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This week is crowded with rites of passage. One of my kids is graduating from 8th grade; the other turns thirteen. My husband’s uncle passed away over the weekend, so we’ll be attending a funeral Thursday morning, and the graduation ceremony Thursday evening. Uncle Frank’s passing is sad, but also expected. The seasons of life change, changing us with them.

I started this post about rites of passage this morning before I got some news of a truly painful passage: the death of a week-old baby. Baby Levi was very premature, born at 26 weeks. He has a twin brother who is fragile, but thus far still holding on. And he has parents who are in anguish.

So I won’t be writing about rites of passage today. Instead, I’ll be thinking of Levi’s parents and grandparents, and hoping that Baby Dillon is able to survive and thrive.

But I won’t forget to post about it later, because rites of passage are the moments that move us and change us. And, ultimately, they’re the moments we write about.