Dear Bentlee

Dear Bentlee,

This time of year my mind frequently wanders back to 2011, the year I became a mommy for the first time.   Some days it's hard to believe that it has been five years.  It goes back to the short three and a half months I had with you on this Earth.  It re-lives the hospital stay, the first few sleepless nights, all the snuggles, the coos, the lullabyes, and all of the nights I rocked you to sleep while your daddy was working late.  I cherished those nights alone with you – I would rock you and watch you sleep until I couldn’t stay awake myself any longer. 

You were such a content baby.  Your grandma always tells me that you had the same temperament I had as a little one.  I’ll take that as a compliment because you were perfect.  You had your fussy moments, but you were always easily consoled if I scooped you up and sang to you or simply just rocked you in my arms. 

Unfortunately, my mind also flashes back to the tragic day we lost you, and the overwhelming guilt and regret I felt going back to work sooner than I would have liked, and the “what ifs” I felt.  What if I would have stayed home with you longer?  What if I your grandma would have watched you?  What if I would have stayed home with you that day?  The sad reality, sweet boy, is that I could “what if” myself from here to the moon and back again, but that isn’t going to change the past and bring you back to me.  God had other plans for you, precious child, and unfortunately, for those of us who love you dearly on this Earth, it means we were going to have to live the rest of our lives missing you.

I still have my “poor me” moments despite trying my very best to carry myself through this never-ending grieving process.   I see other friends and family members having babies, and it reminds me that I am technically a mother of two, I just don’t have both of mine here on this Earth with me.  Although I know that doesn’t make me any less of a mother, it does make me sad, angry, and yes, even jealous seeing other moms getting to love their children in living, breathing, human form.   A lot of people would tell me that I have every right to feel that way, and although there is truth to that, what it really comes down to is that I have a choice – I can let the grief consume and overwhelm me, making me angry and bitter, and eventually let it destroy me, or I can let the grief change me and strengthen me so I can create the best, happiest life possible for your sister and I.  I choose strength – Lord knows I need it!

Let me tell you about that sister of yours, Evalee Marie.  Oh how I know you two would love to hate each other, just as any other siblings, and at the same time be the best of friends.  Some days I catch myself envisioning you two playing together, picking fights, and driving this momma a little crazy.  ☺️ I get an ache in my heart knowing you would be the best big brother a girl could ask for, but at the same time can’t help but feel blessed knowing that Evalee will always have her brother watching over her.  She’s a spit fire, that one, and she is going to need your protective eye watching over her. 

We love you, Bentlee.  We think and speak of you often, and miss you more than our hearts can handle some days.  You have impacted our lives more than anyone will ever know.  You have taught me that my broken heart can still be beautiful, and that it is possible to smile again after a tragedy.  You gave me the strength I needed to endure another tragic loss after yours, and you gave me peace in knowing that there is something greater beyond this life – for a life so young and precious as yours would not have been taken from this Earth so soon if there wasn’t something grander waiting for you.  You taught me to cherish every single minute we are given with our loved ones, and to not take our loved ones, or our time with them, for granted.  You helped move in me the drive and desire to be the best mother I can be to your sister.  You continue to do so every day. 

Thank you, my beautiful son, for lighting a fire in me.

I love you to the moon and back again,

Mommy