I'm glad you posted this. Two months ago I was on a crew that picked up a five day old, six week premature infant with difficulty breathing. He was all purple and staring and his mother was frantic; she also had a raging fever and didn't put him in his crib that night because she was worried something was wrong. It was. He was septic, his liver shut down, he went to a big children's hospital, which tried valiantly to save him. Last week his poor little body gave out. I have no real right to any grief; I didn't know his family; and yet I feel an ache that comes from a very childish 'this isn't supposed to happen to a baby' place. I'm learning how to be okay with the things we can't fix, the times we are simply witnesses to What Is, to pain I am not trained, not equipped, and not able to alleviate.