February 24, 2013
My sister has finished her earthly journey. Death came in the evening, February 16, as she lay sleeping, her family gathered around her.
Thank you for your concern and support during this long goodbye. I am sad and incredibly weary. But this is a time of hope as well.
John Donne, one time Dean of St. Paul's, wrote:
Death be not proud, though some have called theeResting, as God’s post-Easter people do, in “the sure and certain hope of the resurrection of the dead.”
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those who thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure—then, from thee much more must flow;
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones and soul’s 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.
Next week’s story is tentatively titled, “You’re a good man, Charley Brown.” See you then.