Many people say that sleigh bells bring joy and happiness, but from what I've seen that's not the case. In my experience sleigh bells brought sorrow, hurt, and anger. Not joy, happiness, and togetherness. In my story people got hurt and some people got in trouble. In this story the sound of sleigh bells becomes a warning sound of sorrow and pain.

It had just recently snowed. I remember the snow because Henry had always enjoyed playing in the snow. He would always dress in the thickest and warmest clothes, and then he would rush out the door, and jump and roll about in the snow. Then he would laugh and laugh, but the best part was when he would stomp back in to the house giggling like crazy. Henry would always pester me to go outside with him. I now wish that I had said yes, just that one time. Maybe if I had he would still be here. My mom says that it wouldn't have made a difference whether or not I had been there. She actually said to me, "Heather, did Henry ask you to go out and play with him today?" I chose not to answer. "Well, if he did and you said no thank god you did. You may feel bad that you said no, but if you had said yes I would have probably lost you, too." I knew that my mom had meant those to be words of encouragement. The encouragement to keep going, but it wasn't that easy. Henry had only been 10. He had been especially special to my dad. Out of my dad's four kids, Henry had been the only boy. Henry had been the one child that my dad had hoped to pass on his dreams. Whether it is the unlikely dreams or the realistic ones. Henry had always lived up to my parents' expectations, most of the time.

As the next few days went on, the plans for Henry's funeral were formed and put into action. My mom and dad were interested in my opinion. I would nod and say, "Sure, why not." Without really meaning it. It was as if my ears were not connected to my brain right. I would wake up in tears and a cold sweat. I would say to myself that it was because of a nightmare. That was until I really tried to remember the dream. I could remember a mid afternoon sky, a car speeding away, and my brother Henry lying there on the ground. He looked bad, his face was all messed up, but what scared me the most was the look on his face. He looked younger than he actually was, this look scared me. I looked back, behind me and through the window, and saw myself watching television. It was then that I realized what I had seen in my dreams. What I had seen in my dreams were the last few moments of his life. It was my way of trying to tell myself to move on. My way of saying that he was gone and that there was no way to get him back. It didn't matter that I wanted him to be here now, to tell me that I need to live my life and to do that I had to go outside. Then he would smile and say one way to accomplish that was to try and beat the master at board games. Henry had always been good at them, and he didn't ever take it easy on someone.

I came back to Henry's death scene. I didn't want to be here anymore. I felt that maybe this wasn't the answer to my pain, but I was drawn in to my thoughts. Like a moth is drawn in by the flame.

It wouldn't have made a difference, whether or not the police had told us he had been hit by the car or not. Just looking at the scene, I was easily able to put the pieces together. The car speeding away, Henry lying down in the ever growing puddle of blood surrounding him. Though oddly enough it wasn't the fact that the driver didn't slow down to see what had just happened that bothered me most. Nor was it Henry lying on the ground, for the fact that he was dying before my eyes was inevitable. What really bothered me was Henry's sled; he had used it winter in, winter out. Yet now it lay only a few feet away from his open hand, crumbled and mangled. It was almost as if this was the final blow. A blow that had caught me right in my weak spot, punching the air right out of my lungs. I couldn't breathe, I was literally gasping for breath. Yet no relief came when I was finally able to breathe. The sight of my brother and the sled that he had loved to use so much, was a blow that left me helplessly lost in my own thoughts.

It was then that I decided to ask my mom and dad what had happened to Henry's sled, though I knew it had been badly damaged. I couldn't help but want to touch it, hug it like I had always hugged my brother. They wouldn't tell me where it was, but I could tell they didn't have it anymore. I ran up to my room isolating myself once more.

Henry's funeral came only a week after his death. There wasn't anything special about it. You would have thought that my parents would have tried to add a bit of a flare to it. Some kind of monument to their only son, but there was no flare or monument added. In fact there was nothing special about it at all. I was barely aware of what was going on around me as I stared at the dressed up fake version of my brother. Everything from his shoes all the way up to the way his hair lied completely flat on his head, screamed what wasn't being said to my sisters and I. As my brother's casket was being closed and the death bells rang from somewhere above our heads, I could have sworn I heard laughter and the softest ring of sleigh bells. Then when Henry's casket was rolled out of the church, I looked towards the front of the church and I saw him standing there with his sled, giggling and shaking his sleigh bells. Then over the noise of the death bells and his sleigh bells, he called out, "Heather, I'm going now. I'm going to a place where no matter how much you miss me, you won't be able to see me until it's your time." Then he left running out the church door, with his sled and his sleigh bells jingling happily behind him.

It wasn't until later that year, and during the spring that I realized that it was time to move on. My sister Beth was pregnant with a baby boy. She gave birth to Henry John Bernard in early May. He was a happy looking baby with the same soft eyes that Henry had had. Maybe, when he's older I'll be able to teach him Henry's favorite past time…..