Dita Kraus writes about her daughter, Michaela         

Michaela. It seems as if some of the young, beautiful and
talented creatures are too perfect for this world, and jealous fate just
recalls them from us, without granting them their regular span of human life.

She was barely twenty when she died, still beautiful,
unmarked by the stealthy illness that gnawed at her from within. A rare disease
attacked her when she was just eight, leaving her to suffer for another twelve
unhappy years.

How can the parents go on with their lives, knowing that the
child's is doomed?  Faking good cheer
each time when buying her a new toy or a new dress, while thinking: this may be
the last one ? This was the hardest part, never letting her glimpse the dread
in our eyes, reflecting the inevitableness of her approaching death.

Thankfully, she died in her sleep , not aware of the end.

And for us, her parents and siblings, she will forever
remain the pretty girl of twenty.

Ron writes about his sister:

The loss of a loved one is never easy. I still remember my
sister and carry the sorrow.  My sister
Michaela will not grow old and so is forever young, bright and beautiful. I
miss her.