My Heart Just Knows..

You might think I am nuts, and there may be 42 other explanations, but my heart knows what this is.

This silly mobile hangs over my bed. The mechanics of the mobile is a Guggenheim Museum souvenir gift shop goodie my Mother bought when we were in NY 10+ years ago.  She added some of her homemade artsy chachkies and gave it to me as a gift.  Later, I added the whimsical irreverent angels that she would tie to my Christmas gifts. It hangs over my bed and it felt my mother watches over me as I sleep.  

All of this hang from the ceiling fan pull (the fan part turns on at the wall, but if I want the light on, I have to pull the short-chain). I could no longer reach over the bed to pull that chain.

I found this old bell partially buried in the yard.  It had been a part of an old wind chime that had broken in a storm years ago. I just knew if I cleaned it up it would make a great "light pull" chain extender. It was a rusty mess after being outside in the ground and even after I cleaned it up  I could not break loose the rust inside enough to loosen the ringer. I finally gave up and felt that it really was not important, I just needed something that I could grasp to pull and turn on the light…ringing was not necessary.  So the whimsical mobile and the silent bell have hung there for several years, protecting me as I slept and making it a bit easier to turn the overhead fan ceiling light on and off. 

Two days after Skip died, that rusted bell just began to ring.  Sometimes it barely tinkles other days it rings loud and hard.  But Skip talks to me, on and off, all day, every day. I do not understand the language, but I know the intent just by the intensity or softness of the ringing.  He is still here with me, in a way I do not truly understand, but it does not matter, I know it is him and it is the most loving, cherished, comforting feeling.  I wish I could explain it better.  My heart just knows.

Skip's bell

 

"One Less Bell to Answer"  5th Dimension

Yesterday was a quiet day alone, in his room going through his drawers and closet, sorting and having my own quiet tears and memories of when he wore it last, what he/we were doing, bittersweet remembrances.  I could hear his bell in the next room, not certain if he was sad I was having to do this or telling me it was ok and wondering if and when this pain will ever end.