This is what I wrote seven years ago:

In the Bible it does’t say that Abraham died, it says that he was gathered to his people. Zoe Michelle Wilson was gathered to her people at 3.27am this morning.

You left us around the same time of night you were born, closer to the dawn than to midnight. Your dad and I were there when you were born and there when your soul left us. We woke your grandmothers and turned off the machine that had kept the quiet rhythm of the last five and half weeks as it forced compressed oxygen into your tired and diseased lungs.

We opened the windows to help cool your body down, but I couldn’t help thinking it was really to let your soul free.

When the dawn came, it was the same kind of pale, cool spring morning it is today. Too many dawns without your sweet soul in our lives, and an unknown number to come, but every one taking us not further apart, but bringing us closer. See you on the other side baby girl.

The Emily Dickinson poem I always think of

She died—this was the way she died.
And when her breath was done
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.
Her little figure at the gate
The Angels must have spied,
Since I could never find her
Upon the mortal side.