The old farm bell my grandmother got us always hung on an old post by the barn when I was growing up.
Mom rang it every night to call my sister and me in to dinner. The sound of that bell meant good food and good times around the table. As we grew up and moved out, the post supporting the old bell rotted away. We put the bell in the barn.
When my grandmother was terminally ill, she called me with a last request. “Please ring the old bell for me,” she said. Just days later Grandma slipped into a coma. By the time I got the bell on a new post I wasn’t sure Grandma would be able to hear it.
Still, I called my sister, who held the phone to Grandma’s ear while I rang the bell. Maybe Grandma couldn’t hear the sound. But it brought back a flood of memories for me. The old bell would always sound like home.
Grandma died a few days later. I know the angels rang a bell of their own, calling her home.
