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"The Lord is with thee..."Gentle hands rolled her over. From the sounds of the cries she looked as bad as she felt."Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit..."She managed to pick out her Sergeant's face among those clustering over her. His hands were on her wound, his body shaking with the effort to stop the bleeding."Of thy womb, Jesus..."People were screaming for an ambulance, for bandages, for a dust-off helicopter. Those cries should be loud, but they were getting so very faint now."Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners..."The faces of her fellow cops were gone. It was quiet now. All she could see were her husband and her daughter. They were smiling and she tried to reach out to them."Now and at the hour of our death. Amen."It was very dark now. Then she could see a light. Not the "light at the end of a tunnel" she had heard about, but rather a light that seemed to grow all around her. There was a figure standing beside her. An old man, he leaned on a cane. Seating myself at a back table, I bundled a fork, knife, and spoon, wrapped them in a napkin, and bound them together with a self-stick slip of paper emblazoned with the words ‘Shamrock Grille’ in bright green. I did this again and again at a frantic pace, attempting to keep my mind and hands busy. It wasn’t working. I could look across the dark paneled room and see John’s favorite booth. Could see him sitting there beneath the glow of a neon pint of Guinness, elbows on the table, gazing up at the big screen TV on the wall. He’d been sitting there the first time I’d seen him, the first time we’d spoken. Finally, I let my mind wander freely, back over the months, to those winter evenings when I’d so looked forward to seeing him there, at my table, always disappointed if my tables were all full, forcing him to sit elsewhere. Still, I was lucky most of the time, and John seemed to know which tables were mine. I remembered looking into those deep emerald green eyes, fringed with thick.
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