Finley James Hunt: 13-years-old

Oliver Blake Hunt: 9-years-old

Bronwyn Kate Hunt: 5-years-old

Ella Ray Hunt: 1-year-old

Gwendolyn Sarah Hunt: 1-year-old

Baby Boy Hunt: 5.5 months gestation

Chapter 12: Upside of Anger

Shaping up and shipping out

Owen and Amelia had been meeting regularly with Michael, a psychologist who specialized in working with couples and families, since their weekend away shortly after Owen's return. Compassionate yet also able to name the truth as he saw it, Michael seemed to know just how far to prod and push before backing away. In each session, they explored the struggles of deployment and re-entry a bit more deeply than the last.

"How's everyone today?" Michael began the session as he settled into his chair and set his notepad on his lap.

"This was the day I was originally scheduled to return home," Owen shared with a faraway glance.

"Oh, Owen, you're right," Amelia responded when the date was pointed out. "I remember thinking your return date was so odd because, by returning on the 15th, you'd miss all the kids' birthdays."

"Thanks, Amelia," Owen grumbled with irritation.

Michael intervened, "I'm not sure Amelia was intending to upset you, Owen. Amelia, what was your intent when you responded?"

Amelia grimaced and looked up at the fluorescent light to her right, "Umm… it was just a statement of fact. I remember finding it odd, like I said, when I first found out the date. Owen, I wasn't attempting to rub your nose in it. Not at all." In response, Owen shrugged his shoulders and mumbled 'whatever' under his breath.

When you think of love, do you think of pain?

Michael prodded, "Owen, I'm intrigued by your response. In terms of your family, do you feel guilty about missing the kids' birthdays? About your deployment?"

"Guilty? No, not guilty," Owen responded thoughtfully. "Guilty is a strong word. I mean, I didn't do something criminal. My actions were not reprehensible. Depending who you ask, my actions were courageous… commendable. Hell, our oldest son saw them as heroic."

"What do you say, Owen? What are your feelings in terms of how the deployment impacted your family?" Michael prodded.

"Feelings? There are many, I suppose. Hopefully balanced with a large dose of humility, I'm proud to have served. I'm touched deeply and blown away by Finley's essay and the upcoming ceremony. In the beginning, I was conflicted about feeling a need to stay here and a need to serve overseas. I'm disappointed that I wasn't here for the baby's ultrasounds. In some ways, especially in terms of the kids, I suppose I feel regret – it seems like I missed so much of their lives. I regret being away."

Deeply hurt, Amelia stated softly, "What about in terms of our marriage, Owen? What about in terms of your wife? The mother of your children?"

Owen was completely puzzled, "What do you mean, Mia? I just described that?"

"No. No, you didn't," Amelia alleged gently with a shake of her head.

"Yes, I did," Owen responded calmly and with confusion.

Michael intervened, "Owen, you might not have noticed the words you chose. The kids were mentioned and the baby. The other points were about your own experience. Amelia, what did you feel when you heard the statement?"

Well hold on, my darling

This mess was yours,

Now your mess is mine.

"I felt," Amelia sighed with exasperation, "as if I were a given. As if I would tolerate whatever occurred and would remain steadfast. Good ole Amelia, she'll put up with whatever happens, she's here to stay. I felt taken for granted."

"Oh, Mia…" Owen started as he reached out his hand toward Amelia's. She swept her hand into her lap before he could make contact. "Mia, I didn't mean that. I'm deeply grateful for all you've done for me and for our family throughout this entire process. I… I am acutely aware of the sacrifices you've made. Every day, I'm thankful for you. Truly."

"Have you told her that before today?" Michael prompted.

"Umm…" Owen muttered. "I'm sure I have."

"Owen, I sometimes feel forgotten because it seems like you simply assume my presence and support in your life. Lately, I feel like a bit player, a supporting actress in the story of Owen Hunt," Amelia attempted to clarify.

"Shouldn't we both be able to assume we will be there for one another, Mia?" Owen asked with gentle surprise. "And… and… I don't even know if I should say this. I'm not trying to fight here or play tit-for-tat, but the spotlight was most certainly on you and your speaking engagements when we were first married. Being a bit player suited me just fine. Was I supposed to stay in that role?" Owen asked with pained sincerity.

"I suppose I never knew you felt like a bit player then, Owen. I'm sorry I inconvenienced you," Amelia said with a hint of sarcasm.

"Amelia… I never said I was inconvenienced by standing behind you as you stood in the spotlight. Hell, I loved it. I was so proud to be your husband, to know you, to be with you. I think you just misunderstood my point," Owen tried to calmly clarify.

Folding her arms and sighing heavily, Amelia gazed toward the ceiling. She knew she was either going to remain quiet or explode. Feeling an escalating frustration, she chose to stay mute.

Michael pointed out, "Owen, if I heard you correctly, you were trying to convey that your roles have varied at different points in your marriage. Does that capture your thoughts?"

"Yes," Owen confirmed. He looked at Amelia whose gaze remained upward, "Mia, I was not complaining. I was simply pointing out that we've both had times where the focus was on the other."

"Ok," Amelia whispered, "I hear you. I'm sorry I became reactive."

"What's going on for you right now, Amelia?" Michael asked her gently. "What's behind the reactivity?" Amelia closed her eyes and shook her head.

Owen, unable to help himself, intervened and asked curiously and from the heart, "Mia, are you upset about all the fuss with the medal ceremony?"

"No, Owen. I'm proud of you. I'm extraordinarily proud of Finley. On President's Day, I am most certainly a supporting actress and I wouldn't have it any other way," Amelia declared.

"Then what?" Owen inquired with a slight hint of frustration. "Did I do something? I can't address it if you don't talk about it. Are you upset with some situation? We can't deal with that unless we name it."

Bring me to your house and tell me "sorry for the mess"

After a few moments of silence, Amelia began, "You know, the kids and I did pretty well when you were away. You came back and simply assumed you could rush in and "save" me from the burdens that exceeded my abilities."

Owen shook his head and looked at Michael, stating simply, "I… I don't even know what that means…"

"Ask Amelia," Michael prompted.

"Mia, I don't know what you were trying to say just then. I didn't get it," Owen clarified.

Amelia sighed, "Owen, when you returned, you immediately inserted yourself right back into being the firm and commanding parent. While you were gone, I fulfilled that role. The message I took in was that you didn't think I was capable of being the heavy, that you were doing me a favor by resuming the role. Instead, you could've just enjoyed your initial time with the kids and re-bonded."

"We're back to that?" Owen stewed. "Back to 'be their dad, Owen, but don't parent.' I don't know how to do that, Mia. I don't know what that looks like."

"It means you could've deferred to me to deal with discipline rather than roaring, giving firm looks, having talks or otherwise dealing with the kids' when they've misbehaved," Amelia explained.

Without intending to be problematic, Owen sputtered in disbelief and let out a shocked huff.

"What…was…that?" Amelia inquired pointedly.

"I guess I was surprised. I mean, that's the role I've always had with the kids. I'm the heavy. I don't always like it but it's like charting – it's an unlikable but necessary part of the process," Owen asserted.

Amelia turned away from the back of the couch a quarter turn. "Owen," she conveyed slowly, "that's exactly what I'm trying to point out. Listen. I was the heavy while you were gone and, for the most part, the kids responded to that. When you came home and jumped back into the role without asking me if I wanted you to intervene, do you know what the kids thought? They thought, 'Dad's home. He's the one we really need to listen to and take seriously.' You took away my authority by intervening. If I'm dealing with some issue with one of the kids, let me see it through. I promise I will find you or involve you if I feel the need."

Owen stuttered, "I was just doing what I've always done, Mia. I was just trying to help, trying to make things easier for you."

"And I appreciate that, Owen, I really do. I am thankful for your positive intentions. However, the consequences outweigh the loving intentions," Amelia explained.

Still attempting to fully understand her, Owen responded, "Ok. I'll… I'll work on that."

You're the reason that I feel so strong, the reason that I'm hanging on…

You still make sense to me; your mess is mine

Michael tapped his pen on his notepad as he thought to himself. "Amelia… is that really what's brewing for you under the surface? Is your upset about authority with the kids? Throughout the last few sessions, I've sensed… anger. Are you angry with Owen?"

Amelia looked out the 10th floor window and pursed her lips tightly.

"Amelia?" Michael attempted.

Flatly and without emotion, Amelia stated, "I'm not sure I'm ready to go there."

"Amelia, if you're mad at me, just tell me. How can we work this out if I don't even know what's going on?" Owen prodded.

With dead calm and seriousness, Amelia stated with staccato words, "I am furious that you came home injured. I didn't want you to leave in the first place. During your entire deployment, I was terrified you wouldn't return. Then, instead of a pleasant, 'let's put all this behind us now' return, the suffering, adjustments and accommodations just kept coming and keep happening."

Owen looked down as he drew his lips inside his mouth. He attempted to breathe away the glistening in his eyes but was unsuccessful. Slowly, he looked directly at his wife and choked out softly and sincerely, "Thank you for telling me, for being honest."

Letting the silence linger, Michael studied his patients. With his injured leg extended, Owen was sitting on the edge of the couch with his left knee bent. He balanced both forearms on the left knee as he leaned forward and looked at the carpet. Amelia slightly rocked forward and back with her feet on the couch, her knees bent toward her chest, and her arms wrapped around her legs. Her chin rested on her knees. Their body language silently screamed how they were both shutting down.

Michael inquired gently. "Owen, how difficult was that to hear?"

"Hard," Owen barely uttered. "Yeah, umm… wow."

"It was difficult," Michael repeated hoping to draw Owen's feelings out.

Clearing his throat, Owen continued looking at the carpet. Silence. He wasn't sure what to say, and he wasn't sure he was capable of saying anything.

"Amelia used some strong words. I think she's held them inside for a long time," Michael observed.

"I… I…" Owen attempted to respond. As he rested his hand over his mouth and chin, he closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Amelia, you selected some intense words: furious, enraged, radically and significantly affected. Tell me more," Michael prodded.

"What more is there to say, Michael? I feel like I just threw an exploding grenade in here. I should have kept my mouth closed. Saying all that just made everything worse. I didn't mean to hurt you, Owen," Amelia sighed with regret.

"Did your description, your choice of words, accurately reflect the intensity of your feelings?" Michael sought to confirm.

Weakly, Amelia confirmed, "Yeah."

"Then I'm not sure it was an exploding grenade," Michael suggested.

"Sure, as hell felt like one to me," Owen insisted.

"Hmm…" Michael mused. "Let me share an observation. You've both discussed a tendency to run away when life becomes too much. If we term Amelia's words to be an "exploding grenade," maybe that makes them easier for us to ignore. We can see them as a surprise attack, as explosive, as something to escape. However, I'm not sure avoiding them or escaping from them will be helpful." The silence lingered. Michael didn't want to drive the conversation at this point. He threw a bone out for them to chew on; now, we wanted to see who might begin chewing on it.

"I… Mia… I… I didn't choose to come home injured," Owen stated flatly. "Aaaaa…and…. I… umm… I did seek your input before deciding to deploy."

Amelia continued to barely rock in her curled-up position as she whispered, "I know." Without looking at anything or anyone in particular, she mumbled, "But could my words have stopped you, Owen? I doubt it. And if my words had stopped you, you'd resent me and silently stew for years. Did I really have a choice? Did I?"

"I was between a rock and a hard place, Amelia," Owen explained.

"So was I, Owen. And when something became too hard – like raising 5 kids, tending a marriage, and managing a demanding career – you ran. You ran to war where the pace is so quick that processing and reflection is not even an option. If you're off courageously and valiantly saving lives in the field, everyone will perceive that self-sacrificing Owen Hunt is a hero, not a runner," Amelia declared flatly.

Owen huffed in disbelief, "Kind of like how you ran to the guest house after an incredibly difficult day and drank your troubles away? Kind of like when you told me not long ago that you needed to go to the hospital when you didn't? Amelia, I will try to be open to your feedback and insights, but I find it challenging to do so when your accusations against me match your own actions."

"I'm tired. I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of crying. I'm tired of being angry," Amelia stated without emotion.

"Keep going," Michael pushed.

Amelia paused and her bottom lip began to quiver, "I'm mad about all the crying. I'm sick of it."

"Tell me about the crying…" Michael prompted.

Hold on, my darling. This mess was yours, now your mess is mine.

"My life is chaos. I cry because I'm scared. I was terrified during the whole deployment. I was afraid Owen wasn't coming home. I'm scared that I'm pregnant and I'm scared that the pregnancy will bring unexpected challenges and bed rest. I'm frightened about having a sixth child. Six. I'm petrified that I might end up alone. I am scared that the man I love will die just like Ryan…just like my dad. Owen, knowing what you know about my life, how could you leave and look yourself in the mirror?"

"Mia…" Owen voiced gently. "If I'd known…If I'd really understood how deeply rooted this is for you, Mia, I wouldn't have gone, and I would not have resented you. I am so incredibly sorry that I didn't see how this experience struck you to the core. Amelia…truly. I apologize." Amelia slowly set her hand on the couch in the space between them. Owen squeezed her hand tightly and rubbed his thumb along the top of it.

Holding his other hand over his face and shaking his head, Owen continued, "I'm furious that I'm injured too. And I'm angry that I can't fully be a partner as a parent right now. I'm pissed that I'm… that we're… experiencing all that comes with injuries and recovery. Amelia… this deployment and the recovery process has taken a toll on each of us and on the kids."

Again, the room was filled with silence. Owen reached over and put his arm around his wife. He rested his chin on her shoulder and begged gently, "Can we be angry about these injuries and this recovery process and all the damn adjustments together? Because I love you more than life, Mia, and I can't imagine having come this far in my recovery without you. You're my inspiration, my encouragement. You've been my strength when I didn't know how I'd persevere. I've watched you quietly and competently manage our family and our lives while I've felt pretty damn useless and like a burden. I don't want to be angry or sad all the time either. We both feel that way, so can we work on those challenges together?"

Do you think that things will ever return to normal with Owen and Amelia?