February 17^th 2020 was the day of Millie’s services. I asked everyone to wear yellow or white. Yellow because it was supposed to be a good luck color and white because that’s the stereotypical color of angels. 

I didn’t want anyone to come. I didn’t want people to see me cry. It’s funny now to me because back then I didn’t want anyone there. But today I’m grateful they were. 

Gustavo and Adrian (Millie’s Godfather) were given white gloves. White gloves to carry my girl’s urn down the center of the chapel. Gustavo carried one side and Adrian carried the other. There was a dead little girl in there…well her ashes at least. They placed her in the center of the chapel by the altar surrounded by hundreds of flowers my sister had picked out. 

The priest started the service shortly after. He started his sermon by turning towards me and saying, “We’re here to honor Millie Marie Roque.” I slumped down when I heard her full name. I was afraid his sermon would say something like, “God knows what he’s doing” which to me is bogus and bullshit. Instead, he said, “What can I say.” Staring at me he continued, “There’s nothing I can say to make you feel better.” I absolutely loved him saying that. That’s probably the only thing that stuck with me that day as far as the sermon goes. 

At the end of the ceremony, I tried hiding from the crowd. I walked to one corner of the chapel hoping for everyone to leave. Unfortunately, I didn’t become invisible and slowly everyone one by one came up to me and my husband offering their condolences. What’s the purpose of that anyway? 

Gustavo said a few words to the crowd. He thanked them for showing up. His voice broke up as he said thank you. His brother’s arm served of no comfort. I didn’t say anything nor did I stand next to my husband as he spoke. Instead, I tried to hide.