Forever Bentley: A Mother's Journey Through Grief

I hate the snow. But I also love it. Bentley loved it. I remember his little footprints, the way his eyes lit up seeing it fall, how he reached out to touch it with wonder. Snow should bring happy memories. But it doesn’t.

There was snow on the ground when Bentley passed.

I took this picture today, and this is exactly where everything happened. Where all the cops stood. Where the grass would be—That’s where I stood, where my body collapsed—twice. My dad caught me both times. That’s where I screamed at my husband, where the words left my lips that our baby was gone.

I love this house. It holds the last memories I have with Bentley. I don’t ever want to leave. But when it snows, the trauma rushes back. The weight of that day, that moment, that unbearable reality. It’s in the air, in the stillness, in the way the cold stings my skin.

And when these emotions come, I don’t fight them. I let them in.

Grief isn’t something you can push away. It demands to be felt. So I let myself feel it. I let the tears fall. I scream if I have to. Because the only way through grief is to go through it.

But then—after my moment, when the weight feels too heavy—I saw a cardinal. And for a second, I smiled.

Bentley is still with me. Even in the snow.

-Bentley’s Mom💜