made some poor choices in life. I don't know where it all went wrong, no matter how hard I try to think of it. Mom and dad were so supportive in what I wanted to do with my life. They never told me "no, you can't do that." Instead, mom said that if I wanted to try something I wasn't supposed to, that I should talk to her first. No mothers are like that. It's always "you smoke pot, you're grounded for a week." Or is it the rest of your life? Are parents still using that threat? Maybe if mom and dad were more forceful on me instead of giving me the option to come to them, I wouldn't have made such bad decisions. Giving me the option to come to someone I thought was "uncool" in my teenage years didn't exactly prompt me to want to talk. I'm sure a lot of you teenagers out there know what I'm talking about. But because I didn't listen to my mom, and since I felt unloved and unwanted more than once in my life, I tried drugs, I smoked pot, I slept around. I didn't realize how good I had it at home and I wanted more. My friends loved me, my mom and dad didn't. That's what ran through my head. They didn't care. Why should they? I'm adopted. Greg Jr. is their real baby. I was just a replacement. I was unwanted.
I felt this way for years. And then I became pregnant at fifteen. Most pregnant teenagers would either shrug it off and continue their crack-head ways, get an abortion, or have it be so profound that they change their lives around. I was in that small category. I was scared shitless. I know I had to change for this baby. Abortion was not in my vocabulary. But I couldn't go home. How could I face my parents? How can I tell them I was pregnant? What will they say? What will they do?
I'll never forget their faces when I told them. Imagine that—fifteen and pregnant. I know they blamed themselves. Mom blamed herself especially. It hurt so much to see the look on her face. She was disappointed, but not at me. She hated herself. It was the same with dad. That's what made me wake up. Not once did they yell at me for it. I heard mom crying that same night while they were in their bedroom. She said she failed as a mother after all.
My eyes opened after that. I vowed to be the best mother out there. Dad helped me through withdrawal, for he was an expert on that one. All I would need to push me along was the look I saw on my mom's face when she was hurt. It was imprinted in my mind and would be that way for a long time.
I only wish I cleaned up my act sooner. When I was eight months pregnant, mom died. No one knows why. One morning, she didn't wake up.
It hurt knowing that the world would never see those beautiful blue eyes again—the eyes that had so much love and care for every individual out there. It weighed my heart down to know that the last time I saw those eyes, we were arguing over the stupidest little things about nothing. I was hormonal and it was pointless. I picked fights and said some hurtful things to her. I hate myself because the last time I saw her was when we had that argument and her face the last time I saw it will be how I see her for the rest of my life. I won't see her smiling, or laughing. It's always the way you last see the person that gets imprinted in your mind.
Lisa Cuddy was supposed to be invincible. How could her life end at fifty-six so abruptly with no explanation? She may have been made of steel and brought out the big guns when she made a valid point, refusing to give up on it. Sometimes that wasn't enough. Tragedy can strike at any point to anyone. I was just too naïve to understand that and because of it, I lost what I could've had with my mom growing up.
As I stand by my mom's graveside five years later with a beautiful girl I named Lisa, I tell her the wonderful things I've accomplished because of her. I know she'd be proud. Even though I was adopted, I was still her first.
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