Spoilers: none, though it may seem like it.

Summary: single person pov from a favorite show in the
form of a journal entry (note: this may or may not be
from a main character's point of veiw, I leave it for
you to decide).

Disclaimer: I do not own JAG, The West Wing, X-Files,
or Scarecrow and Mrs. King. They belong to their
respective producers/creators/networks. No profit is
coming from this except in the form of peace of mind
for the author.

Authors note: please read the footnote at the end of
this to understand why I wrote it.

****

It's not fair! One moment life is going along great,
my partner and I were facing the world head on like
nothing could happen to us and then this had to
happen!

Why, God? Why did this have to happen? Why did you
have to take him away? He was a good man. Really he
was! Okay, so he had a problem with alcohol, but that
doesn't mean he was entirely bad; afterall, he made
sure that my sister and I never saw him drink when we
visited.

He taught me how to hit a baseball, how to throw a
football, how to tend a garden, how to be a friend; he
made me smile when I was sad. I always thought that I
would have to say thank you. Thank you for teaching
me the joys of a simple life, thank you for having a
smile and a funny face for every frown I had.

I stood at his grave site as they lowered him into the
ground, cursing God and everyone else who offered me
condolences this past week. I look around and saw
everyone crying at the funeral. I couldn't cry, not
in public, not yet...

(a few years later)

Yesterday I stood at his grave site. I don't know
why, but I knelt before the stone marker and touched
it. I asked him to forgive me. I wanted to hear his
voice one last time, telling me that is was all
right, that I would do good, that I made him proud.

I guess for some people it takes only months to grieve
for a loved one, but for me this grief will last a
lifetime.
________

Author's note (cont'd):
I ask that this story not be archived without my
permission because, although, this story is partly
fiction, most of it came from my personal journal
concerning the death of my grandfather in 1986.

This story is dedicated to Denise and anyone else who
has lost a loved one recently or in the past.
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