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
They were sitting together at the edge of a dock that lead out to a swamp. Fish darted through the murky roots. Herons and waterhens stalked through the reeds, hungrily searching for movement—and lunch. Alligators drifted lazily through the water, and somewhere, a group of frogs began to croak. A mosquito dipped over their heads, just managing to dodge Kermit's tongue. Kermit wasn't disappointed though. If he had caught the mosquito, he would have woken up. And Kermit was happy sitting beside Jim on this dock.
The puppeteer was just the same as Kermit remembered him—although at a different angle. His white beard and hair neatly combed, his blue eyes watching everything with a childish fascination. His hands, which had so often held Kermit, now drifted along through the muddy water as if searching for crayfish. He was clearly happy.
"It's been a long time, Kermit," Jim said with his soft voice. Kermit nodded, staring out into the swamp.
"Twenty-three years," the frog replied. "The Muppets were never quite the same after you… left."
A firm hand rested on Kermit's head. "After I died," Jim corrected softly. "It happened, and it was tragic, but it was twenty-three years ago. Remember me, but don't mourn me." The frog nodded, swallowing convulsively. It had been a long time, and he had loved working with Steve, but… well, Jim was the person who had brought Kermit to life. Kermit owed his existence to this man, and facing his death was still hard.
"Why did you go?" Kermit asked. Jim pondered the question for a few moments, and then shrugged his shoulders.
"We all have a time when we need to go," Jim said with a sad smile. "It was just my time to go. I had a good life, and now I'm at peace."
Kermit shook his head. "It wasn't enough time!" Jim reached around the frog's shoulders to hold him close in a hug. "It was never going to be enough time," Jim said with a sad smile. "It could have been a hundred years that I lived, and it wouldn't be enough to see what I wanted to see, or experience what I wanted to experience. But I'm not gone yet." The frog looked up at him in hope. "I'm there when a child learns the alphabet with Elmo. I'm there when Big Bird goes on an adventure with Mr Snuffleupagus. I'm there when Dr Honeydew does something horrible to Beaker, or when Animal attacks his drum kit. And when you and Miss Piggy walked down the red carpet at the premier of The Muppets, I was walking with you."
For a moment, Kermit and John remained silent. Finally, Jim stood up. "Well," he said with a sad sigh, "I wish we could be together longer. But the Muppets need you, and the children in heaven need me." For a minute or two, the old friends embraced, enjoying the cherished memories that they had between them. Then Jim was gone, and Kermit was being awoken by Crazy Harry failing to blow up some part of the Muppet theatre.
For the rest of the day, Kermit walked around with a smile on his face. When asked, he claimed that it was all down to a good dream. But when the sun set and the Muppets sat down to a chaotic dinner together, Kermit stood up. "A toast," he called, "to Jim Henson—we wouldn't have gone anywhere without him." And as the Muppets echoed the toast, Kermit smiled at the evening sky. And he could have sworn that one of the stars winked at him as it watched over that unlikely band of friends.
"God must have needed Muppets in heaven."—Unidentified child at Jim Henson's memorial service
