Disclaimer: I do not own House, Dead Poets Society, or any Shakespearean quotes that may appear.
Authors Note: I was thinking about Kutner's suicide, and then watched Dead Poets Society and it got me thinking. Is it better to wonder then to know?
I was sitting at the bar nursing a drink thinking about Kutner. What he had done…confused the hell out of everyone. Some wondered what they could have done to prevent it. Others wanted to know why, but most simply wanted to know how they all could have missed it. Taking a sip from my glass I sighed as the strong liquor burned my throat. Even though the bar I was at was warm I still wore my coat. After the tragedy I was enjoying the warmth; a sign of life. Death was upon us and had taken one of our own leaving us cold. If only for a little while I wanted to relish in this slight warmth.
The more I thought about his suicide, the more puzzled I became. What drove him to that point? Of everyone, Kutner had been the least likely candidate to commit such an act. If he, someone so seemingly happy, so well adjusted to life, harbored such pain then what would become of those that wore their pain on their sleeves. Then again maybe that was the problem. Was his inability or unwillingness to share his problems what lead him to this? Was there simply no one to hear his cry for help? Had there been none? Looking back though I can honestly say that there was no sign, no hidden message that had been overlooked. And you know what they say: "Hindsight is always twenty-twenty." In the end there had simply been a man with a problem. A problem which he warranted serious enough that there was only one solution. The ultimate solution. The permanent solution. Death.
Another sip burned its way down my throat, but it was a nice slow burn. It helped me savor the bitter taste, relish the feeling. Looking around I saw that there was no one around from the hospital and sighed. Right now I didn't want to share any memories or mourn in the loss of the life of someone close to us. No, there would be time for that later. Now as a time to sit, drink, and think. The question at the forefront of my mind was whether or not we were better off not knowing the reason that Kutner had killed himself.
Could we honestly say that we would be better off knowing the reason? Would the sudden answer ease the pain of his passing? We would simply torture ourselves for some rhyme or reason in this seemingly senseless act, but there could never be any closure. There was nothing to decipher, nothing to be looked beyond to find some deeper meaning. Perhaps we were better off in this state of wonder because in comparison the alternative seems too cruel.
If he had told us why he had put that gun to his head and pulled the trigger what could we have done? By that time it was too late. His body would have been cold and hardened, his muscles locked into position while he lay in a pool of his own blood. If we knew his reasons then we would torment ourselves with questions. Questions of ourselves. Questions of our actions. Questions of our inactions. Questions of our guilt. What if he were to have laid blame with one of us? All of us? What if he were to state a singular point in which he had chosen that he was going to kill himself? Then all we would be left with would be guilt. An all consuming guilt which would only lead us down a path of self destruction.
We were all doctors. All trained to see beyond the surface, to see what needed to be seen. To find out that we had all missed something so apparently obvious… There would be no afterwards to that goodbye. None of us were innocent. None were without blame for some action that affected others, but should others have the right to blame us for their own sins? Ultimately it was only Kutner's actions, his decisions which lead him to this point. Yes, perhaps we were better off not knowing.
Glancing at my watch I sigh. It was getting late and I needed to be up early to get to the hospital. It would matter much though as I doubted that I would get much sleep. To thy own self be true, but what if you don't know who that self is or worse, you don't like the self that you have discovered you are. At the end of the day I hope that it was too himself that Kutner was true to. If this was the only way to be true to himself then there is nothing more to say. I sighed deeply. It would be best to stop my inner ramblings. Well, wherever you are Kutner, I hope that you find whatever was so severely lacking in this life. Tossing back the rest of my drink I paid the bartended, hailed a cab and went home.
AN: Not beta read. I hope that it wasn't too bad. I'm not used to this type of writing. Please review and tell me what you think.