When my Sarah died, I really had no clue as to what arrangements to make. Thankfully, the first funeral home I went to was extremely informative and friendly. I had so many choices to make for Sarah's comfort, and money was no issue.
           Although her favorite color was red, the mortuary man, Mr. Jenkins, advised against it. I knew he meant well, but I also knew I would be the only mourner at the service. I insisted on the red silk liner and matching pillow. Mr. Jenkins dutifully wrote it down. After all, I had the finances, so he really didn't have much of a choice if he wanted my business.
           As a nice contrast, I chose a white, lacquered coffin with silver handles and accents. It just looked so much like something Sarah would like, even though I must admit that it reminded me of some sort of allergen capsule. Still, this was all for Sarah.
           I asked Mr. Jenkins if I could have anything I wanted.
           "Anything within reason, of course," he said.
           Well, reason didn't have much to do what I requested, and he seemed quite perplexed and confused when told him of my wishes.
           "I'll have to check into that," he said. "This is a most unusual request."
           I told him that I understood and reminded him that money was no object. Nothing was too good for my Sarah and Sarah loved bells.
           She had a collection of bells when I first met her. She must have just started it, because she only had four. Two of them were contemporary school teacher bells, one of them was a brass dragon, and the fourth bell was one of those little Christmas bell ornaments.
           I gave my first present to her after we'd been dating for a month. It was an ornately carved, Celtic brass ritual bell. That started a ritual that lasted for twelve years. Once a month, on the 13^th, I'd come home with a new bell for Sarah. They were arranged on the large night stand by the side of her bed, so she could ring for me whenever she needed anything. Sarah had always had bad health, and each gift of a new bell meant I love you and I'll always take care of you. At least, that's what I intended for it to mean and I hoped it meant the same to her.
           So, I ordered this last bell for my Sarah. One more time to say I love you. One more way to be there for her.
           Fortunately, my financial standing guaranteed my wishes, and would probably have secured any further eccentricity I could ask for. I could probably have paid for a bell ringer to play at her graveside every day, and I probably would have if I thought it would please my departed wife. Nothing was too good for Sarah.
           My poor, sweet Sarah had to be what is vulgarly referred to as "being kept on ice" while the arrangements were being made and confirmed. How she hated the cold, even though she could not tolerate warmer temperatures any easier, -- Oh how the thought of it made my soul ache. Her memorial arrangements were truly considered a custom order, and it was difficult not being able to see her again until the viewing.
           Even though everyone who knew her loved her, only a few friends came to pay their respects. I guess that, when she was alive, her friends never knew when to come see her, and her death hadn't changed that habit. But I was prepared for it. In fact, I have to admit that I preferred it that way. It's possible that our friends knew my desire for privacy. They could all mourn in their own way, but I wanted this funeral to be a special parting just for Sarah and me. I guess it was selfish and unfair of me, but that's the way I wanted things and I get what I want. Perhaps, I thought, I'd hold a separate memorial for her later.
           I dressed Sarah in her favorite white dress  -  the one she made herself and was so proud of. It had taken her three months to make it and it was a beautiful medieval gown made of velvet. She had reason to be proud of it.
           One her right pinky finger, I placed the large pearl pinky ring I had given her so long ago. On her left pinky was the fire opal ring I surprised her with on one Halloween. Of course, she wore her wedding ring as well. Her antique locket, another present from me, was around her neck. Her gentle hands were folded over her stomach and held a small bouquet of daisies  -   her favorite.
           She was almost as beautiful as the first time I saw her. But her eyes were closed, and she would not open them for me again.
           We met in a library twelve years ago. She was researching material for a book she was working on, and I was there just for the pleasures of literature. We were in the same section, searching for the same book without knowing it. Both our hands lit on the book at the same time.
           "Jinx," she smiled. I laughed. We were together from then on.
           The book Sarah was working on was about vampires and, although fiction, she tried to include as much of the original folklore, legends and "early accounts" of those who believed. While researching the various ways that cultures tried to "prevent a vampires from rising," Sarah was intrigued by the irony of fearing vampires yet also fearing premature burial just as much.
           "They would rig a bell so the corpse could ring it," she told me. "If the bell rang, then they knew the corpse wasn't really dead."
           "What if they gave the bell treatment to a vampire?" I teased.
           Sarah laughed at first, that laugh itself so much like a crystal bell, and then her eyes opened wide. My teasing made it into her book. It was that same month when I began buying bells for her; antique bells, novelty bells, crystal bells. She would always ring one when she wanted a kiss. I loved it. I always told her that I was only a ring away.
           As she finished her book, she made me promise to give her one last bell when she died. A bell for her grave. I agreed, yet I was convinced I would die before she. I couldn't bear to think otherwise.
           She couldn't find a publisher for the book, and then she became ill. The illness never stopped. I'll make sure her book is published. Just like I've made sure she will have her last bell.
           The small hole in her coffin was hidden on the inside by the red pillow her sweet head laid upon, and the chain going through it was well hidden outside of the coffin by a large flower arrangement from my eldest son.
           On the morning of the funeral, I arrived at the funeral home exactly at eleven. I nodded at the chaplain, letting him know that he could start the service. The majority of the ceremony involved listening to some of Sarah's favorite music, as the chaplain simply read various notes I had written for the occasion. I wanted the service to be exclusively between Sarah and myself. If I were a better speaker, the chaplain would not have been involved at all. All the same, it was beautiful. I could imagine Sarah blushing from it.
           For some reason, as I sat and listened to her favorite songs, I didn't cry. In fact, it was very comforting to me. I had put together two hours of music, ranging from Simon and Garfunkal to Andrew Lloyd Webber tunes, and even some of her "heavier" favorites, like Metallica and Swans. The selection ended with her favorite hymn, "Amazing Grace." Somehow, I knew she heard the songs and was pleased.
           I followed the hearse to the cemetery and spoke a few words to Sarah myself. Private words that I will not share here. I stepped back and watched as the workers lowered the coffin that held my love into the ground. I pulled the chain out of the grave and held onto it as the workers began covering the coffin with dirt.
           Sarah's headstone was a beautiful rendition of the sleeping angel, with a small stone alongside engraved with her name. I left out the dates. Her life had meant more to me than a simple dash mark between numbers.
           A beautiful heavy, brass bell was staked deeply into the ground near the head of the angel. The chain length was perfect as I attached it to the loop on the bell, securing it with a small heart shaped lock. The other end of the chain was fastened inside the bouquet of flowers Sarah was holding. I had kept my promise.
           I sat and watched the whole burial process, not even wincing when the grave was completely covered and the workers pounded the top with their shovels. One of the workers looked at me and mumbled, "Sorry." I didn't respond. I remained sitting there as the workers packed up the few chairs and green carpeting and offered to arrange the graveside bouquets for me. I declined their offer even as they continued to look strangely at me. I tipped them for their services, something I doubt they had experienced before, and then watched them leave.
           I turned back to the grave and stood there, my own words echoing in my ears.
           I'm only a ring away.
           It was nearing dusk when I sat on the ground and carefully began to dissemble the flower arrangements. Once I had a pile of ribbons, a pile of wire, a pile of flowers, and a pile of Styrofoam.
           The ribbons I would take home with me and add to Sarah's bell collection, and the wire and Styrofoam would go in the garbage. Then, happily humming another favorite tune of Sarah's, I began to separate the flowers into color groups, even dividing the greenery by their various shades. When my task was completed, I gathered all the red flowers and put them with the ribbons; they would also go home with me.
           The light was growing dim, but I was neither afraid, nor worried, nor rushed and I started to carefully take the petals off the flowers. I spread the white flower petals on Sarah's grave first, followed by the lightest shades of the greenery. Then I added yellow petals and more greenery, and on and on until all I was left was stems.
           The ribbons, and red flowers I put in my car, and the rest went into a large trash bag I had brought with me.
           The last few shafts of the dying sun played over Sarah's angel and her petal laden grave. It looked elegant and beautiful, just like Sarah.
           After all the trash was taken care of, I came back and knelt by the grave. I told her that I missed her and that I'd never stop loving her.
           As I stood up to leave, I smiled as the brass bell rang out a single, clear tone. Just once.
           I went home with the ribbons and the red flowers and sat up the rest of the night. Where Sarah's portrait hung on the bedroom wall(oh how she had hated to poise for it!), I started pinning up the flowers upside down around the portrait, so they could dry. I had placed her bell collection on the marble table that sat against the wall and began tying the ribbons around them. In the very middle of the table, I had her handwritten manuscript in a glass case.
           Somewhere I heard faint bells ringing.
           I visited her every week and every time I said goodbye and gave her my love, the bell rang. I was not surprised. I was comforted.
           Two months after the funeral, I held a memorial for her friends at my home. I specifically told everyone that anybody wearing black would be turned away. This was to be a happy memorial for Sarah, with laughter and stories and good times. I showed only a few of our closest friends the decorative changes in our bedroom. I knew they were the only ones who would view it as it was meant to be, and not think I was obsessing. And, indeed, the did see the beauty and the love of it. It even served to comfort them.
           I believe everyone there could feel Sarah's spirit among us, attracted by our laughter and our love for her. Even though there were still a few tears, everyone had a good time.
           Sometime in the fourth month after her burial, I received a phone call from the cemetery caretaker, Mr. Davis. The cemetery had sustained some serious vandalism over night. The desecration had occurred throughout the graveyard and they told me to come and take a look.
           I did not feel anxious on my drive. Perhaps it was shock or denial or some other force, but I simply did not believe that Sarah's grave had been tampered with.
           When I reached the cemetery, I headed directly to Sarah's grave without stopping to even see anything else.
           The sleeping angel statue had been slightly disturbed, but not to any significant amount. Only the writing on the stone needed to be replaced due to spray paint. I was amazed that the statue had not been similarly marked.
           The bell was pushed to one side as well, as though they had tried to pry it up with the clear intent to steal it. The chain had been cut from the bell, the lock destroyed, and I noticed that the chain had been cut all the way to the ground.
           I shook my head, a little sad, but not too upset. It didn't make any sense for someone to take the chain, to mar the name stone, but not to touch the statue. Especially when I looked around and saw that some of the other graves had been practically destroyed. I turned my attention back to Sarah's bell.
           I could easily replace the chain by simply digging a few inches into the ground, attaching it to the existing chain, and the fastening it back to the bell. I decided that I would take care of it the next day. Just a simple stop to the hardware store would make things back to the way they were.
           I knelt at Susan's side and apologized for the disruption of her place of rest. I also told her the good news that I had just learned that very morning. Her book would be published. A second promise kept. And I told her that I'd have the chain replaced the very next day.
           Then I smiled and told my Sarah that I loved her. I stood up with the smile even wider on my face. The bell sounded off just as it always had before, and I knew she still loved me, with or without her bell chain.