Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so: For those whom thou think'st thou doest overthrow Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me. From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow; And soonest our best men with thee do go -- Rest of their bones and souls' delivery! Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!
- John Donne
~ My dear friend, my heart breaks for you. I know Your Ashley was so sick for so long, and fought so hard through three transplants, innumerable hospitalizations, and setbacks so large it would have crushed a lesser person. But Ashley was who she was because of you - strong, funny, fighting. It's those things you carry forward with you, and those things that will bring comfort to you and her sister and brother in the days, weeks, months, years ahead without her. She will be waiting for you.
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