| From: | Michael R. Goldberg mrgoldbe@**.netcom.com |
|---|---|
| Subject: | legacy (part 3.) |
| Date: | Tue, 23 Feb 1999 22:43:31 -0600 (CST) |
>>>>>[ Words escape me. I cannot even put to words in what the people
in the waiting room were feeling. (And I've now had several hours to
get my paws around this one.)
Death.
It comes for us all. Nay -- only the lucky ones. To be a part of the
master plan as it were. To make some contribution to that great thing
called Life, and then be recycled into it.
Death. He served his time. What more or less can be said? The loss
of what could be -- should be -- will be -- overwhelms some. Not War.
His mind is focused only on what his next footsteps will be. Revenge.
All he has to do is convince Midnight it is the right thing to do. I
expect that will be a fascinating debate.
True to her word, Rachel asked the doctors to remove Death from the
life support machines. Six minutes, fifteen point thirty-four seconds
later, the heart monitor went to one single, unyielding flatline. The
entity who called himself Death -- no more. Leaving a devastated widow
and daughter behind. Leaving grieving friends and coworkers in a
waiting room. Emotions still to overwhelming to record here.
Somewhere, someone is rejoicing. Alas, I am not one of them. The
people I would like to call friends are somehow changed by his death.
Even those who knew him least. It is odd, how one man, who wasn’t all
that friendly could have such a profound impact on us.
Just one man.
May his legacy and dreams live on in the hearts of others, and may we
never forget: Death! ]<<<<<
-- Jester <04:40:12/02-24-60>
