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When you are sitting across from an angel, you feel it. You know it. You are wholly aware that it is something magical. You enjoy the experience. And you embrace it.

It was a Thursday on an August summer afternoon when I met this angel. At a table in a Campbellsville, Kentucky McDonald’s. It was at a location in the restaurant, in the middle but toward the back, I choose in order to ensure I secured a clear and unobstructed view of this young lady whom I had only read about through her social media posts. 

As Ashleigh entered the space, together with her good friend, Wes, I was spellbound by what was trailing her. It was a large, metallic, green oxygen tank. Not spellbound because it was unsightly in any way. Not in any way. 

But rather because of what it represents. 

The imagery I spied drawing behind this Warrior was a symbol, was a badge, was a monument. Was a testament to the will to live that Ashleigh exuded so powerfully, yet gracefully, on that day. 

Ashleigh began receiving palliative care not long before I met her. As a result, I did not know what to expect when I saw her . . . Was I going to encounter a girl who anticipated that she will be extracted from this being in a determined number of months, days? A young person feeling sorry for herself because she may feel as if she received a bad hand in life? The short end of the stick?

What I did see was none of that. I witnessed someone who is living life. Someone who has newly created a bucket list and is aggressively checking those boxes. Someone who seems to recognize that life is short, and the only way to effectively deal with that situation is to take it by the horns.

The lunch I had with this young lady, this shining angel, was one of the most inspirational meals I have had. It is incomprehensible to me, imagining how she holds herself with such grace. With such confidence. With such strength. 

However, I submit that she would not have been born with Cystic Fibrosis if she could not handle her status, this burden, as elegantly as she is. This is why Ashleigh is a Cystic Fibrosis Warrior.

As tough as the impenetrable metal of that oxygen tank that streams obediently behind Ashleigh. 

It was a blessing and an honor to meet this one-of-a-kind princess of intrepidity. One day, we will meet again. Without a doubt.

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And the quest to financially assist those at End Stage with CF commenced . . .