Our hearts are full today. Meredith’s mother Margaret died Monday. She had suffered a major stroke a few days before and passed away quietly Monday evening, without regaining consciousness.
It is hard to find words to express what she meant to us and how we feel. Margaret was fond of John Donne’s poetry, including this famous one, which she could recite in large part from memory, so we offer it now:
DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell’st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
Margaret will be deeply missed. Her whole family meant so much to her and I want to wish my deepest condolences during this difficult time. She is very loved.