To the one whom I love,
This is Hawkeye Pierce coming to you from a hospital somewhere in the U.S.A.
Yes, I know that it has been a very long time since the last we've spoken. One day away from you, let alone eighteen years, is far too long to be separated from you.
My dear Margaret… boy what a rough road life has been for us. I am not sure if your husband has told you or not, but my liver could crap out at any given moment. Yes that's right, my "deplorable tendency" as you so often referred to my alcoholism as, has finally brought me to death's door step.
Over the past few days, I've been frantically trying to get letters written and mailed out those whom I love the most on this planet. Through these letters, I've tried to make amends for the sheer disappointment and hurt my addiction, as well as my sober actions have caused. I started off writing to Radar, then Charles, Trapper, Colonel Potter, Klinger, Sidney and even BJ. The last on this list is you. Don't worry being last is a good thing. I saved you for last because out of all of the people I have just listed above – I love you the most.
Do you remember the first time we met? I certainly do.
It was in Colonel Blake's office, right after I had just arrived at the 4077th. You, Frank, Trapper, Spearchucker and Henry were all waiting to get a look at the new surgeon who would be joining the circus.
It's no national secret that I have an ego the size of Texas; but in that very moment, I felt as self-conscious and afraid, as a shell-less turtle. Before my chopper landed at the 4077th, the pilot had to make an emergency landing because a lone sniper decided to open fire on us. (If that isn't a wakeup call that I was actually in an active warzone – then I don't know what is!)
The second I walked through those swinging wooden doors, all five sets of eyes immediately snapped in my direction. I thought to myself that this was what high society ladies back in the Victorian age must have felt like, when they were first presented to society after coming of age.
Finally, after an awkward silence that seemed to last the length of one of the Lutheran church services which my Grandmother used to drag me to as child – Radar cleared his throat and officially presented me to Colonel Blake. Before Henry could have a chance to spit out a syllable, you and Frank stood up from your chairs and rushed me. Each of you, grabbed one of my hands and shook it, saying how you hope I don't succumb to the lack of discipline and overall moral perversion that is exemplified under the Colonel's command.
If I hadn't just almost have gotten my ass shot off in the chopper and still wasn't in a state of shock; I would have laughed until my face turned blue from lack of oxygen, and my gut hurt so bad that it'd look like I had appendicitis. Instead, I simply muttered a mere "thanks".
The tense and overly formal mood was immediately broken when none other than "Trapper" John McIntyre, stepped forward and shook my hand. The words he said were the ones that built the foundation for the friendship to come. He said, "Don't mind Hot Lips coming on so strong – she's just running out of options in the camp. There was an official poll taken by the guys in motor supply, and nobody is G.I. enough for her except ole' Ferret Face over there."
Next thing I heard was the most outraged gasp I had ever heard in my entire life, escape your larynx. You then went on to try an refute Trapper's insult; but this was one of those times that you were so mad that you could only articulate the first syllables of words, so what came out of your mouth of gibberish.
Being the asshole I was – I began to laugh like a hyena at the bizarre scenario. I wondered what kind of nut farm I had fallen into. Moreover, I knew that if this was only the first five minutes at the 4077th – I'd fit in perfectly fine.
For the rest of 50' and half of 51' – this ludicrous pattern of Trapper and I, verses you and Frank – continued on. Trap and I did everything from rig yours and Frank's dates up for failure, to putting Frank in a full body cast and suspend him from the ceiling, and running all of your underwear up the flagpole at revelry.
You and Frank hated us so much for making your lives hell. Looking back on it now, there were a handful of times we went too far, like when we broadcasted yours and Frank's breakup speech to the entire camp over the P.A. system. But I suppose that you got over that stuff because you ended up marrying not just me, but Trap as well…
During that whirlwind period of the ceaseless practical jokes, glimmers of your true personality shone through at times.
Remember the time that the entire camp was down with the flu, and you and I, Mulcahy, Radar and a few nurses were the only ones left standing? At that time we were undoubtedly sworn enemies – but we worked together to deal with the casualties and keep the 4077th running as best we could. You handled all of the administration stuff that Henry usually dealt with, while I attempted to deal with busloads of casualties by myself.
You injected my rump with a serum that the dunderheads at I-Core thought would prevent the flu. It ended up giving the flu – not curing it. Both of us should have known better than to trust anything that to trust I-Core says. Right after my symptoms set in, Radar got word that a mess of casualties were coming in by chopper. I think he asked permission to lend a jeep to battalion aid, or something like that. (My memory isn't what it used to be). This was one of those rare occasions where I out yelled you, and actually got Radar to do as I ordered.
Henry Blake used to harp that you and Burns went over his head so many times to General Clayton, that his head athlete's scalp. Let me tell you, he wasn't the only one who felt that way back in the day.
I remember one time while me and Trapper were getting a buzz on, we tried to recall the number of times that you and ole' ferret face tried to get us arrested. Let's just say between the two of us we ran out of fingers and toes...
Anyways, back to the point of our little trip down memory lane. When I told you that I was sick, your response of genuine concern floored me. I realized that there was actually more to your personality than just "Hot Lips" and "Major Houlihan".
The next time that we were forced to work as equals, was the first time you and I ever went up to the front, to help out Battalion Aid. Their surgeon had been killed and the casualties just kept on coming. Klinger of all people was selected at random to come along as out corpsmen. Even though we were such a motley trio – we ended up working like a well-oiled machine that night once the deluge had finally ended, you and I were huddled up together to conserve our body heat. As we ate our World War Two surplus beans in silence, I found myself somewhat surprised that I enjoyed your soft, warm body pressed up against mine. After we finished our meal (if you could even classify what we ate as food), you asked me if I thought there were snipers close by. I replied back with some sort of sarcastic, but not snide, remark. When I saw the paranoid expression on your face, I felt like a piece of shit. Quick to do damage control, I promptly wrapped my arms around you and told you that "chivalry wasn't dead – it's just replaced by exhaustion."
At the time I didn't even have to think twice about it. You needed to feel protected, and it was my job as a man, and as your friend to do so.
That's right. Even way back then, despite our ongoing rivalry, I considered you my friend, Margaret. Well wait, scratch that. Maybe not friends per say. You were more along the lines of a fond acquaintance.
The next day when we got back to camp, we were forced to return to our assigned roles of being the neurotic head nurse and the unruly, draftee doctor. Our dance of ridiculousness continued, but we were changed people. We experienced what pure terror and helplessness felt like – together. Now I don't know about you, looking back on it, that sure had a hell of a an impact on me.
Almost a half a year passed after that. Henry passed away, Trapper left shortly afterwards, and then finally after four more grueling months – Frank finally left the 4077th for good.
Then along came the era of BJ Hunnicutt, Colonel Potter and Charles. It wasn't long after we were blessed with that aristocratic, hairless parsnip Charles that our lives were changed forever. No I'm not talking about how we were stuck working with a surgeon who had an ego the size of Texas, for the rest of the war. I'm referring to those fateful two days wherein we were trapped behind enemy lines.
At that time, your marriage Donald dumb-face, was on its last legs. Right before we departed from the 4077th, you received a letter from him that really had you hackles up. I was surly because I was stuck with you, instead of taking Bigelow along to the 8063rd like I had wanted to.
By this point of the war we we're both veterans, so, a little trip over to a neighbouring M*A*S*H unit wasn't a big deal at all. It was just routine, everyday life in a warzone to us.
On the way there, the North Koreans began shelling the main road we were on. Chaos ensued as your khaki coloured blood kicked into high gear. You ordered me to drive on ahead because if I kept reversing, we would surely get wounded, or worse. Panic overtook me and I did as I was told. We escaped the shelling, but once we arrived at the 8063rd we realized that a bit of shellfire was the least of our troubles… They had bugged out, which meant that we were behind enemy lines.
After losing our jeep to some more mechanically inclined North Koreans, we found shelter in an abandoned house. One failed rescue attempt of an wounded solider and a bout of shellfire later – I got a chunk of wood stuck in my leg. After you removed the fragment from my leg, we were both so fed up with the day that we decided to share the bottle of cheap Japanese scotch I brought along.
Finally, after enough prodding and a few stiff belts, I got you to open up about what was in that letter that made you so damn angry. After you told me about the stupid stunt Penobscot pulled, I put my foot in my mouth again and said something completely stupid. The usual course of us bickering and sarcastically commenting to one another ensued, before we finished the bottle and went decided to go to sleep. You opted to sleep far away from me. I certainly did not protest.
A few moments later, it seemed like the entire world suddenly was exploding. The North Koreans had no mercy during this round of shelling. The screams of horror that came from your mouth still give me chills to this day. Your nerves, not to mention mine, were so frayed at that point – all defenses of ego and propriety were abandoned.
When I took you into my arms and held onto for dear life, something happened inside of me. The fickle feeling of affection that was seeding in my heart, bloomed into a mysterious and wonderful flower. My heart started to control my actions, rather than my brain.
I know I don't need to tell you what happened next. Believe me, I for one have never forgotten. And just think Margaret, that was only the beginning of our mind-blowing career in love making. Wait! Maybe it would be more appropriate to call that our Saturday matinee debut, now that I think about how awkwardly horrifying, the morning after was for both of us. Oh yeah, and then how almost slapped the skin right off of my face in front of the entire 4077th. But that night after I told Beej about what happened to us behind enemy lines, I came to visit you in your tent. Good ole' Beej, being the level headed man he is, made me realized that I wasn't angry or ashamed that we spent a night in each others arms. Rather, I was petrified that I actually felt genuine feelings of affection toward you.
Once you let me into your tent, yet another argument ensued. After we both had the chance for our tempers to flare, finally came to an accord. In an unspoken way, we both agreed that underneath the concrete wall of our stubbornness, we did care for one another more than we wanted to admit.
Despite that turning point in our lives, things did go back to normal afterwards at the 4077th. I still kept on chasing nurses, and you kept on fighting with Donald for awhile – that is of course until he ran out on you and moved to San Francisco.
The for the rest of the war, our relationship dynamic began to change gradually. We were no longer at each others throats twenty-four hours a day. Instead it was more like twelve hours of the day. All joking aside, it really did change. We became friends. When the war got to rough, we leaned on each other from time to time.
Like for instance that awful ordeal when Potter decided that it would be a swell idea to hide out in a cave, to escape the artillery crossfire the camp was caught in. We were scared as hell when we had to take a critical case back to the 4077th, but just like at the aid station and behind enemy lines – we helped one another overcome living through our worst phobia. Mine was claustrophobia and yours (which still makes me chuckle to this day considering the career avenue you picked at the time) was sudden loud noises.
Hey, remember April Fools day of 53? Boy that was all out, practical joking warfare! I still haven't forgotten the look on your face after Charles, BJ and I stole the canvas of your tent! Then to top it all off, I placed that old skeleton model skeleton that Henry had in his office back in the day, and placed it under the covers of my bed. There were only a few times up to that point that I had managed to piss you off to the point of being speechless. I was sure proud of myself asshole-self that night for hatching that scheme!
God that was sure hilarious the following night, when we dumped that barrel of beer all over Potter's friend Tucker – who at that time was posing as a khaki Godzilla who was ready to bust all of us tricksters down to our socks. Tucker was really just a part of the Colonel's April Fools joke, but that's beside the point. Only eight months before that, never in a million years would I ever have thought you would engage in such debauchery with me. You have no idea how proud you made me that night!
A few months and a monstrous mental breakdown later, we found ourselves standing in the compound of the sewer we had both called home, for over almost three years, for the very last time. When it finally came time for me to say goodbye…I just couldn't bring myself to utter that melancholy inducing word.
For a long time, I couldn't figure our afterwards why decided to give you the most passionate, emotional kiss in my life. That being said, a few days after the first time Sidney Freedman's first visit with in Crabapple Cove – I came to an eye opening realization. I kissed you because the feelings that started in that bombed out hut, behind enemy lines, grew to the point that I just couldn't suppress them anymore. I subconsciously made sure that every feeling of affection, every ounce of admiration that I held for you, was made apparent in that kiss.
I realized that I was in love with you Margaret… really, truly, head over heels in love.
I remember that moment like it was yesterday. It was about six in the evening and I was sitting outside on the front porch with a flask of scotch in hand, waiting for Dad to finish cooking dinner. Once my brain finally wrapped itself around what my heart was screaming; I did something that was only going to happen a handful of days later on. I set down the poison that was soon to consume my life.
I ran inside the house like a mad man, and rushed into the kitchen to the phone that hung right beside the stove where my dad was standing. I frantically banged on the receiver of the phone until an operator clicked in. As I held the phone in my hand, I notice that not just my hand, but my whole body was shaking like somebody had just tried to electrocute me. But I didn't care – I knew that if I didn't call you right then and there, I would probably never would.
After a series of transfers, I finally reached you at the hospital in Atlanta you were working at. When I heard your voice, all of my nerves, depression, and PTSD that had piled up inside of my chest since the end of the war, vanished into thin air. My old charming, smug, tone that used to drive you so crazy rung out like a songbird as I asked if you would come out to visit me as soon as possible. I even offered to pay for your plane tickets if I remember correctly. Anyways, after mindless, nervous, small talk for a few minutes, you had to hang up. Once you did, I slowly removed the phone from my ear and gently hung it back up. I was grinning so hard that I'm surprised I didn't pull muscle or I turned my head to my right though, I realized that my Dad had just witnessed my entire bout of insanity and my expression changed into one of worry, over what he might be thinking.
With a straight face, he asked me if we were about to have another visitor, in his calm, yet dry tone he always had. When I said yes, a smile spread across his face as he went back to stirring whatever was on the stove. Nervously, I asked him what on Earth he was smirking about. His response was classic Dad. He told me that it was about damn time I realized that was in love with you, and that if I had figured it out any slower he would have flown you out to Maine himself.
I stood there speechless and in awe. Apparently, my feelings for you were really a lot more blatant than I had assumed. It made me chuckled when Dad's observations were confirmed numerous times afterwards, in the speeches at our wedding.
It seems like that by the end of the war, everybody at the 4077th knew that – expect for us of course!
Anyways, fast forward through our whirlwind courtship and the biggest party Crabapple Cove had ever witnessed (which is our wedding of course), and we get to the honeymoon. I must admit it was odd to be back in Hawaii as civilians, but we soon forgot all about that the second we opened the door to our hotel room. That was… well you know our honeymoon went – I know I never have.
That was the first and probably the last time, we were ever truly happy as a married couple. Once we got back to Maine and moved into a house of our own; I fell back into old habits.
My nightmares about the war continued, and so did my sleepless nights.
At first it was just a martini with dinner, then maybe one or two afterwards before bed. Then two became three, and then I also thought I needed to drink some scotch to help me go to sleep. The quantity of alcohol just became larger until the point that I was chugging a half a bottle of scotch in the bathroom, before I brushed my teeth and joined you in our bed.
By that point, we were fighting almost the entire time we were not at work. If it wasn't about my nighttime routine, it was about the money I was throwing away after work at the bar and at the liquor store.
Something begin to change during the summer of 55'. Your demeanor was rapidly changing into a woman that wasn't the wife of a drunkard. The anger and sorrow in your eyes had seemed to dissipate. When I would come home from the bar at 3am on Saturday's, you weren't waiting up in your chair in the living room as per usual. You stopped reminding me that people in Crabapple Cove were beginning to coin me as the town drunkard. Most of all, you began to write letters to your old friend from "nursing school" almost everyday. That friend being your now lawfully wedded husband, McIntyre.
If I wasn't red faced for the ninety-five percent of my life outside of work, I probably would have realized that you were cheating on me. Hell, maybe you wouldn't have even felt that you needed to seek the love you craved so much, from a man that wasn't me.
Margaret, you knew me better than anyone on the planet – including BJ. When Dad passed away on Christmas Eve of that year, you had to have known how much it tore me apart.
Dammit Margaret! I thought you knew that nobody or nothing – not even the bottle – could have given me comfort the way your love could have… Exactly two weeks later, the night that marked the decline of my life happened. Only two fucking weeks after I lost my Dad, you left me for that piece of shit I once called my best friend.
My god, I was such a god mess that entire winter. I halfway remember calling Sidney the afternoon after you walked out on me, (I was still somewhat drunk at the time), crying like a child into the phone. Twelve hours later and I was hammered again, so I forgot about what even happened that afternoon. I was sure surprised when I opened my front door to see him standing there, alongside Radar O'Reilly to the right of him. Both had a determined look on their face, and a suitcase in each of their hands.
For the next week, the two of them made sure I didn't kill myself with alcohol poisoning... or by any other means. They sat up with me, and helped me through what I now realize was the process of grief. First I was in shock, then denial, and then I became so angry. Along with the anger came the depression that has haunted me ever since.
Sidney had to fly back to Philadelphia because of his practice after his week was up, which was totally understandable. Radar on the other hand, elected to move in with me for a few months, to help me get back up onto my feet. I honestly couldn't believe that a man with a beautiful wife and a five children would drop everything on a dime, to take care of an aging, alcoholic, louse like myself… but he did. So, I gave it my all and kept my promises to him and Sidney that I would cut back on the booze. And you know what? I honest to god was able to cut down to only a martini a night. For a solid month I was even stone cold sober. I bet you don't believe that, but it's true!
Come March, Radar moved back to Iowa to resume his own life, and left me to my own devices. Well for the first few days I was okay. But come the fifth night knowing that I was truly alone with nobody left in the town, let alone the state of Maine, who truly cared for me – I broke my promise. I started to resume the nighttime routine, that led to the ruin of our marriage.
When Sidney, and other's like Radar and Beej called me up, asking how I was doing, I lied through my teeth saying that I was still off the wagon.
My wall of deceit came crumbling down though, when I showed up to the first 4077th reunion.
For a week before, I tried and basically succeeded in drying myself out. I didn't want to let everyone down and show them what a failure I had become by showing up plastered. I promised myself that I would only have two single scotch on the rocks in my hotel room for a bracer, before I headed downstairs for the dinner. By the second drink, the gears in my mind starting grinding and it hit me that I was going to have to see you hung off McIntyre's arm as his new trophy wife. Two small drinks quickly turned into me chugging a third of the bottle. By the time I had finally made it downstairs – I had already missed dinner and the start of the toasts. Well, I'm sure you can imagine how the rest of the night went. I won't bore you with the details.
I never tried to stop drinking after that – except for the weekend of Mulcahy's funeral. But I'm sure you heard through the grapevine how monumentally I screwed that weekend up to...
Alcohol has been, and always will be my Achilles heel.
As a medical professional, and the former wife of and addict – I don't need to tell you how my destructive behaviour has hurt and destroyed everything that I once loved and cherished in my life.
Believe me Margaret, when I say that I tried every which way I knew how to, to stop drinking. You must know that when I tell you that looking back on it all now, that not even you – the love of my life and my soulmate – was enough to silence the demon that lurks beneath my skin.
To this very day, every part of my body and soul yearns for you. It tore me apart when you decided to leave me for McIntyre. Knowing that I have lost your love and respect hurts me so much, that no words exist to describe my agony. My physical body rotting away is less painful than the heartache you left me with.
In the package you'll receive with this letter, I've included a record that describes more poignantly than I ever possibly can, about how life without you at my side has been.
Every time I'd start to drink, I thought about you and how much you hurt me. I used to fantasize though, about you suddenly leaving McIntrye and coming back to be with me. I thought that if would have actually come back to me, sobriety would have been possible. I would have been able to ditch the bottle for good and truly appreciate spending every day, of the rest of my life with you. When my doctor gave me the news six months ago, that there was nothing more he could do for me or my liver – the lightbulb finally went off in my scrambled brain.
Even if my fools hope of being reunited with you would have happened, nothing would have changed in the long run. Instead of dying in my fifties – I would have died in my late sixties, possibly even in my early seventies. Heck maybe that wouldn't have even been the case. Chances are, I probably still would have still ended up in this hospital bed that I'm in right now.
I've been in this hospital for a few weeks now, and I only have a day or two left on this planet before I meet my maker. Do you really want to know something? For the first time, since the I frantically called you up that day when I realized that I loved you – I finally feel like I am being honest with myself. Like I said earlier, I've made my amends with the those whom I love the most. I know that there is no way I can repent for all of my earthly sins, but I do have peace of mind now. All of the baggage I have been carrying around is finally free, once this letter is finished.
Sidney Freedman has been a blessing throughout these last years of my life. I don't know why he kept on coming around, but he did. Even now at the end of all things, he's sitting here beside me, helping me write this letter to you. I am so happy that I am not going to death alone. There two others here from our past that we both know, but I don't want to name names. I don't want you to see me in this pathetic state, Margaret.
I am so, so sorry, for the immeasurable amount pain I have caused you after the war. Never in a million years would I ever have consciously wanted to cause you any type of harm.
Please don't feel sad for me, or dwell on the past to much. Don't forget to smile, and always remember enjoy the little things in life. Love your daughters that you and Trapper John have brought into this world. Live each day like it's your last. Most importantly, don't forget to tell those whom you love the most, how much you do actually love them.
I know that after how I treated you while we were married, that there probably isn't much affection - if any - left inside of you for me. It'd make me smile though, to know that there is still some love left in your heart for me. Looking back on this letter, I know that my bitterness surrounding what happened at the end of our marriage, has shone through. You need to understand that there is no way I can close this letter, without out letting you know that I love you now as much as I did, on that sunny summer day when took our vows.
In my eyes, you are the most compassionate, beautiful, intelligent, incredible woman that God has ever created. To be able to call you my wife for even a few years, was the greatest joy, honour and blessing ever bestowed upon me.
If by some loophole in the system up in the sky I manage to get a pair of wings after I'm gone, I want you to know that I will watch over you and your family. May God bless you for all the years you have left on this earth.
It's been one hell of a bumpy ride, but I guess it's finally time now to take my bow and bid you a fond farewell. I will love you with all my heart and soul, for all of eternity.
Goodbye, Margaret Houlihan.
Love,
"Hawkeye" Benjamin Franklin Pierce