A/N: Well, here's a short poem I wrote for my Creative Writing class the other day. I was watching the episode where Owen tells Cristina about his best surgery and I thought about the man he saved in Iraq and the letter he sent Owen. This is my take on that letter. In the original, I changed Owen's name to Watson instead of Hunt for class purposes but here it is in Owen's name. Enjoy! :)
Disclaimer: All I own is this poem. Owen Hunt, the unnamed soldier, and the line I used from Arizona in here all belong to Shonda Rhimes and the writers of Grey's.
Dear Major Hunt
Dear Major Hunt,
Let me first say, sir, that I hope this
letter finds you in good health. That you
are reading this away from the ominous
rumbling of distant explosions we both know
too well. And if that isn't
the case, that you soon find your way
to the safety and comfort of your family
and home. That being said, I am
writing this letter with the hopes to express
my deepest and sincerest gratitude for
what you have done for me. My
thoughts often stray to that day. To those
six hours of hell we both spent in
uncertainty, waiting, wondering, praying for
the rescue you repeatedly assured me
was coming. At any point you
could have given up, pulled away from
my mangled, twisted body, gone off
to search for someone, anyone who could've
helped you. I would've bled out in seconds.
It would've been quick. I wouldn't have
felt it. I wouldn't have hated you.
And yet, you stayed, unmoving, even as I
begged you to let me go.
"I am a good man in a storm."
is what you said, is what we were taught.
And you were determined to honor
that. I still remember the exact moment
the rhythmic swishing of
the Blackhawk's blades met my ears.
You clamped a hand over my mouth to stop
me from laughing because it was making
me bleed even faster. To come that close
and have me die from laughter
would've been a waste. Or ironic.
You turned to me once we
were in the chopper as the gaping holes
in my body were haphazardly closed.
"You keep that heart beating, soldier."
And I did.
It's been a month since that day
and this heart is still beating. I
saw my family again. My mother, my
father, my sister. People I thought
for those six hours I would never see
again. All beaming and crying,
grateful that I was still here. And
I owe it all to you.
But there's something you should know.
The man you saved that day never
did come back. He's still over there,
forever wandering the battlefield,
unable to find his way home. I
keep thinking that maybe, just maybe he'll
show up and claim the medal that
is rightfully his. But he never does.
And I'm left staring at the foreign metal
limbs that will never be my own.
So, thank you, sir. My family
thanks you for all that you've done.
But I am no good man in a storm.
That man is gone and he's not coming
back. And the only solace I find in
that thought is that he won't be here
to pity the man I've become.
You told me once to keep this heart beating
and I swear to you, his heart will
still keep beating in that desert where he
roams, free of pain. That was
the man you saved. And he thanks you.
So take comfort in that, sir,
if nothing else.
Because I can't apologize after this.
A/N: I'd love to hear any feedback. :)