Ellie's mom was one of Ann's dearest friends from college, and when our two were born, Katy came down and helped us adjust to parenting. We had always admired Katy and Dean's approach to parenting. We knew that the strength and support network that they had between them would help them as they lived through the parental nightmare of months beside the incubator, and scares about kidneys, lungs, eye damage, sepsis, and brain damage.

Dean, who is training to be a pastor, was also sending out emails to their large network of friends and family, and apparently, their hopeful tone and pleas for prayer prompted their forwarding near and far--Dean reported that folks would meet him and realize: "oh, you're Ellie's Dad."

Ann went to visit them in Delaware last week, in part to return Katy's favor of three years ago--helping with housework, bringing large frozen meals that could be reheated easily, offering conversation. She returned Friday night, talking about how lovely and fraglie Ellie was. Saturday night, Ann got a call from Katy's mom. Ellie had stopped breathing, and couldn't be revived. She was four months old, but only about 6 weeks past her initial due date.

I am ambivalent about things like prayer, but If I could send comforting thoughts to anyone tonight, it would be Katy and Dean, and their two sons, Jack, who'll be 9, and Sam, who had just celebrated his 6th birthday. Ann is at the visitation service tonight, and will stay for the funeral tomorrow.

I have had little to offer the family, but support to Ann, who can in turn off support to them. But if you're the praying type, or the sending-good-thoughts-into-the-universe type, do those things for these people this evening. If not, just try to be a little bit nicer, to offset a little bit of the pain in the world. Grief renders us all helpless, and grief for such a tiny little person feels even more debilitating.

To Ellie, may your departure engender, even if in the smallest way, a better world, even though it must go on without you.