A.N. Hey readers. So, last year I was struggling with some traumatic events, including the suicide of a friend at the same time that I was contemplating suicide. In order to cope, I fixated on another similar event—which, thanks to Kevin Clash, turned out to be the death of Jim Henson. I am doing better now, but I ended up writing several fanfictions as a show of my grief. I felt that publishing them today was the right thing to do, in thanks to an extraordinary man.

To Jim Henson—

Thank you for showing us the rainbow connection.

Sincerely,

The lovers, the dreamers and me

It was 1am, and the hospital was almost silent. The soft padding of the nurses making their night rounds, the quiet sounds of the bats and night birds fluttering past the window, the quiet roar of the passing cars as they travelled along the roads… these broke the silence of the night. Well those, and Jim's irrepressible coughing. He struggled to sit up, clasping a hand across his face to muffle his coughing. After all, he couldn't disturb Jane, Lisa, Brian, John, Heather and Cheryl. They were curled up at his bedside, sleeping in the chairs that the hospital provided for them. He knew that his friends had also wanted to stay, to be with him through his last night. But the room was too small for all of the Muppetiers to be beside him, so Jane had shooed them all off with the promise that she would call as soon as his condition changed. And his condition would change. Jim knew that he was dying—knew it without a doubt.

A cool hand touched Jim's forehead gently. At first Jim tensed—he was worried that his coughing had woken his wife and children. But it was an old and familiar face that looked down on him. Part of him wasn't surprised to see Kermit the Frog hanging over his head. After all, his friends had always compared him to Kermit—hard-working, generous, loving, and just a little bit frazzled. He reached up with one shaking hand, and stroked it across the felt skin of the frog.

There were no words said between them—there never had been. Kermit had always known what Jim was thinking, and vice versa. There were no tears, no 'why didn't you leave for the hospital earlier'—there was just silent acceptance. And Jim didn't have to ask why Kermit was standing over him, his face downcast and his eyes filled with tears. He knew that it was time.

A felt hand enclosed Jim's, and he lifted himself easily to his feet. His body felt ageless, healthy, and as light as a feather. He walked into the light with his closest companion, while the heart monitor attached to his body began to wail in sorrow.

James Maury Henson died at 1:21am on May 16th, 1990—approximately 20 hours after checking himself into the emergency room with streptococcus pneumonia. He died with his family beside him, and his friends anxiously waiting for news. But Jim finished his life as he would have wanted to go—with a smile on his face, being lead to heaven with a little green frog beside him.

"I believe in taking a positive attitude toward the world, toward people, toward my work. I think I'm here for a purpose. I think it's very likely that we all are, but I'm only sure about myself. I try to tune myself in to whatever it is that I'm supposed to be, and I try to think of myself as a part of all of us - all mankind and all life. I find it's not easy to keep these lofty thoughts in mind as the day goes by, but it certainly helps me a great deal to start out this way."—Jim Henson