My reaction to the news that the original "Law and Order" series had been canceled took me by surprise. It shouldn't have, but it did.

I first heard of the show's pending demise a few weeks ago when someone alluded to it on Facebook. Something like, "Law and Order. RIP."

My initial response, I'm embarrassed to admit, was visceral. I quickly Googled up a more reliable source and confirmed that my favorite scales of justice were grinding to a halt after a 20-year run.

I felt like someone had just died, and that perturbed me. Come on, it's a dang TV show, I told myself.

It felt a little like I was losing a family member, an elderly one whose time had come after a good life, and I wasn't quite ready to let go.

I got over it within minutes, but I had to reflect on how a television series could have such an effect on me.

Could it be the show's sheer longevity?

I've watched it since I was in my 20s, and now I'm heading toward 50.

"Law and Order" has been there since my daughter was little and her father worked nights, when it was just me with the television for company. I'd often leave it on as I worked around the house.

That "cha-chung" sound whenever a major scene changed always got to me. It was hypnotic, rarely failing to draw me to the television to start watching.

It didn't matter how long the show had already been on. I could always pick up the story line because the formula was consistent.

When I couldn't work for months after a car accident, re-runs of the show on cable provided the only daytime television I could tolerate.

I think the simplicity of "Law and Order" was its biggest draw for me.

The characters had no big personal dramas. Their problems seemed genuine and plausible.

They weren't swinging in and out of romantic relationships with each other like the employees of many hospitals you see on television.

There was nothing glamorous about the precinct rooms where the string of trench coat-wearing New York City detectives worked.

There was no "CSI" hocus-pocus, no transparent touch screens or floating, virtual facial reconstructions.

The detectives' desks were in places that were appropriately dark and fittingly gritty, like the real city streets the show was filmed on.

I grew up around those parts and worked in Manhattan for a few years. Everyone in the Big Apple knows at least one person connected to the show in some way.

I like the way I hear "Law and Order" went out, with a finale as uncomplicated as its 20 years of episodes were. Nobody's wondering if it was all a dream, or if they were all actually dead the whole time.

I didn't watch the final show. I've never been a regular follower, just a follower. I'm sure I'll catch the last episode on cable one of these days.

Maureen Dolan is a staff writer for The Press. She can be reached at 664-8176 Ext. 2005 or via e-mail at [email protected].