Forever Bentley: A Mother's Journey Through Grief

Today, I did something that completely shattered me—something I never wanted to do but knew deep down I couldn’t avoid forever. I washed Bentley’s last load of dirty clothes.

They’d been sitting in his hamper since he passed. I didn’t want them to get musty, but I also didn’t want to let them go. That load held more than just fabric—it held memories, pieces of him, the scent of my baby. And yes, I cried. I cried through every step: pulling the clothes from the hamper, holding them close, smelling each piece like I was trying to breathe him back in. I cried as I gently placed them in the washer, knowing this was the very last time I’d ever do this for him.

It hit me like a ton of bricks—this was the final load. The last time I’d get to care for his clothes, the way I did since the day he was born. I remember doing his very first load of laundry before he ever wore a single outfit, carefully folding tiny onesies and dreaming about the baby who would soon fill them. And now, somehow, I’ve done his last.

One outfit in particular stopped me in my tracks—his snow clothes. We had played outside the day before he passed, giggling and making memories in the snow. Those clothes were still in his hamper, frozen in time.

I used to hate doing laundry. It always felt like a chore. But now I realize it was a gift—a privilege I didn’t even know I had. To wash his clothes, to dress him, to pick out his little outfits each day… I would give anything to do it all again.

It’s not just laundry. It’s love in every fold. It’s the quiet routine of caring for your child in the smallest ways. And now that he’s gone, even that has been taken from me.

I miss doing his laundry. I miss all of it. I miss him.

Forever my baby. Forever my heart.

-Bentley’s mom