Her other organs stopped functioning the night before she passed away. It was only a matter of hours. The nurses and doctors allowed me to carry her for the last time. I sat on a recliner chair they brought in for me. It took three nurses to move Millie along with all the wires to which she was attached. They gently placed her on my lap. She was so soft. Her skin was a little dry but soft like cotton. I touched her head, kissed her nose, and hugged her tightly against my chest. My tears fell down her bare and exposed heart. 

A young attending doctor asked me if I wanted to remove the pacemaker. The pacemaker was making her heart keep beating. My husband wanted to do that, but to me, it was as if I was “disconnecting” her from life – not realizing she was already disconnected. But the doctor knew. He said, “I just want to try something.” I saw him adjust something on the pacemaker. He then walked towards us and put his hand on her heart, only to reveal that it wasn’t beating anymore. She had already passed away. Her death came with a sense of relief (which made me feel guilty and still does) and incredible sadness and anger. 

The nurses removed all the unnecessary wires from her body. I watched while they gently removed them one by one. I carried her the entire time. At the time of her death, the room was full of love. My three nieces, my sister, and Millie’s godfather were there. I asked if anyone wanted to carry her. A few of them did. I now realize how impactful that must have been for all of them. Shortly after, the rest of my family arrived. 

At around 11:00 AM, the attending nurse came in. By that time, my husband and I were the only ones in the room with our lifeless daughter. The nurse said it was time. She said she needed to put her in a body bag. My reaction: Fuck! The image of Millie in a body bag was terrible to imagine. She was a baby up until a few hours ago, and now she needed to be placed in a body bag. I didn’t see the body bag, but I imagined it was tiny. I remember I did not want to leave her, and my husband had to pull me away physically. My feet felt like somebody had glued them to the floor. He then called my sister and Millie’s godfather to get me. That is the only reason I left the room, which ended our stay at UCLA Children’s Hospital.