Mary Elizabeth Hill

Mary Elizabeth “Ellie” Hill was born March 19, 2024 to Cameron and Chelsea Hill; joining siblings Thomas, Ada, and Oliver. She lingered in life 8 months, during which time she basked in the love of her adoring family members. 

Ellie was the embodiment of the truth that small and simple things make all the difference—quiet and strong, tiny but mighty, gentle and powerful, small and significant. Familial love helped our family through the first month of Ellie’s life, which was spent at Primary Children’s Hospital; siblings with automatic love for Ellie excitedly yelled through video chats, “She sneezed!” “She yawned!” “She opened her eyes!” “She's so cute!” and just giggled at seeing her. Mom and Ellie found friends in resonating stories at the hospital; we read aloud The Secret Garden, an Imagination Station recommendation from Thomas, The Trumpet of the Swan, My Father’s Dragon, and a handful of favorite picture books sent from home by the kids. We came home from the hospital to a home life we love—that somehow maintains simultaneous chaos and perfection all the time. Feeding Baby Ellie was a family huddle on the couch—obviously the best time for all siblings to hold hands with and profess love to their sister. Our infant swing was rendered useless and tummy time impossible because the kids always wanted to hold the baby. She would suck her fingers, let out little squeaks and snorts, and entertain us with her luxurious poses and pensive expressions. We love that she was around for dance parties, story time, walks, playing in forts, planting the garden, family picnics, cousin days, and Brother’s baptism. Mom loved morning bathtime rituals—letting Ellie relax in warm water with one of her siblings, then massaging her little limbs, dressing her in the clothes of Ada’s choosing and the world’s tiniest socks, and swaddling her tightly. She’d settle into her first solid nap each day this way. Dad kept Ellie nestled on his chest during work and school. After tiresome nights, Daddy and Ellie spent many lazy mornings snuggling Ellie’s favorite Minky blanket. Thomas kept Ellie close as often as possible—on his lap during breakfast, and on the carpet by him while he played with Legos. We’d find those two under his bed or chilling behind the couch on a heap of pillows. She would fall asleep on his chest while he read or played games on Mom’s phone. When Ellie fussed, Ada promptly appeared to soothe, “Hon-ney. Hoon-ney,” as she’d scoop up Baby Sis and commence bouncing. Ada was ever creating sister time; the girls had matching dresses and started a painted-toenail trend. We’d find Ellie in the recliner with Ada, who’d be directing Oliver—who’d be scaling Ellie’s closet to retrieve books; the three of them would then settle together in the chair for stories. Ellie joined Oliver for weekly music classes, and he’d interrupt those classes to hug her and tell her how cute she was. At home, Oliver would get close to tell his baby, “Burp in my face!” He’d sing songs to her loudly and Ellie (probably coincidentally) would roll her eyes. Ollie had an “Ellie voice,” which had him carrying both ends of conversations with his sister. Ellie’s voice asked, “What’s wrong?” when he’d come in hurt, and Ollie would pick up her fist to wipe his tears while insisting, “Her wants to kiss me.”

Ellie is a beloved member of an enormous, eternal family; we’ve felt the love of individuals from both sides of the veil. Though our experiences with Ellie have taught us so much, her existence was certainly bigger than our development; Ellie had her own, legitimate lifetime that we hoped to validate and beautify. We’ve wondered at the point of hope, and come to feel that the words ‘joy,’ ‘peace,’ and ‘hope’ all have deeper meanings than previously realized, and that sadness plays an important role in developing their depth. Hope and imagination are simply good for the soul, and the complex beauty of hope can be constant when centered—not on the certainty of outcomes—but on Jesus Christ. We put our faith in His ability to swallow death and give life. We’ve realized that miracles are simply unstoppable messages from God, and we notice them often.

We’re so thankful for the sensitive guidance of doctors and nurses, the prayers and support of family, the emotional support of our safe-place hospice team, individuals who dedicate their careers to helping people at their worst, all who’ve checked on us, long and heartfelt hugs, listening ears, breast milk donors, those who’ve brought meals or mowed our lawn, anonymous gifts on our doorstep, and—most importantly—the friendship of God. Since we feel God reaching to us through kind people, thanks to all who are living testaments that He lives.

A viewing for Ellie will be held on Thursday, November 21, 2024 from 6:00 - 8:00 p.m. at the Lindquist Syracuse Mortuary, 869 S 2000 W, Syracuse, Utah. A Private Graveside will be on Friday at the Bountiful City Cemetery.