Dear Elizabeth,

The last several days we have been watching the devastating scenes on the news of the earthquake in Haiti. The most distressing are the pictures of children who have been injured, killed or who have lost their parents. All of it is a reminder of how fragile life is and how it can change in an instant. When little children suffer or die, I always think of you. In your short twenty-two month sojourn here on the earth
you taught us so many things. I think above all you were such an example of patience in suffering. Your little body had to endure so much and yet we rarely ever saw you fuss or indicate any discontent with all the procedures and equipment. Your parents were so brave and did everything they could possibly do to keep you here and give you a chance at a longer life. I will admit there were times when I thought it was too much to put you through, but I'm sure your parents agonized over that every time a new procedure was tried. I don't know what I would have done in their position, so it is wrong of me to judge.

I keep thinking there is a song or a poem entitled "What Can We Bring to the Table", but I must be wrong because I can't find it anywhere. But the words keep running through my mind as I watch these children suffer and then I think about what all of us can bring to the table of life. In your short life you brought to the table of your parents, siblings and extended family many things. You brought us joy in simple things such as your smile. You taught us all to evaluate what is important. You brought your ability to live in the moment. You brought an ability to patiently accept challenges given. Finally, you caused us all to evaluate our belief in a life beyond this when we will see you again, and to make a commitment to keep our covenants with our Heavenly Father so we can realize that belief. You brought more to the table in your short life than most of us bring in a lifetime.

Thank you Elizabeth, for your short, sweet life and for sharing those precious months with us.

I love you,

Mama