Emails to The Otherside — Bethany Jarmul
CONTENT WARNING: THE FOLLOWING WORK OF CREATIVE NON-FICTION DISCUSSES SUICIDE.
From: Bethany <bethany******@gmail.com>
To: Aaron <aaron*****@hotmail.com>
Date: June 1, 2022, 7:17 PM
Subject: Treasury of Memories
Hey Aaron,
How are you? What’s it like there?
You’re probably wondering why I’m emailing you now—five years later.
While pushing my son in his blue toddler swing—the air heavy with humidity and pollen—I remembered the last time I saw you. You were sweaty, flushed, jogging at the park. Josh and I were newly engaged—me in my turquoise dress, him in his button-up shirt—taking smiling photos on a wooden bench. Your brown eyes were bright, hair buzzed short when you stopped to say, “hello,” asked if we still attended the young adult group at church where the three of us met. “No,” we said. “It’s mostly young college kids now. We don’t belong.” You nodded, understanding.
Did our happiness make you sad? Were you looking for love, or at 25, were you content to concentrate on your career, your companions—considering each day as it comes?
I never got to know you as well as I would have liked before you left. I hope I’ll get to know you more one day.
Got to go, it’s time to get the kids to bed. I’ll send another message soon.
Bethany
PS. Josh says, “hi!”
From: Bethany <bethany******@gmail.com>
To: Aaron <aaron*****@hotmail.com>
Date: June 2, 2022, 6:08 AM
Subject: Thinking about you
Aaron,
After the baby woke me at 5:30 a.m., I couldn’t settle into sleep. I was thinking about your obituary—you died “tragically, after a long battle with depression.” I should have perceived your pain. We sat around white folding tables in metal chairs. We talked about God, our dreams, desires, distress or dread. We were your spiritual family—supposed to be your safety net. We failed.
I was too busy twirling my hair, reapplying red lipstick, hoping Josh’s heart would flutter like hummingbird wings in my direction. I didn’t realize that you needed love too, a limitless, leathery-skinned love.
Will you forgive my failings, Aaron? Likely, it’s too late for that.
Bethany
From: Bethany <bethany******@gmail.com>
To: Aaron <aaron*****@hotmail.com>
Date: June 2, 2022, 9:55 AM
Subject: Searching, seeking answers
Aaron,
They found your car first, parked by Wildwood flea market. The police searched, scoured, swept the area for hours. Your sister flew home, hoping to find you. Your friends posted on Facebook, asking if anyone had seen you.
You loved hiking, running, being in nature. I imagine you wandered into the woods to spend your final seconds surrounded by nature, concentrating on the cardinals’ two-parted whistles, caressed by the crisp February air.
You took good care of your body, always toned and trim. So, how did you do it? They didn’t include those details in your obituary, or in the memorial Facebook posts. And I never asked. Was it a gun, a rope, a knife, pills? (You don’t have to answer that.)
Will try to write to you again soon.
Bethany
From: Bethany <bethany******@gmail.com>
To: Aaron <aaron*****@hotmail.com>
Date: June 4, 2022, 11:34 AM
Subject: Flowers and danger
Aaron,
Three rhododendron bushes—snowy, blush, and fuchsia—are blooming in our yard. I wonder what causes the contrasting colors. Is it in their DNA or is it the type of soil, saturation of sun or water?
No one sent lilies, red roses, or chrysanthemums; instead, your family directed donations to the National Alliance on Mental Illness.
I didn’t know it then, but I have depression too. Do you think depression is in our DNA? What makes one depressed person drown themself in Grey’s Anatomy, gouda, and gummy bears—and the other in the bath?
It’s not serious though—my depression—or so I’m often tempted to think. Maybe that’s what you thought too.
Because of you, Aaron, I deal with my depression, interrogate my intentions, theorize with a therapist. I swallow my sky-blue pill every evening, wash it down with water or almond milk. For that, Aaron, I want to say “thank you.”
If I don’t get around to writing again, my friend, I’ll see you on the other side.
Bethany
AUTHOR BIO:
Bethany Jarmul is a writer, editor, and artist. Her work has appeared in numerous literary magazines and been nominated for Best of the Net. She earned first place in Women On Writing's Q2 2022 essay contest. Bethany enjoys chai lattes, nature walks, and memoirs. She lives near Pittsburgh with her family. Connect with her at bethanyjarmul.com or on Twitter: @BethanyJarmul.
