To the one whom I love,
It is with great shame and remorse that I write this letter to you, Colonel Potter.
I know that you are a no nonsense type of guy, so I am going to get right down to the point – I'm dying. My battle is finally over, and it looks like the bottle came out on top. I am in the hospital, waiting for what's left of my liver to cash in.
Since Margaret left me, I know I have hurt and disappointed a lot of people because of my constant battle with my alcohol addiction… Finally at the end of all things, I've realized that losing your respect is the one that hurts me the most.
After my Dad passed away in 55', I looked to you to fill the immense void that was left in my life. True to your compassionate nature, you allowed me to lean on you. It was such a difficult time in my life, and you taking an hour out of your night every day to call me, really made feel a lot better. In some ways, it felt as if Dad wasn't really gone.
In Korea, I, along with many others looked up to you as a parental figure. I want to express my undying gratitude for the wisdom you tried to pass onto me. Your sometimes tough love was just the thing I needed now and then to kept me from completely derailing.
The most pivotal piece of advice you tried to pound into my thick skull was the time that Radar got wounded by mortar fire. I remember that I got so wasted that night, even BJ was horrified by my level of alcohol consumption. The next morning the war caught me off guard when they sent us a batch of wounded. I still had a bag on and felt like total shit. Winchester had to close my patient for me because I was busy throwing up an entire bottle of sake from the previous night. After the session, you pulled me into your office and gave me the chewing out of a lifetime. Your warning about how alcohol and surgery don't mix well had an impact for a brief time.
After about a week or so, when things returned to abnormal at ole' 4077th – the war started to be too much for me to handle and as per usual, I turned to the still for comfort.
Thinking back on that incident, I believe you realized that the way I drank wasn't just a wartime thing. You realized that I had developed a very unhealthy dependency on booze. You saw the ugly claws of addiction starting to dig deeper and deeper into being. I know in your own way that you tried more than once to express you concerns whilst in Korea. Now at the end of days, I wish like hell that I would have listened to you…
At the first 4077th reunion in 56'; you pulled me aside and sternly warned that if I kept on drinking the way I was, I'd lose everything I loved… well, you were right. I'm lying here in a hospital bed, all alone. In one way or another, I've manage to drive everybody I have ever cared about away.
I lost my medical license about ten years ago after I botched a sweet old lady's gallbladder removal because I went into the operating theater drunker than a skunk…
I drove the love of my life (who is not to mention the most amazing person ever), into the arms of another man.
I have no dignity left – nothing to show for my forty-eight years on this planet.
Every day since Margaret left me, I wonder to myself if I hadn't gone to Korea – would I still have ended up the way I did. I realize how futile of a question that is, but still…
You endured not just one, but three wars in your time. You are now ninety-one years old and still kicking like a Missouri mule.
I had, and still do, look up to you as a role model. Even though I failed immensely at the game of life, writing you this letter has given a sense of peace.
Words cannot describe how much your guidance and friendship has meant to me throughout the years. Thank you for everything. If there is a heaven and I do by some stoke of dumb luck end up there - I will make sure to watch over you and your family, for whatever time you have left to live.
I love you, Sherman Potter. I hope that the rest of your years are full of joy and love.
Sincerely,
"Hawkeye" Benjamin Franklin Pierce