Forever Bentley: A Mother's Journey Through Grief

On panic, grief, and giving yourself permission to rest

Today I had another panic attack — only this time, I was at work.

It’s been a while. Months, actually. Long enough that you start to believe maybe they’ve loosened their grip on you. Long enough that you almost forget what it feels like when one comes rushing back.

I’m not sure what the trigger was. I just know it came heavy. It came hard. It did not care what was in the way.

There’s a specific kind of pain that comes with panic — the tightness in your stomach when you’re trying so hard to breathe but your body won’t relax enough to let you. It feels like your own body is fighting you, like you’re trapped inside something you can’t reason with.

When I finally got to my car, all I could do was sob. Loud, uncontrollable sobbing — the kind that leaves you exhausted before you even realize how tired you are.

I hate days like today.

I came home early and went straight to sleep because panic attacks drain every ounce of energy out of me. It’s like running an emotional marathon without ever leaving the room.

Grief is strange like that. Some days feel manageable. Some days even feel light. And then there are days like this — the hardest days — when something shifts inside you and you don’t quite know why.

You think maybe you know the trigger, but you’re almost afraid to replay your day, worried you might send yourself spiraling again.

The hard part is… I was having a good day until I wasn’t.

Have I ever said how much I don’t like grief? Because I don’t. Not even a little.

I found myself wishing — so deeply — that Bentley was here for me to hug. Even in his tiny two-year-old body, he had a way of turning the hardest days into something softer, something brighter. Just being near him could change everything.

I know I’ll probably live with random waves like this forever. That’s part of loving someone you can’t hold anymore. That’s part of carrying loss in a world that keeps moving.

In the middle of barely being able to speak, one of my bosses told me something simple:

“Listen to your body.”

And she was right.

My body was telling me I was not okay. And instead of fighting it — instead of pushing through like I sometimes try to do — I let it come. Even though it felt like a mountain crashing down.

Sometimes our bodies are wiser than our minds. They alert us. They whisper — and sometimes they shout — that something needs attention.

If you’re walking through something right now, whatever it may be, and your body is trying to tell you something… listen.

Your body was designed to protect you. To say, “Hey — today I’m hurting. Today I need rest.”

Let yourself be human enough to hear it.

Let yourself be broken when you need to be.

And then go rest.

One last thing I’ve learned on this road: grief is incredibly hard — but you are never alone, even when your journey looks different from everyone else’s.

-Bentley’s Mom