I found myself sitting in the lobby of the hospital today waiting for Blake to pick me up for our Wednesday Hospice appointment. I hate the lobby, but I often find myself there, and typically not by having to be in the lobby, but by choice. Weird, huh? Well, today I sat there waiting for Blake, and I just sat back, and I watched everyone. I closed my eyes, and it all started happening. I remember pulling up to the front of the hospital. Sharon had dropped Blake and I off. Everything was moving in slow motion. My mom was standing right inside the hospital doors, and she was meeting me at the revolving doors. Those revolving doors is a destination I'll never forget. Blake and I stumbled through those doors only to discover we'd never leave that hospital the same. We would never leave those doors without those memories of the way we entered the hospital on October 17, 2011. I sat on a bench today, and I pictured myself...I was wearing a blue short sleeved shirt from AE with a tank top underneath. I had on my black capri sweat pants from New York and Company with my Old Navy flip flops. I had tears streaming down my face, and I just remember constantly saying "This can't be happening"...over and over again.
I watched that today. It was like it was happening real life. And, I stared and stared at those revolving doors. Those revolving doors symbolize so much to me. It was a chaotic movement. It was life still spinning on. It was time standing still. It was a worst nightmare continuing to play over and over, around and around. Once inside the lobby, I hear my mom yelling at any volunteer or hospital employee she says, screaming, telling them to get me a wheelchair. I was in shock. I felt like I couldn't walk, but yet I was walking. I felt so numb, so alone. But, we were surrounded by so many. It was like a movie, kinda like walking down the busy streets of New York City. There was so many people with so many agendas, but I was surrounded by everyone, yet no one knew the pain we carried. No one knew that we just learned that our precious son Bentley was dead. It really seemed that even once explaining it was important to get to a room ASAP...no body moved with urgency. Time creeped by so slowly, and it was so loud in that lobby.
Today I sat in the lobby. The lobby appeared to be quiet in reality, but in my mind, it was SO loud. Everytime I walk in the lobby its loud now. It all starts. I can't walk through that lobby without hearing my mom screaming, Blake and I crying, and the constant chatter as we rushed to Labor and Delivery. Those moments are so vivid. I see them as I type this blog, but when I stand in that lobby--it literally begins again. Some may ask why do you continue to go to the front lobby if it brings so much pain? I go stand in that lobby because I feel that moment, honestly, I need to feel that moment. It may sound odd, but there are days that it doesn't feel like I lost Bentley. It feels like that is far to horrible of a nightmare for it to be our reality that I need slaps in a face.I need those moments where it is so real. The tears form, and my heart begins to race. I stare at my surroundings, and it's difficult. It feels like I'm sitting back watching my horrible nightmare happen over and over again. That lobby is a chaotic place for me. It can be completely quiet, and I will forever hear yelling and chaos.
Sitting in the hospital at work...makes me sit and take a step back. I think about those moments. I stare at hospital doors and patients rooms. I glance at families when they learn their loved ones don't have much longer. I watch people come and go. I see doctors deliver good news and bad news. I understand the patients pain. I understand the families pain. I sit a the nurses station, and I picture myself sitting in that bed. I see our friends/family surrounding my hospital bed. And, it's very difficult, but it is needed. I don't want to forget those moments in the hospital. I don't want to forget the images. Do I want to have horrible nightmares and anxiety? No, but I don't want to forget because those memories are very real to me. They aren't something that I want to become numb to. I can't become numb to it because they are the emotions and events that surround the birth of my precious Bentley. They are the moments that I need when life plays with my mind. I am not kidding. Mind tricks are the worst. I have to talk to myself some days and literally say, Stephanie, this is not happening right now. And, I tell myself the date, and I replay it all in my head. And, it isn't because I'm crazy or losing my mind. It is normal for a family who has lost their son--for Blake and I to express different emotions. I can be happy and sad at the same time. I can be a millon different things at the very same moment simply because grief messes with every aspect of your life.
Blake and I will never be the same. Many may wonder why I write so vividly about our journey. Some may believe that my blog is too much or that I should keep things to myself. I have had people tell that yes, this is awful that we are going through it, but I was told everyone doesn't need to know about it. And, I'll be honest, the people who believe that we do not need to talk about or discuss it--they are wrong. Blake and I HAVE to talk about it. We need to verbalize our emotions. We barely have outlets. Outlets where people understand and can empathize. We have each other, and we have families who have been through this experience. There are many people praying and supporting us and we couldn't do it without them, but I can tell you there are many who just want to compare and interject where they are not needed. I don't need opinions or justifications for what happened. I don't want people to formulate a medical anaylysis of what they think happened. I want people to just let us feel how we want to feel. I want to be able to talk about Bentley and not have to see that horrified look in people's faces. I want to be able to share our feelings without having the hear how someone else feels too. There are times that I just don't plain care about anyone else's problems. Other people's issues are not mine; therefore, Blake and I have decided to take steps backwards. I don't need extra stress, so we are focusing on Blake and I's life. We are focusing on our little family, and we want whats best for us. We don't need to think about everyone else...we need to ensure that we are in a healthy environment for Blake, Baby #2, Bentley's memory, Bailey, and myself. God is going to provide, no matter what. We just have to trust God. He has been carrying us. He has picked us up and one set of foot prints has been walking this journey because Jesus truly has c