by Chloe Hansen
roads taken or not.
I am going to write about the things that would not have happened if the man I thought I was going to marry had not committed suicide four years ago. I am going to write about the ways that my life has changed, about the paths I have found myself upon, for better or worse, because of the choice he made.
It is impossible to say the person I would be if I didn’t know him at all or even if we had never been romantically involved. I have known Julien since I was 14 and we honestly grew up together, with one another. He taught me how to love, he taught me how to look at the world and to hold small things tenderly. He is a huge part of who I am today. Given the impossibility of imagining me without him (or rather me minus him), I would like to describe in as much detail as I can how living in a world without Julien has shaped me and my life.
It's hard to know where to begin with this list, everything is so tangled, almost irretrievably so. Complexity of this kind calls for an organizational system… there is the obvious desire to go with the most ‘important’ or most ‘impactful’ first, but those stories can't be told without those that came before and, at the same time, this is not a story that can be told chronologically. Instead, I'll just write what comes in the order that it comes and leave it to the reader to organize, rank and order.
I would never have started to make coffee if Julien hadn’t died. His ‘other ex’ and I met in the midst of the shock of his death, and found we actually liked each other quite a bit. It was incredibly important for us to be able to share feelings about his suicide, as well as the troubles that come along with loving Julien, in the wake of it all. I can remember spending many a night on the couch in her garage drinking beer and smoking cigarettes, crying and laughing. She eventually hooked me up with my first job after college – a coffee shop gig close to my house. I had never worked customer service or even operated a cash register, but my interview consisted of the manager telling me he trusted Katherine’s opinion and could I start training the next day?
I didn’t expect it, but I actually grew to love making coffee. I enjoyed getting to know the regulars, I loved having drinks ready by the time people got to the counter, I loved the customers I never had to speak a word to. By the same token, I also loved the chit-chat and the neighborhood gossip, the woman who spilled everything to me about her drug addicted, live-in boyfriend even though she didn’t know my name, the man who took my picture with his daughter on Halloween, and the 79 and 80 year old sisters who lived in apartments across the hall from one another and came in every day for a cup of coffee, free of charge on the boss’s orders.
I never ever would have guessed that barista-ing could be so much fun; I never thought I could enjoy customer service or that I would look forward to seeing people I didn’t really know as much as ended up being the case in that first shop. I worked at that same place for about nine months before moving back to my hometown.
I don’t think I would have made it to graduate school if it weren’t for Julien’s death. … Which really means, I would never have moved 3,000 miles away, experienced a Syracuse winter, met any of the people I know now, or be on an academic career path. Moving across the country is one of the most important things I have ever done – I simultaneously love it and hate it, and I appreciate the West Coast so much more. I wouldn’t know half of the things I know now: I would never have been to West Virginia or an academic conference, I would never have heard of Jacques Derrida or Helen Cixious, I wouldn’t drink Jameson or know how delicious a BBQ tofu burrito is…
I say all this because I doubt would have completed my applications for grad school if I hadn’t moved home. I moved back for a couple reasons… ostensibly (i.e. as far as my parents were concerned) it was to save some money before heading off to graduate school. But in reality I moved back to be alone, to spend time with my dog and curb my drinking habits a bit. The dog and some of the drinking are tied up in Julien, but also happen to be related to one of my best friends, who I met because he was a regular at the coffee shop.
I wouldn’t have a taste for port if he hadn’t passed. After the Rogue ‘Dead Guy Ale’ was gone the night before the family service, Julien’s stepdad broke out the port. I was actually with his family the first time I ever drank port when I was about 19. We were out at the ranch in Eastern Oregon, where, I was told, drinking laws don’t apply…. It was fitting to have port with them again in the wake of it all.
I haven’t been in a steady, stable relationship since Julien’s death. Aaron is one possible exception, but even that … is questionably placed in that category. I don’t know if that has more to do with my own issues with commitment, etc., or if it’s directly related to the fact that the man I thought I was going to marry decided to end his own life. I haven’t explained yet but we weren’t dating when he died. We had broken up about a year and half before, essentially because I wasn’t ready to get married. But the end of our relationship was extremely amicable and viewed by both, or at least I thought by both, as more of a break, a chance to do other things before we settled down and had children.
Our friendship was rocky at best and nonexistent at other times as he immediately entered another relationship. Luckily we were on good terms when he died. It’s impossible to describe how it feels to find out that the one person you counted on more than any other is dead. While I can’t say for certain, I think it’s pretty safe to assume it might make a person not want to count on anyone ever again. I don’t know what the actual impact has been, but there is no way that every relationship I’m in from here on out, from April 12, 2006 until the day I die will not be shaped in some way by that death.
While I don’t think I can say that it never would’ve happened, I don’t think I would have come to fear death so soon if it weren’t for his decision. I never had any qualms about dying before; I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I also wasn’t concerned about being worm food. That may have just been the immortality of youth (though I understandably like to think of it as evidence of the wisdom of my younger self), but I went from that acceptance to an inability to talk about death without feeling like I couldn’t breathe. Even now the memory of the panic induced by the idea of death at that time makes me want to cry. For the most part, I have returned from that place, but I still fear, more than almost anything else, the idea of the people around me dying without … without my consent, honestly.
I have always been a little preoccupied with death. I can remember writing letters to close friends as a child to be given to them in the event that I died, instructions on what to do with my stuff, and so on. It has morphed into an at times overwhelming fear that friends or loved ones will pass on the West Coast while I am stuck on the East Coast, without them knowing how much they really meant to me. I was waiting to tell Julien how I felt about him. Or to remind him really. I knew he wasn’t well, but I also knew first and foremost that I wouldn’t have the time to dedicate to helping him get over whatever block he was facing until my semester of college was finished.And I also knew that I couldn’t be with him in the way that I wanted, the way he at least used to want, until I was done with school altogether. So I was waiting.
I have definitely learned not to wait, never wait to tell anyone you love them, but now I worry that I don’t say it enough, that my friends may forget how important they are to me. Having been through the unexpected death of someone so close to my heart, the idea of having to do it again is almost unthinkable. I would probably quit being a human being and crawl into bed at my parents house for a few months.
I also fear the impact that my own death may have on others. While a suicide is much different than an accidental or unplanned death, the turmoil any unexpected death throws family and friends into is somewhat overwhelming. I fear causing that kind of pain in my loved ones.
I wouldn’t have gotten together with my next boyfriend, Aaron, if Julien hadn’t decided to swallow a handful of pills. He and I probably would have still met, maybe even dated a bit, but I wouldn’t have been in that relationship in the way that I was if it wasn’t for Julien. Aaron taught me a lot about dating and drinking and life outside of college, a lot of things that we won’t go into, but most importantly, if he and I hadn’t dated I wouldn’t have my dog, Mikey.
Mikey belonged to a good friend of Aaron’s who had to get rid of him when he moved up to Seattle. I was not ready to have a dog at all – and I mean at all, in no way shape or form – when Mikey was dropped off at my house. Fortunately I lived in a house with approximately six other people and two other dogs, so it was ok that I wasn’t the most responsible … or at least Mikey was looked after well enough, despite my negligence. I still don’t think I’m a very good owner, but Mikey is my best friend, he’s my favorite, my little Butterball, my dog-faced boy… I don’t know who I would be if it weren’t for Mikey. He keeps me warm at night and knows whenever I’m lying to myself; he’s someone to talk to, a friend in any situation. Bluntly, he is my home.
I wouldn’t have had a need for the two most visible tattoos on my body if it weren’t for Julien’s death. I wouldn’t have the need to be reminded of what a suicide can do, that you can never wait to tell someone how you feel about them; I wouldn’t need to be reminded of Julien and Chloe, or of Chloe without Julien and the struggles that brings. I wouldn’t have to wonder how much of myself has been lost with him or how long it’s going to be until I dream about him again. I wouldn’t have to work to remember his laugh or his pores or that funny dent in his skull or his wrist bone that stuck out just so. There are memories that only I possess now, some of which are fading. I don’t have anyone to ask how many days it took us to watch ‘2001’, or where he got that green tea and ginger ice cream, what proportions he used to make the perfect white Russian, exactly how quickly he made the 300 mile drive from Ashland to Portland that one time, or whether he was trying to kill himself the night he got really stoned and got his car stuck on the way to climb the radio tower.
There are so, so many things I wouldn’t be right now if it weren’t for Julien, and even more if it weren't for his death. After the memorial service we all agreed that given that it happened, that he died, that there was nothing any of us could do to change that… given that it had to happen, the aftermath happened in the best way possible. In no way am I trying to insinuate that I’m glad he’s dead or even that I’m a better person because of it – there is not much I wouldn’t trade in order for it not to be the case, in order to bring him back, to change that past – but … given that it had to happen, it has happened in the best way possible.
My path is inextricably bound with everyone else’s and the twists and turns that have come from Julien’s death have led me to exactly where I am today, for better or worse. I still hold a fair amount of anger over the path he chose to take, but I know that ultimately each path is only that of the walker; others may add twists and turns, bumps and detours, but each route belongs to one, each step was his, as mine are my own. At times, though, I am acutely aware of his impact on my life and, as I carry him in my heart, I can’t help but feel he is guiding my feet as well.
(the names have been mostly changed just in case. except for Mikey the dog. cause he’s a dog.)