Hope. And a dog snout.

Emily Dickinson wrote, "Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all."

We found out my sister was really sick in June. For the first two months, our family held onto the hope that someone or something could save her. Then, when she was put into a palliative coma to help ease her pain last month, we held onto the hope that she would miraculously sit up, pull the tubes out and say, "That's it! I feel better! I'm done with this cancer crap."

After a particularly hellish week she quietly left our world this morning. Now there's no more hope for a miracle cure, no more hope for one last side-splittingly funny story from her, no more hope that she'll be able to see her son finish growing up. But there is hope for the future. Hope that science can learn from her body. Hope that she can live on in the young man she raised. And there's always the hope we might see her again one day.

So, in the end Ms. Dickinson was right - hope never stops at all.

* If you look at yesterday's photo, you'll see the model for the painting in today's photo. My sister painted Polly Jean almost 10 years ago. She was never happy with the way the dog's snout turned out, so she refused to sign it. As with many things in our lives, I completely disagreed with her. It hangs in a place of honor in my home and it's one of just two or three material things I would risk life and limb to save in a fire.