I've been there a hundred times since Bentley died. I birthed two children since Bentley, and I walked those halls countless times to visit friends &I family. I have served families and while I have raced hurdles in our journey head on. It was like a load of bricks that hit me today. As I proceeded to leave, I stopped in front of a familiar place. I peeked inside an empty room, a room that transformed my life. It was in that moment I watched a room ready for someone to give birth, to welcome life....but it just didn't feel right.
Sometimes I look in that room. That tiny little room. And I think about how something so incredible awful happened in that space. And in the silence all I hear is screams. I hear the moments of that day. Have you ever heard silence?
Of course, I know what silence means, but have you ever heard what silence feels like after a stillbirth? There's no baby crying. There's no moment. There's pure anguish. There's sobs, and there are screams. The silence--the expressions that speak volumes. Standing in that door way, maybe was a mistake on my part. But sometimes, I feel it's good to feel those raw emotions.
I seriously wanted to flip the room upside down. It seemed so peaceful and welcoming. How could a room hoard such grief and anger? If only I could have flipped the bed and the rocking chair. Maybe j could portray a glimpse of what they room means to me.
I awoke this morning, feeling like fall is just around the corner. And while I am reminded of all the good times over the years, I will not lie that a hint of sadness fills my soul. I think it will forever. So much changed that fall of 2011. As the weeks and months approach, I remember the final weeks leading up to Bentley's death. The transformation that happened that year forever changed every thing for us. But these smells, these sensations, and this time- it is forever connected to a time because this new normal took over. To a time when life was different. And not so crazy.