Date: Wed, 29 Nov 1995 20:49:45 -0600 From: Julie Randolph Subject: Can't Stop the Pain (1/1) ** It's depressing, but do know that it comes from the heart** Nick stood on the doorstep, not at all sure what he was doing here. His arms were laden with gifts and he was about to turn away, feeling like an idiot when the door opened. "Nick?" "Yeah, Hi...hi Myra, how are you, I just brought over some...erm..well.." He didn't know whaqt to say to her, he didn't know how to make the pain stop, he couldn't mend anything, but at least he could be here. This time of year was hard, he should know, when you are alone. Myra and Jennie lost someone who was their world to them, and now...what was he doing here? 'Come on in Nick, have some eggnog or something, Jennie will be thrilled to see you." He wiped his feet on a mat he could remember Schanke complaining about, it was too thin, too old, they needed a new one but Myra was sentimentally attached, he never could fathom why. Donnie gave it to her, she had told Nick once, and she couldn't part with that. He had nodded silently, he understood. "Jennie, your Uncle Nickis here." "Big deal..." the voice came from above him. He looked to Myra, he didn't want to intrude, he just wanted to somehow ease their suffering during this, the hardest time of year to lose a loved one. "Why don't you go up and say hi." "She won't mind?" "Talk to her Nick, she needs someone." He nodded, he understood that too, but had little experience taling about death to young people, especially when the death was so close to him, someone he had cherished, and the pain and anguish he felt, he could understand why she didn't want to see him, why he reminded her of her father, and why, in so many ways, everythig about him and the things he said and did spoke of Schanke. Partners were close, sometimes becoming one in the process, and in this instance, they had managed to forge that kind of friendship, and Nick knew he could never recover from the loss. "Jennie? Can I come in?" "Yeah, whatever." He sighed, teenagers. He opened the door and sat next to her. She lay on her stomach, her legs crossed at the ankles, trying to act as if she were totally and completely absorbed in a magazine. "Hey." Jennie flipped over, looking at him and he could see it there. That overwhelming fear that once again she would have to remember that her father was not there. "What do you want?" He sighed, what did he say? What did he know? So he started mumblinging, things that were inconsequential to him, but as he began to speak a look of fascination and inttrigue washed over her face, until she began to smile. "You know Jennie, your dad, he saved my life a lot of times. *laugh* I remember once when he was trying to break his way into film...not that he wanted to be in film, but the taste of it, you know? Just somwthing exciting, as if his job wasn't exciting enough. And he saved a woman's life...talked down this kid from the gangs, I've never seen anything like it, he knew just what to say to that boy, just what to do...it was amazing. He always thought I was strange, but he stuck by me anyway, he always supported me, even when things were not going my way. He was a part of my soul, a part of what makes me who I am today, and he's a part of you too, and in that, he makes you what you are. I'm babbling, I'm sorry," Nick had to briskly wipe away a red stained tear as memories flooded his senses and he was about to leave when Jennie threw herself in his arms. "Do you think death is something we should fearr, Uncle Nick?" He thought, paused and then smiled,"No Jennie, death is simply another state of life...now...you want to come down and open some presents?" She flashed him a grin,"It's not Christmas yet," 'I know, but...indulge me." They walked out together. Nick was driving home, the Nightcrawler's voice slowly echoed its way across the air waves. "What have we to give to those we leave behind, gentle listeners? What have we to say when all is said and done? Is there nothing left but a shell, an empty corpse that feels nothing, or is the body's shell simply a vessle, where a spirit can sour away to new heights or be strapped in for eternity, and that, is your choice. No one is to know I suppose, but life, my children of the night is simply a state of being and death, is the shadow of that life, for in it we can still see they who are arund us, they may be gone, but their memories linger on." ***************************************************************** Dedicated in loving memory of my grandfather Glenn Hess Shipley, who is very ill right now and not doing well. ***************************************************************** Pray for him...he's gonna need it.