Sunrise/Sunset

The Bell

Tears sting the corners of my eyes as I focus on the road ahead of me. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly, my knuckles turn white. I can hear my dog Riley's breaths from the back seat as she sleeps, and they are the only thing keeping me in reality. My mind is only thinking of my mother, and how much I miss her. I miss her combing my hair. I miss her bright smile. But an illness so vile I can't even utter it's name took her from me three months ago. Mourning is an odd process, filled with ups and downs, denial and acceptance, pain and guilt.

Tonight, at midnight, I drive to the cemetery to visit her. I couldn't sleep, and why lay in bed with only your thoughts when you can escape your mind and confront them altogether.

I pull into the parking lot just as I feel my eyelids growing heavy. Why am I getting tired now, when I was tossing restless in my bed just an hour ago?

Riley follows at my heels as we weave through gravestones. My eyes skim over the names of all the people buried here. The people whose family leaves flowers for them and weeps over the soil they are buried beneath. But what is the point? Crying and acting weak only hurts you. Why sob at the thought of this person that you miss, when you can smile? Smile as you remember the pleasant memories of their presence. Surely that would make them smile on the other side.

Why do my deepest thoughts maunder in my ear so late at night?

I stop walking when I see the familiar name of my mother. The name I have seen written so many times. From my birth certificate to my school permission slips. Then the piles of medical papers, and now on her gravestone.

Cora Melanie Roberts.

Her name is my name. Melanie Roberts. Something so close to me, a part of my identity, something I see every day, is a constant reminder of the mother I lost.

As I stare at the name in front of me, I kneel to the ground. I rarely let myself dwell in my loss, but I can't contain my emotions any longer. Tears spill from my eyes, my lip quivering. I am the only one in this cemetery, and thank goodness. I wouldn't be able to let myself be so vulnerable if there were people near. I press my palms against my closed eyes and try to swallow the lump in my throat. But that only results in a heavy sob escaping my throat. I hear Riley whimper beside me, probably because she is concerned for me. It's not often she sees her owner act like a child.

I adopted Riley, a brown Labrador-Retriever, from a shelter two years ago, the day I found out my mother was sick. It's hard to know which one was the worst day of my life: the day I first heard about the illness that would inevitably kill my mother, or the day she actually died. Because, in a lot of ways, it was almost as if my mother has been dead since we first heard about her illness.

Riley was a source of healing for me. I drove directly from the hospital to the shelter, hoping it would make me feel better, but it only made me feel worse. All I wanted to do was take all these poor animals home. But the moment I looked into Riley's big brown eyes, I knew I couldn't possibly leave the shelter without her. You'd think Riley would remind me of my mother's pain, but she only reminds me of her joy. Whenever I would bring Riley to visit her, my mother would have on the biggest smile. Pure, genuine, joy.

But I realize Riley is not, in fact, whimpering at me. She hears something. As her nose sniffs the ground and her yelps get louder, I jump to my feet and look around. My flashlight skims over all the gravestones around me, but I don't see anyone. Somehow that only makes this more scary.

After a few moments of me hearing nothing, a sound chimes in my ears. The ringing of a bell. Puzzled, I continue to look around.

Then, I see it. A bell attached to a gravestone only a few feet away from me. And it is ringing. At first I let out a sigh of relief, thinking the bell was only ringing from the wind. But once I think about it, I realize there is no breeze. The night is as still as my body as I hold my breath, frozen with fear.