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Ariana was nine months old when she died. She was napping, and never woke up. Tanner was three-and-a-half. He saw it all. The frantic attempts to revive her, the 9-1-1 call, the ambulance taking her away, the attempts to resuscitate her in the ER, the doctor declaring time of death. Leaving the hospital, Tanner said, “There’s normally four of us, but now there’s only three.” When Ariana was born, Tanner had to adjust to the fact his sister was here to stay. Now, suddenly, he had to accept that she would never come home again.

Before his baby sister died, Tanner’s artwork was awash with bright colors and cheerful designs. After Ariana’s death, Tanner’s drawings grew darker. The colors were somber, and the figures were frowning, crying.

The more we looked, the more it became clear: hands down, Ele’s Place was the best fit for our family — peer-to-peer, age-based support every week.

Over the course of many months, the shell that cocooned Tanner began to crack. At Ele’s Place, he found his grieving “voice.” He was able to ask questions about what he’d seen the day of Ariana’s death, and at her funeral.

One of the greatest gifts Ele’s Place has given to Tanner is the security and vocabulary with which to express his feelings, particularly about Ariana’s death. He began to feel comfortable and safe enough to begin speaking freely about his sister. Meltdowns became less frequent, and we started seeing more smiles and hearing less anxiety in the night.

Ele’s Place has helped us give voice to our grief, and healing. In a way, we like to think of Ele’s Place as Ariana’s Place.