The night before the funeral, my wife went into the bedroom that had once been Rachel’s. Our daughter hadn’t been in that room for at least 15 years.

Since leaving home, Rachel had completed nursing school, married, had two lovely children, and completed her eight-year trek to become a neonatal flight nurse. She’d set her goals early and never wavered. We’d marveled at her determination and rejoiced in her successes.

Alone in Rachel’s painfully quiet room, Sheila happened to glace up. On the ceiling, in Rachel’s handwriting, was her credo. I imagined her lying in bed reading it over and over again.

To be great, you have to work hard and train hard.

You want to be the best; you’re going to have to fight for it.

Don’t be afraid of getting hurt—it will hold you back from being all you can.

If you’re going to die, die doing something you love.

BE EVERYTHING YOU CAN’T.

I love Rachel’s defiance, in all caps, refusing to settle for what people had said she could be. Apparently, she’d decided to become what someone had told her she couldn’t.

Thank you, Rachel, for leaving a reminder that you became everything you set out to be and died doing what you loved.