To the one whom I love,
Sidney Freedman – psychiatrist, devoted husband and father, and an all-around good egg. You, my dear friend, are truly one of a kind.
Many a soldier owes their undying gratitude to you, for helping them to restore their sanity so that life can go on for them after the battle is over. Technically speaking, my name would be among those as well. However, I really don't feel like I should belong on that list.
Sure, after the whole incident with the baby on the bus you helped me to get back to my usual state of abnormality. But after the war, when there was finally no more mangled bodies of teenagers and children constantly being wheeled in front of me, like some sort of sadistic assembly line; the nightmares didn't go away.
Do you remember in 52' when I had that bad bout of night terrors? I dreamt that I was a small boy once more, and I had to stand by and watch my childhood friends die in front of me.
Well finally after a few dreadful nights, Colonel Potter finally decided that enough was enough and called you in to find out if my cheese had slipped off its cracker. I will never forget what you told me when I asked you if I really was going crazy…
You said that my dreams were a normal product of the horror that I was witnessing every day. I then asked you when you thought they would go away. Your reply was,
"Once this big nightmare is over with, then the little ones should go away. There is a lot of suffering over here though, and it's hard to not to notice it."
Well, as you very well know, once the big nightmare was over, my little ones did not go away.
The entire time I was stuck over in that cesspool, I pined to be back in Crabapple Cove with my Dad and live like a normal human being. Funny thing is, once I finally did get back home after the war – part of me wished that I was still in Korea with 4077th…
I didn't miss the horrible work hours, or the feeling of constantly being scared that the next minute could be my last. I didn't miss the lousy stuff that the Army called "food". The rats, the lice and dysentery I certainly did not miss… It was the people.
Charles wasn't around to annoy. Colonel Potter wasn't there to set me on the right path when my moral compass went askew. Margaret wasn't there to tell me what a jackass I could be. Klinger wasn't around to give me a good laugh with one of his crazy stunts or screw-ups, just when I thought that my day couldn't possibly get worse. Father Mulcahy wasn't around to amaze me with endless amounts of patience and humility. And then there was BJ, the best friend I ever had – well he was all away across the damned country. Hell, I missed everybody from the 4077th.
Don't worry Sid – your name is among those whom I missed as well. I guess you already kind of knew that, though.
When my Dad tracked you down in October of 53', I was surprised to find out that he asked you to fly out to Crabapple Cove to come and see me. I have to admit I was somewhat angry at the time for him to do so. But looking back on it, I am glad that Dad did care enough to get you to come out for a visit.
The truth was that I was really not doing too well adjusting to civilian life. I flinched and wanted to hit the ground anytime I heard a sudden loud noise like a car backfiring. At my practice, I refused to treat or deliver babies. Every time I saw a little human being, my brain instantly took me back to that horrendous moment when I realized that the Korean baby on the bus stopped crying because it was dead…
At night, I barely slept because I would just keep having numerous nightmares about the war. After endless nights of waking up every few hours in a panic and cold sweat, I turned to the one thing that I had at home, which I also had in Korea – alcohol.
My favorite drink was still a dry martini because it reminded me of all the good times I had in the Swamp with the people I missed so much. A bottle of twelve-year-old scotch also gave me a sense of nostalgia.
I didn't drink much during that period – just enough to give me a slight buzz so that I felt sleepy. A glass here and there, slowly but surely, turned into a fifth a night. Then it was a third, then half a bottle and eventually I needed damn near a whole bottle just to be able to fall asleep at night.
I knew that Dad was worried about me, though he never really let on that he did. Here and there I'd notice an anxious glance over his shoulder, directed at me. Some nights when I would drink too much, I'd wake up in the middle of the night and run to the bathroom to throw up. I usually then would hear Dad get up after I staggered back to my bed and he'd clean up the mess I'd left. Not a word was said by either of us the following morning.
But then you flew out to see me. We talked and we talked about everything and anything that week. We laughed and a few times our eyes even became misty with tears as we remember a few of the darker times in Korea. But you know what, I never had a drop of booze that week and I didn't miss it in the slightest.
Before you left to take your cab to the airport at the end of your visit, I will never forget when you gave me one of the best and I suppose the worst suggestion ever. You told me to call up Margaret and have her come out to Maine for a visit.
You knew that I felt incomplete and lost trying to pick up the pieces of my life. You also knew that the key to unlocking the road to fixing myself was, Margaret.
I'll never forget the speech you gave at our wedding reception. You went on to tell the entire roomful of people after your second or third trip to the unit, you knew that we were a match made in heaven. You said that our personality differences balanced each other out. Her tempered subdued my ego. While as my sense of humour and playful nature reminded her that she needed to laugh and let loose more often.
Even after I found out that she had been cheating on me with that bastard McIntyre and I went head first into a tailspin – you still came out to Crabapple Cove every few months and visited with me. Let me tell you, even though I wasn't sober for most of your visits, they still meant the world to me.
When you told me in 60' that you decided you were going to open up a speciality practise in which you only treated veterans that were suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder; I had never been more proud of anybody. I suppose that I was the inspiration for your idea, which in isn't really a bad thing now that I think about it. Even though my life was in the gutter, at least others like me could be able to have to the incredible resource of being able to chew the fat with you.
I am sure by now you are probably wondering why the heck I am blathering on and on like this… Well, here it is Sidney – I am finally at the end of my journey. My liver is finally in the last stages of failure. My doctor says that I have two, maybe three days left at the absolute most.
And do you want to know something else? I feel relieved and petrified with fear and the same time.
To gain a sense of peace, I've been writing letters to the people whom I love the most and apologized for my failures and how I've hurt them over the years. I've also told them just how much they really do mean to me.
So far, I've had letter rushed delivered out to Radar, Charles, Colonel Potter, Trapper, Klinger, and now to you.
Here's the difference between their letters and yours. I am going to tell you where exactly I am. I actually wound up at Boston Mercy Hospital, believe it or not. Something about how I needed a particular specialist, and so on. I am in hospice ward on the second floor, in room 7B.
I have two more letters I need to write; one to Margaret and the other to BJ. Yes, that's right, I am going to break my vow of never speaking to either of them again. I want to own up to my mistakes and apologize for acting like such a jackass. I especially want to tell BJ how profoundly sorry I am for what I did during the weekend we were all the Philadelphia for Father Mulcahy's funeral.
As one last favour to an old patient, and hopefully friend – can you please fly out here and see me.
I don't want to die alone…
If I kick the bucket before you can get here, or you don't decide to come as see me (which I totally understand if you do), I want you to know this. You have saved my life many a time, so please feel that you failed me. I've come to realize that the black demon of addiction is just too powerful for anybody to overcome sometimes… and you know what, that's okay.
Oh yeah, and one last thing – I love you. I am so blessed to have had you in my life.
Goodbye, Sidney.
Sincerely,
"Hawkeye" Benjamin Franklin Pierce