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Today I honor my boy – my crazy, sweet, stubborn little Bentley. He was only 13 years young… but to me, he lived a lifetime of love.

From the moment he was born, he had one mission in life to be close to his mother, Brooklyn. They were completely inseparable. Bentley was obsessed with her in the most beautiful way, following her every step, every day. When Brooklyn passed away, I heard a cry from Bentley that I will never forget, a sound I’d never heard from him before. It was full of pain, full of heartbreak. In that moment, I knew he felt the loss just as deeply as we did.

He was also especially close to my son, Jason. If Bentley wasn’t glued to Brooklyn’s side, he was with Jason. They had their own quiet bond l, like two best friends who didn’t need words.

Bentley… wasn’t always a good boy. He was wild, he was stubborn, and even before he lost his hearing he never really listened to us anyway. But he was just too cute to stay mad at. He had this special way of running, almost like a hop instead of a run that made us laugh every single time. He was small, but he filled the whole house with his personality.

He was funny. He was feisty.

He was loyal.

He was loved.

And he was the last piece of Brooklyn that I had left. Letting him go… felt like losing a part of myself. Now that he’s gone, it feels like Brooklyn is really gone too. And that hurts more than I can ever explain. But I know they’re together again now, the way they always were meant to be. Side by side. Mother and son. Finally at peace.

Bentley suffered a lot toward the end, and it broke my heart to watch. I wish I could have taken that pain for him. But even through his suffering, he still looked at me with love. He trusted me, even in his last moments. That was his final gift to me and I will carry it forever.

We all miss him terribly. We miss his hop-run, his little attitude, his sweetness, his presence, but most of all We miss the piece of our hearts we lost with him.

Thank you, Bentley, for every moment.

Thank you for the love, the laughs, the memories.

Thank you for being my baby boy — and Brooklyn’s.

You mattered. You were loved. And you will always be a part of our family.

Rest now, my boy. Run free. And give your mama a kiss for me.