THESE WORDS ON PAPER

A/N: as long as one person wanted me to do this, I was going to. And there was. These are the letters Stan gives his friends and family, written before he died, read after, in How the Darkness Sounds.

RANDY'S LETTER

August 23rd 2013. Randy Marsh sighed in deep relief when the clock hit 5:30 PM; time for another day of work to come to a close. He went to gather his things and as he was closing his briefcase shut he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Going to be okay tonight Randy?" asked friend and fellow co-worker Nelson.

Randy sighed as he stood straighter. "I don't know, I can only keep doing what I have been. Each day is different."

Nelson nodded. "I understand. Look, just tell Sharon I give her all the best okay? I'm still holding on hope for your family Randy."

Randy gave a small grin. "Thanks Nelson, that means a lot."

When the man got into his car he contemplated what he should do first; it was Friday which meant he got paid and he wanted nothing more than to go to the bank and get his earnings for the week. He really needed that money too; ever since his son's death a month prier he had everyone move out of their apartment in Denver where they rented to be closer to him. But he still had to pay this month's rent for they still had their belongings there when the month began. That and added medical bills that were still piling up. It was very stressful to know he had little control over it. His other option as he sat in the car was to simply drive home. He knew his wife would be there and she needed his support now more than ever. The longer he'd be away the worst things might be when he did come home. He didn't want to risk Sharon doing anything threatening while he was out, even if his daughter Shelley was looking out for her mother. He shook his head; he knew where he had to go first.

Shelley got to her feet as soon as her dad opened the door to their house. She went to give him a small hug.

"How was work?" she asked.

"Never mind me, how's Mom holding up?"

Shelley sighed. "Same as she has been. I only got her to eat half a sandwich today. I'm waiting for the pills Dr. Crawley prescribed to kick in but so far no change. I still say Mom's not depressed. She's in another league of sadness. She doesn't eat either and I don't want to send her to another doctor's appointment."

Randy rubbed his eyes as he sat on the couch. Ever since Stanley had succumbed to leukemia his wife had turned into a zombie. She hardly ate or drank or talked, she just sat there staring off into the world or else sobbing wherever she stood. Unfortunately she was in no state to work and the bakery/kid product store she worked at in Denver, Kiddin' Around, had to let her go. She could not try to find a job back in South Park because again, she was in no right mind to work. Out of desperation did Randy contact Sharon's former boss Tom Marden if he'd reconsider hiring her but he was unable, as difficult as he appeared to sound saying so. This left all the finances on Randy's shoulders although he had just gone back to work again a few weeks ago. Thankfully Shelley was of help at her mall job and there was never an end to donations from strangers and checks from Sharon's parents. But the toll of Stan's death was taking a huge chunk of life from everyone and Randy didn't know if he'd be able to survive another day.

Shelley took care of dinner that night; one of those Salisbury steak meals you put in the oven to heat, along with mashed potatoes. No one felt up to home-cooked meals these days. Sharon had been able to come downstairs to eat but she hardly touched her food and no amount of coaxing from Shelley or Randy helped. It was a very quiet supper until towards the end Sharon burst into tears.

"Aw, aww Sharon don't. Don't do this again, please…" Randy said gently.

"I-I-I- miss St-Stanley…" she sobbed.

Tears filled Randy's eyes as he gripped her shoulders. "Shhh, I know Sharon, I know. I miss him too. But- but you have to eat more. It isn't healthy to keep doing this. We- we need to move on…"

He didn't believe his own words. There was no way it was easy to gain closure from the death of your twelve-year-old child who had a life-threatening disease. It took everything in him to stop his own crying for his wife was so much worse off. How could he think about himself when Sharon hardly ate each day and was in such a horrible mental state? She hardly spoke; there was a permanent look of fear in her eyes. Thankfully their daughter was of much help, almost taking charge of everything since July. She was even the one who picked out the outfit Stan would be buried in. He never saw, he couldn't. But he trusted his daughter had chosen the right clothes that would have made Stan happy. And now Shelley made sure her mother got out of bed each day and made sure she bathed and ate what she could. She was the one who took her to her various doctor appointments since the death even if so far nothing was working. Randy did believe his daughter when she said her mom was in a whole other field than depressed, but what exactly was it and was there any hope?

It was getting late and time for bed. Randy got to his feet and saw Shelley and Sharon on the couch.

"I don't know if she'll go back up tonight," Shelley said, arm around her mother.

Randy sighed and nodded. "Sh-Sharon, try to get some sleep tonight okay? You have your sleeping pills. Don't meet me in bed if you don't want to." She seemed not to have heard. "You know I'm there for you, okay Shar?" Sharon's eyes just glazed over. Shaking his head, Randy went upstairs. It was always difficult to pass by his son's bedroom on the way to the master; if he'd have it his way he'd switch Stan's room with the guest bedroom so then he didn't have to walk pass the door each day. Why did he and his wife want to have Stan's room the closest near their own? But it was too late to change it now. Out of habit, Randy creaked the door open, although not knowing why. There was no figure in the bed; the room was dark and empty of the items Stan had given his friends in his will but still filled plenty with other things. Heart aching Randy went to his own room and shut the door.

The master bedroom was messier than it ever had been; various clothes and such were strewn about. Some from Sharon's lack of caring or detail now, others because no one seemed to bother with what to do once they wore a certain shirt. After Randy took off his clothes and sat around in his underwear, he decided to put the clothes away, more so he had something to do before he went to bed rather than being annoyed with the messy room. He picked up his nice dress trousers and frowned when he saw something fall out of the pocket. He went to pick it up and tears instantly filled his eyes; it was an envelope with the word Dad written on it. He knew what this was, it was a letter or something his son had written him before he died. Stan's lawyer presented an envelope to various people that evening of Stan's funeral. Randy never did open it, how could he? He simply placed it in his pocket, trying to block out the realization his son had indeed passed on.

But now… a month into the grief. Randy needed closure of some sort, perhaps this letter would be that thing. Perhaps after, he'd feel stronger and be able to help Sharon out with her own loss. Did he think he'd get away tear-free? Probably not. Tears would come no matter when he decided to read it. Sharon was downstairs with his daughter tonight; it might just be the right time to open the envelope up. Fingers shaking like an old man's, Randy sat on his bed and opened the envelope to reveal two folded pages with words written on them, front-to-back. It was indeed a letter. With baited breath, Randy began to read:

Dad-

It's time I gather my final thoughts and such to you Dad. Let me tell you that you did a good job.

Tears were already flooding Randy's vision but he knew he had to go on.

When I look back at my life you did what you had to do. From the beginning you played your role as dutiful husband and father and made sure your family was safe and happy. Of course there were moments I am not happy that are a part of my memory but I'll get to that later.

Randy frowned, wondering what those could be.

You've really been the definition of a 'boy's dad' to me (and Shelley). You really took the time to listen to my guy problems. That's good to know. I love how you understood me about stuff. Remember when I told you about my first crush? You had fun with that and tried helping me with it in a way Mom couldn't.

Randy sniffed as a proud smile filled his face.

Sure what you said didn't help (5 years after Wendy still made me throw-up!) but I appreciate your words. Remember when Butters was queefed on? That was so gross! ! But you understood why, Mom didn't. But it was your idea to sing that song for her and the rest of the women and I thank-you for helping us guys apologize in the right way. You made farts funny Dad. You got why Terrance and Philip were funny. Thanks again for that one fart book and toy, I'll never forget how fun it was to bug and trick Mom with it! Remember when she had her girlfriends over for that 'dignified' tea tasting party and I let off the fart toy? So funny and well-worth the time out.

Randy laughed through his tears as said memory entered his mind. That was such a fun day for the both of them.

I want to thank-you for coming to my hockey, baseball, football, soccer, and karate games and tournaments. You did miss some but when you did show up it made me happy. This brings me to my first beef with you-

Randy didn't know if he wanted to read on but he knew he had to.

Why didn't you show up to all my games? Mom did. She came to every one. She made them fun, you made them suck.

Randy gasped; did his son really just write this to him?

You were the one who freaked out during pee-wee hockey about that missed shot. Dad, I was four. FOUR. How did you expect me to make it? I didn't know what I was doing most of the time and could barely ice skate. You always had high expectations when it came to sports. In Little League you just had to get drunk and make a scene by getting in fights with other dads didn't you?

"Hey, I had every right to!" Randy found himself say in defense but he went on.

You couldn't just sit and enjoy the game like Mom. I have a confession to make- I did not enjoy Little League much when I was younger.

"You didn't what?" Randy silently gasped. No way, there was no way he had just read those words. Surely Stan loved it, he had been playing since first grade, starting with tee ball. If he hated the game he would have said so.

It was boring and slow and I couldn't wait until the game was over so I could have my pizza and go home. I only played it because it made you and Mom happy.

Again Randy looked at the letter, confusion on his face. He just didn't think his son would say this because Stan would always voice if he didn't like something. What was wrong with the game? He was so good on the mound and he learned quickly. He could hit the ball and run so well despite having asthma. He was so good at the sport, what was to hate about it?

But seeing as all that time you only wanted to train to get into MORE fights… it's hard to care now. Baseball is fun now-

At this Randy's throat constricted. Knowing Stan wrote this when he had fallen in love with the sport…

…but it wasn't as much then. Football was always fun. You didn't get AS drunk during those games, although got pissed off if I lost. FYI, I never saw myself as a pro-quarterback Dad. I know you were making visions of that for the past however many years.

Randy sniffed and dabbed his eye. Maybe Stan knew him better than he thought all these years. He couldn't recall ever intentionally telling him he saw his son as a pro football player. At least not off the bat. But it was hard not to pretend. It was his right as a father to think of his son as a professional athlete, especially if they were great at whatever sport they played. Seeing Stan dressed in his little Denver Broncos pajamas at age five… how excited he was when he got that Broncos helmet for Christmas at age eight… always there with him and the guys to enjoy the game every Sunday… well maybe a little part of him saw his son as being on the field someday. But it was weird to read words coming from someone who loved the sport so much and was so good at it saying those things. Every boy dreamed of being a professional did they not? Athlete or rock star, two of the biggest ambitions for any boy.

But it was fun watching the game with you. It was our 'thing'. Soccer was fun as well although you didn't like going to those games either. Karate was a lot of fun but you NEVER saw me practice! Only to pick me up! What the fuck Dad? I wanted you to show up so you could see my new moves and getting a new belt! Anyway…

Randy was feeling very guilty at this point. So far he was not shaping out to be a great father and it tore him up to see all he had done that had caused Stan to write these words. Most coming from things sports-related.

"Oh Stan… I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry son. (Sniff) look at me, I couldn't even show up to my own son's soccer games. What kind of father was I to you? (Sniff) it's the one bond all fathers try to make with their son but I somehow fucked that up…" he moaned. He was tempted to pop open a beer can but he didn't want to chance his wife and daughter seeing him in this state so he thought it best to power on. Surely not every word in the letter was full of negativity.

Away from sports… you always put me above anyone and always made me feel important. Thank-you for that. I never had any doubt how much you loved me because you would always speak highly of me.

Randy was back to smiling again.

Can I just say it bothered me how you didn't return the same feelings of affection with Shelley?

"What?" Randy gasped. What was Stan on about now?

Ya she's been a bitch to me from day one but she's your only daughter. Like I'm your only son, we're both important. She never really said anything but I know it upsets her how you and Mom always put me first. Maybe if you guys gave her the same attention she would have been nicer to me.

"What… what are you talking about St-Stan?" Randy sniffed. He never treated his kids differently did he? What Stan didn't know what the four years of Shelley's life before he was born she was already a terror. A little girl that enjoyed pitching a fit to get what she wanted and pushed other kids during preschool. It had nothing to do with him.

Something else that bothered me-

"Oh now what? I get I was a screw-up already son," Randy said miserably.

Your drinking.

Randy sighed, not surprised.

Man I could go on forever with this one. If you didn't already know it was the thing I probably disliked most about you since it lead to all sorts of problems. Now there's a difference between being a drunken asshole like Kenny's dad and you. The difference is Kenny never cared. He actually rooted when his parents were in a drunken rage. Mr. Mc Cormick drank away his problems. You claimed your drinking was 'social'. Mom drinks socially Dad. You drink because- I don't even know. All I do know is your drinking caused problems- car accidents, police arrests, fights with Mom, idiotic behavior, annoyance with Shelley and me. I could go on and on. And you NEVER saw a problem with it!

At this point Randy had to stop; he was shaking mad now and he needed to get on his feet and began pacing the room. He was the worst father, clearly Stan thought so. He didn't want to read the rest of the letter, all it was about was his recently deceased son telling him he had done a horrible job raising him. His skin bubbled with guilt. Did Stan want him to feel this way? If so he was doing the job well. But his son was smart; he knew these words would bother him no matter what even if Stan loved his father. It was almost a half hour before Randy took up a seat on the bed again. Stan did love him. He had to. They had shared many great memories together. Sure Randy didn't understand why his son was the way he was at times, and they had different personalities and interests, but through it all… he knew he loved him. The kind words would be coming any moment now. And that was what allowed Randy to go on.

You never owned up to your mistakes. You never cared about how we felt. Most hurtful yet, you never apologized. I wish someday you will see the damage drinking has caused and why I don't plan to drink much if I live old enough to be of age.

"I'm sorry son, I'm so sorry…" Randy said as fresh tears emerged.

I really don't mean to be so hurtful to you Dad. You are a good person. Unfortunately you have caused a lot of strife for years. Stuff I don't think can ever be fully repaired. It is too late. I see how upset Mom is, I really find it hurtful to take sides but… I'm kinda on Mom's. I'm sorry to tell you this.

Randy shook his head, confused. What was Stan getting at?

I'll leave it at that. But maybe after I go, things can be fixed. Maybe my passing is/was meant to bring you, Mom, and Shelley closer. Please try, for me.

Randy was crying full-out now at his son's words.

I don't think I need to say anything else to you that's negative. By now you should know how I feel. I'm happy you tried to get me. You did know me well. A lot more than some kid's fathers do.

Randy smiled now as the words he was searching for appeared.

Oh! One of my favorite memories with you- swimming lessons with you when I was 6! If there was ever a more fun thing I did with you it was this. I felt safe in the water with you and you really encouraged me the whole time. It was one of the only times you were calm and not completive around me. I loved showing you what I had learned. Some was because of the instructor Mr. Hurst but most was because of you. Thanks for teaching me how to swim Dad.

Randy sniffed through a watery smile. "It- I'll miss those memories Stan. They were really fun. You were such-such a trooper the whole time."

Now for the worst part, me the past 3 years…

For the most part you were there. You really insisted no one help us. You were always by my bedside. You made sure visitors washed their hands before seeing me. You weren't dramatic about my diagnosis actually which was surprising. You just made sure I was getting the best care possible. Thanks for giving me a great few birthdays, esp. my 10th when Mom was still unemployed. I'll never forget how happy I felt when you walked in with all those gifts!

"You deserved it son…" Randy whispered.

On another note…

Dad, Tom is a good person.

"What?" where had these words come from? Why was he bringing that man up?

I know you didn't like him visiting Mom and me. But he is a good person. He has been able to provide Mom with much-needed support the past few years. It's not your fault really, you and her have just been going downhill before I was diagnosed anyway. All he wanted to do was be a friend for Mom and be a friend for me. He didn't want to fire Mom, he had to. If I could understand this at age 9, surely you can now. But maybe it's too late now.

Not knowing what to think of this, Randy read the last of the letter.

I really have nothing more to say. Thanks for being a great father. Thanks for the support and surprises over my life. Thanks for never allowing me to wonder for a moment if you loved me or not. Thanks for being a true 'boy's dad'. Thanks for showing me the manly side of life. Thanks for being 'the best around.'

Don't dwell on my death too long Dad. I know I will be very happy wherever I'm going. I'm going to be surrounded be sports stuff and animals and chocolate. Tell Mom this constantly. I'm afraid she might take my passing hardest.

I love you so much Dad and will never forget you.

Love, your son

Stanley

May 5, 2013

Randy sat there in shock for almost an hour, thinking about everything he had just read. He still felt like a bad father but Stan had told him he wasn't. Yet there was a lot of hate in the letter. A lot of mistakes he apparently made yet he couldn't recall most. Things he didn't even think were a big deal. Missed soccer games. So what? No American kid liked soccer. But did Stan? His heart ached terrible not knowing the answer to that, and now it was too late. Maybe he didn't know his son as well as he thought. And did he really have it that bad with his own daughter? He knew his kids had gotten closer the past couple years. It was very likely they did spill secrets to each other during those nights spent in their shared bedroom at the apartment. Holding onto that trust they had formed not to tell anyone anything they had told each other. What did Stan and Shelley talk about?

Sharon. So many mentions of his wife being there in ways he as a father, should have. He couldn't argue Sharon had never missed any of Stan's games or practices. But he had no idea Stan had been this annoyed about his drinking. So much came back to that. He wasn't that bad of an alcoholic. Was he even one? Again, did it matter now? His son was always a very open and honest boy; he had to have reason to say the things he did.

But in the end he did an okay job. He did share a lot of good times with Stan. He was there with the video camera the day he took his first steps across the living room. He was there with his wife to help hold down Stan as he screamed his head off getting his kindergarten shots. He was there to listen to all sorts of tales from school since he was little. The popsicle stick frame that held a picture of the two building a snowman when he was five with the words '#1 Dad!' still hung in his office at work. He taught Stan how to belch. To name his own farts. To pull pranks on Sharon even if it landed him in time-out. It was always worth it because the laughter that came after triumphed. He was always there to lend a hand if Stan needed him to fix a broken toy or if he had a boy problem only he could understand. He was the one who taught him how to throw a baseball. How to catch a football. And he knew that if Stan had been able to hold on a little while longer, it was he who would have gotten to him first about the infamous 'birds and the bees' talk. He who would have taught Stan how to shave. He who would have told him to have fun when his voice began breaking and cracking. He would have been there for him in so many other ways.

It was getting late now. Randy had folded the letter back up in the envelope and set it on his bedside table right where a framed picture was of Stan taken sometime last year. His poofball hat over what he knew was a bald head. He was beaming as he stood by a lake, candy bar in hand. He always loved this picture, simple yet perfect, with something Stan loved-sweets. He had done a good job. He had been there for his son when his son needed him most. And he was full of all those memories of simply being, as Stan put it, 'a boy's dad.' And as Randy drifted off to sleep he had to remind himself that his son did indeed love him, and that was all he needed to begin closure.

I hope you understood a bit why the letter turned out this way. But even if Randy had many flaws, Stan still loved him dearly. Other letters to follow: Sharon, Shelley, Kyle, Butters, Cartman, Kenny, Alice, and Dr. Davies, not in that order. I hope you are still interested in everyone post How the Darkness Sounds. Thanks, and please leave a review.

Lots of love: Rose, November 17, 2011