Walking Her Home, a m*a*s*h fanfic

Walking her home

Sherman T Potter stood in the lonely cemetery, tears running unchecked down his weathered face. Why, oh why did his darling Mildred have to leave him? He questioned, cradling the beautiful flowers, unwilling to surrender them to the spot where Mildred laid, the shroud of death forever a chasm between them now. The misery of the quiet graveyard threatened to pull Sherman into its icy vortex and was not relieved by his aching, mind numbing grief. If this is what separation is like, how did she survive all those years when we had to be parted, his anguished mind raced. Only this is forever. As he stood there, his sobs quieted and he began to reflect upon the long, happy marriage they had shared and he wished it could have gone on for eternity.

Looking back
He sees it all
It was her first date the night he came to call

It was the year 1915, a young, good looking Sherman stood nervously outside Mildred Lancaster's door, trying to gather the courage to knock, the tension making his palms sweat while his heart hammered so loudly, he was sure the occupants inside could hear it's wild beating. Mildred was a thing of pure, innocent beauty, the kind of girl one wanted to protect, cherish, love and adore and yet she had strength of character that would prove to stand them in good stead.

"This is silly," he chided himself, "you're taking her to a show, not marrying her." Steeling himself, he knocked and waited apprehensively.

"May I help you?" a man's voice greeted him.

The door opened and Sherman beheld a tall, stern looking gentleman with a shock of unruly blond hair, framing his face. His eyes though, had a kindly appearance which helped the apprehensive youth before him relax a little.

"Sir, I'm here to pick up Mildred," Sherman explained shyly, unused to asking girls out. "I'm Sherman t Potter." He extended his hand and the two men shook.

I'm Harold Lancaster; she'll be with you soon, please come in and sit down"

Her dad said son
Have her home on time
And promise me you'll never leave her side

"Sherman, you must have her home at a decent hour," Her father kindly admonished.

"What in the name of sweet Fanny Adams, I'd never ruin anyone's reputation," Sherman assured, "If I did, my own father would lynch me from the old oak tree in the woods near our house."

He took her to a show in town
And he was ten feet off the ground

He was walking her home
And holding her hand
Oh the way she smiled it stole the breath right out of him
Down that old road
With the stars up above
He remembers where he was the night he fell in love
He was walking her home

Sherman and Mildred dated for a few months but she had his heart that first night, while he walked her home, on one particularly beautiful evening, he couldn't help stealing a kiss, a gentle, warm kiss upon her fair face. She blushed but made no protest, for she was as smitten as he with his good looks, country charm and relaxed demeanor. This was the man, she secretly hoped that she would spend the rest of her days with, grow old with, never be parted from.

They were married on April 5, 1916 in a simple ceremony conducted in their local Presbyterian church. Mildred was the picture of serenity as she walked down the aisle on her father's arm. The vows having been said, she knew in her very soul, that no truer words were ever spoken, she would follow him anywhere, do anything for him, and she knew he would do the same for her.

Ten more years and a waiting room
At half past one
And the doctor said come in and meet your son

"He's beautiful," Sherman choked, happy tears cascading down his face.

"Ours, darling, ours." Mildred's weary but joyful voice echoed Sherman's earlier sentiment.

His knees went weak
When he saw his wife
She was smiling as she said he's got your eyes

And as she slept he held her tight
His mind went back to that first night

He walked her through the best days of her life
Sixty years together and he never left her side

Their marriage had been a testament to dedication. They had been separated through his duty in the Second World War and later in Korea and yet, through all that, he, Sherman Potter had remained as in love with Mildred as he'd been the day they wed, more so in fact. His wife, his cherished treasure had been his rock, his fortress. All he had to do no matter where he was was to look at her picture, and he was transported to that day long ago.

A nursing home
At eighty-five
And the doctor said it could be her last night
And the nurse said Oh
Should we tell him now
Or should he wait until the morning to find out

A debilitating form of cancer ravaged Mildred's body but not her blithe spirit as she was in her nursing home bedroom, Sherman her constant companion, never leaving her side accept to get food. After his last war duty, he'd sworn he'd never go away again, no matter how they had to live or by what means. Now, as her body weakened, he knew he had to be strong for her, be her mighty mainstay against the winds that were buffeting her world.

"I'm very rusty with my prayer life, but all I can say is God, help me!" he beseeched his creator as he held Mildred's hand, knowing with a certainty they didn't have long to be together.

But when they checked her room that night
He was laying by her side

Oh he was walking her home
And holding her hand
Oh the way she smiled when he said this is not the end
And just for a while they were eighteen
And she was still more beautiful to him than anything
He was walking her home
He was walking her home

He assured her with a certainty that he didn't know he possessed that they would be together forever, no matter what, in a place of pure joy, pure bliss, a place devoid of all pain, sorrow, separation.
Looking back
He sees it all
It was her first date the night he came to call