Only a couple of weeks after Shannon was shipped out of Korea with a tearful farewell on my part (with many memories of sleepless nights and cuddles, especially with Hawkeye in the picture), so was Henry, who promised me so much and could only do so little. He had gained enough points to leave Korea (taking him a year to achieve such), having his wondrous discharge announced as we stood in the OR working, waiting for the mail to come and for another day to pass, another day in which we were all so alive.

So, with much ado (and jealous on my side as well as everyone else's in the camp), I said a tearful goodbye to the father I never had. Henry was the only person in my life who truly looked after my life's interests, yet had to stand back and watch me grow up on my own and to find my own way to everything, even when I pushed him away. He stood there for the remaining time he had in camp, goofy as could be, and got so drunk until he could not anymore. He was still watching as the world grew even colder and more unfair and that there was a sinking ship to attend to, even me clamoring for his final blessing until the end of the war. And now, there was he, finally going home to Bloomington and Lorraine and the children.

It took three days for Henry to pack up his things and head out of camp. All of us in a morning formation were giving him a beautiful farewell on the way to the chopper in a brand new suit ordered just for his departure, Hawkeye and Trapper having it tailored in Seoul. On the way out, there was a kiss to Margaret, a zippering up of Klinger's dress and trying to give Hawkeye a handshake (it'll never do of course) and even embracing everybody. Then, our troops in the camp were gallantly following him to the batch of wounded coming up with the chopper that flew in to pick him up so that he could go to Kimpo.

Saying that he'll help, Hawkeye pushed Henry to leave, saying that he was fired from his job and that he had to go home to his wife and children and live in the civilian world once more. Lorraine was waiting for him patiently enough, quietly enough, eager to change the furniture, go back to the country club and return to a normal life with her husband once more. There were nights for them at the country club and days, tired at night, with the children to share. Henry had yet to see his new son, little Andrew, the baby born when he was in Korea, and he was eager to meet his youngest child and only son.

Radar felt worse than I did at this point, although he had been glad Henry was going home. At the chopper landing, before Radar could even bid him farewell and salute him, I swung my no-longer petite body into his arms, much as I did as a small child of ten and eleven, and whispered my goodbyes and gave him messages to say to Lorraine and the children. Henry staggered under my new weight and his hangover, laughing at me as he promised a letter and maybe the world later on. I never knew, at that moment, that it was the last time I was to see him alive and looking vibrant, more so than he did in 1940. It was the last time that anyone here or anyone else (save for his chopper pilot and fellow passengers on the plane) saw him look into the eyes of the living.

Later that evening, while we were in the OR at about nineteen hundred hours, news came in the worst form from Radar. I will never forget the words, the tears even, for as long as I can live. And may anyone from above strike me dead if I ever do, but oh, please, let me remember Henry Blake as he was and never how he went, a drowned and lost body of the war probably never to be recovered, just like the rest of the passengers on that plane. Please, if my prayers of a liberal spirit be heard, then let me know that he can rest in peace and that his family will be well provided for. Oh, God, please, let me die with him…

"I have a message. Lieutenant Colonel…Henry Blake's plane…was shot down…over the Sea of Japan. It spun in. There were no survivors."

The tears were never-ending. For days, there was nothing but that.

Afterward, I couldn't feel anymore, couldn't comprehend anything. I walked around the camp with Hawkeye and Trapper, trying to chatter and idle the hours in the best way possible, all of us always attempting to forget that Henry was gone forever and drinking to help it along. To me though, everything I had ever known meant nothing more to me anymore, even those who loved me and those things I loved. All feelings I had were gone.

My structured wall was shattered into pieces. Whatever composure I had was gone.

I had lost one of my links of home, the person who took care of me and knew me the longest and the person who loved me for who I was and guided me when he could. Henry Blake was gone forever and there wasn't anything we could do about it, even those who had loved him and helped him more than I ever did. There would be no more talks, no more saying how much we loved each other and most certainly no hugs. Henry and I would never even patch our relationship fully, one had that gained more warmth when we rejoined each other at the 4077th.

Only Dean remained close to me, the last link from Bloomington. He was alive and well around my arms, spending nights with me after returning from the front, if he could come to me, to cry and drink heavily with me over the loss. He and his unit spent their days patrolling around the camp nowadays, ridding us of our supposed enemies and keeping us safe. As always, there was still a family curse over both of our heads, never knowing which of us would be next, if there was such thing. We only had to count the days given to us and hope for the best.

~00~

A few days later, Hawkeye was in Tokyo for his weeks' worth of R&R without me, since Frank and Margaret were letting him go because he seemed a little more than nutty. During the time he was drinking in Tokyo, Trapper left the 4077th as well. He got drunk for two days in the Swamp when hearing the news (Dean and I joining him often) and ran through the Mess Tent totally naked (and drunk too), but it was a premature celebration. There was much more for Trapper John McIntyre to deal with, another challenge that the Army gave him.

Trapper was finally discharged not only on points, but also partially because it was, as the Army decreed, his duty to father a child that was shipped out a few weeks previous and was not even his own. His next duty, despite everything ever said in the reports, was with a small baby girl in Bloomington, Illinois, who was going to be shipped to Boston with him so that his wife could feed and clothe her, just as she did with her own children. The Army (namely Colonel Flagg) did not think Simmons or Hawkeye as the father (choosing not to do anything yet), so chose Trapper as a foster parent instead of my mother, the former who never even touched me.

Trapper, before he left us permanently, came to me the night before he left for home. I was in the Officers' Club, since Rosie's Bar was closed for a while because of the Marines' fights. Since Hawkeye was gone, I usually spent my time with Klinger and Father Mulcahy, trying to get drunk enough to forget my deepening troubles and doubts. Trapper knew this very well and cornered me, buying me a drink and sitting there for a while, thinking as we drew closer to his departure to the civilian world.

Finally, it was time for confrontation. Kissing me deeply on the lips and dancing to a song from the jukebox with me after much prodding and pleading on his part, Trapper told me to take care of myself. Promising that he will make sure Shannon will be ok and that she will be well taken care of, he left me suddenly, at the end of the song, with emptier arms. He did it without looking back at me and without even telling me how much I meant to him, as a co-worker, a friend and a sister. For him, there was no looking back anymore.

Afterward, as I sat back at my table alone with Klinger serving me more gin (and telling me that I needed to be cut off soon), I thought. I knew what Trapper was talking about. Shannon was as unwanted as my mother made her out to be, as unwanted as Trapper's wife wanted her to be and as unwanted as I made her to be when I found out I was pregnant with her. To think, it makes me guilty that I had thoughts on killing the only person that's really made my life worth living. I missed Shannon dearly and hope she grows up nicely as I work around this war and come home to her, wherever that may be. I will always wonder about her welfare and cry over how I would miss her first steps, words and such. There was nothing more I could do though.

I never realized it until then, but I love Shannon as I would love my family. I only felt it deeper, more buried within my heart, but harder to hide from other people. And they all knew it.

Oh, God, help me, please, I beseech you. I ask of you to help me, at long last…

No, my silent prayers will never be answered, even drinking very heavily in the social whirl called the Officers' Club and later (back open in a few days), Rosie's Bar. After Henry's death, I lost my faith in the concept of life, death and its continuing cycles. My lips were frozen in fear and could not move. The cold can never leave me. All I had to do was to continue working and pretend that it all never happened, walking back into the darkness that still held me over and would never let me go. God, I cannot escape this time. Nothing can be erased from my mind now, not even that little girl who needed me more than I needed myself.

~00~

Hawkeye came back from Tokyo the next day and found out that Trapper was leaving that day (as Radar told him in the showers, running there after fooling around with the majors in charge). In turn, he ran off to the airport with Radar to bid Trapper a farewell and to meet with our new surgeon, the married and chivalrous Captain BJ Hunnicutt. Although Hawkeye missed Trapper by ten minutes (come to find out), there had been much to take out of the replacement. Shortly afterward, with the new surgeon in place at the Swamp and things a little more normal than it was before, events started to move quickly and changes were soon made, good and bad.

Frank Burns (as well as Margaret) was kicked out of the commander's post and a new colonel, one Colonel Sherman Potter, came to join our camp as the new CO. Then, things slowly started to change and a routine was established with the new commander, who we all thought was Regular Army, but turned out to be one of us. Relationships shifted, friendships deepened and the camp practices changed. With a little more structure (and a less drunk CO) to the 4077th, the nightlife dropped drastically. The fun and games seemed to be over for the time being, but the closeness and togetherness of the people within this community tightened.

And of course, my love for Hawkeye started to grow into something much deeper than what we both thought it was. He still loved me with a passion that would never burn out and it was noticed by one and all, but to bring back our beautiful time of love and games were almost impossible while we all grieved for Henry. Hawkeye came back to camp with BJ a changed man and he had to joke around to be sane again, ignoring the masses of stretch marks, pregnancy weight and grey hairs that is me as we once again danced, laughed and sang together.

Time will pass and wounds will heal eventually, as they should. Hawkeye and I will rekindle that passion once more when all was said and done, when Henry Blake was a little further from our minds and still in our hearts. For now, with Henry gone and our grief too deeply felt, we had to tread carefully. We had to remember our former gracious commander with grace, the one who went home in joy and died in a sea torn by war.

Afterward, throughout all of these changes even, Frank's relationship with Margaret, from then on out, started to cool down and fade away (from one side anyhow). Rare was the time they were together again, never like it was when Henry was in control of the camp and the two would team up and call generals to go over his head. Margaret was mostly her own woman now, as we slowly started to see, and she would be no man's mistress, not even a weasel such as Frank Burns, who would never divorce his wife to marry the one that he supposedly loved.

~00~

And so, the cycle continues here for us, never missing a heartbeat, never underestimating the harshness of where we are and what we do. We do as it decrees us. We dance to the tune we are told to and only ask how far we must go to please it. We had no control over our lives anymore, but to watch ourselves grow older with each passing OR session and each child that passes through our community. War did that to us after all and we could no longer afford to go back to what we used to be and what life was before Korea had called to us.

To think, I reflect upon this now and especially about how I am still in this hellhole. It might be a matter of time before I can leave, but it feels like an eternity. However, I built a structure of pride here, to hide from the darkness and to keep myself together. It is my duty to keep it, knowing that I would have to keep face and to keep my spirits up. With these deaths that come to us, these deeply felt departures, I build myself up the pedestal, one that will hold me high and not allow me to crack and break. It was to hold myself and others together. I was the rock, the power from which everyone drew on in hard times, and I needed to harden myself for the days ahead.

Dammit, it is not the time to give grief, but to give ourselves strength for the future at hand.

Oh, of course time flew by, as it usually does. The emotional wounds started to heal and even laughter was heard again. To me, it was nothing anymore, nothing like the old times when Henry was around. I walked around the camp still, that lone stalker in the minefields on most of the cool mornings, wondering when I can feel joy in my heart again, when the darkness before my eyes will clear up and when ears will hear more than just the constant cries of pain and death.

Will the war end? Will we all go home someday? When will I see Shannon again? Will Hawkeye and I have a life together, just like we both sometimes planned and dreamed about before Shannon was even born? These questions continued to plague me as I walked through those minefields, ignoring the danger and death around me.

A small piece of optimism even came as letters arrived from Bloomington. It was just before Christmas of 1951, in the month of November (around my second birthday in Korea), when I received a letter from Lorraine. Dated some weeks before, she discussed many things about home: her children, Shannon, her feelings upon hearing of Henry's untimely death and even the future. Yes, she had hope for it and was showing me that she was stronger than I thought. She knew that she could live her life without Henry, although the hole in her heart and her soul will never heal until they are together again in another life, one that I could hardly believe in, but lauded in my letters to her.

Throughout the hardships Lorraine had with Henry, she still loved him and forgave all that he had done here in Korea, even his relationship with Leslie Dish, something which I could never fathom how she found out about (I never sent her the letter about it, although it was ready to be mailed). Even that didn't seem so cruel to her anymore because her deep love for Henry never diminished and never vanished. It was the same kind of love that I always wished to have for myself, one that I knew would grow with Hawkeye, if we ever had the chance to allow it.

The more we spend on the time, the higher the price of love. We all knew it. Lorraine taught me that it was still true, even after all those years she and Henry had been married. Over a year had been spent apart and their civilian life together afterward was cruelly dashed. Death had taken away their newer times. Through it all, there was still that love, a love that grew through over ten years of marriage, that had allowed her to remain like the rock I turned out to be.

I was reading Lorraine's words in my tent after that walk around the minefields, thinking about the last words she wrote at the bottom of the page. She had said it was a poem she read when reading in the newspapers about the deaths of the soldiers over here. She thought it appropriate and sent it to me, wanting to share in its sentiment.

It is almost as if I cannot be there for Henry and weep at his final grave. He may be never be recovered and we may never grief for him. But it was not what he wanted, was it? He wanted to be remembered alive and not dead. Oh, Jeanie…

It was what Lorraine wrote, word for word. Grief had written it for her, although she had shown herself to be strong. Lorraine had rung true with words of reality as well. Who can weep for Henry when there was no grave to weep at, no place where we can see him for a final time? His memory lives in our hearts, weak and silly as he was sometimes, always amazing someone when he had a little backbone to show. His little smile and laugh, his decisions and even his military double-talk will be missed forever afterward.

Carefully putting Lorraine's letter back in its envelope, I kicked back on my bunk and almost carelessly threw the letter onto the floor. Oh, it didn't seem to matter to me that the nurses read the mail from the States anymore, fewer and fewer of them being from Henry's time and ones that would confront me about Hawkeye. It seems a thing of the past, this prying of my personal business. New times are rolling in. Perhaps they are changing us as well.

I didn't care anymore. Just as long as I stay as invisible as most people continue to make me feel (unless I decided to come out with some sarcastic comment and be within the limelight once more), then I am fine. Just as long as they all ignore me and continue to cry out whore, then I might as well get used to it. There is no escaping the past now. It could only shape my future if I allowed it to.

Emotions rolled over me, but I cannot cry anymore. My tears are as dry as my prayers, frozen in place and unable to thaw. I thought again, bouncing off of my bunk and reopening the letter that I threw so carelessly to the floor. I reread those last words, the poem in which Lorraine took some comfort from.

Maybe I could take some comfort from it too…?

Do not stand at my grave and forever weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush,
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and forever cry
I am not there, I did not die…