Dear John Krakauer,
I have read your article about my remarkable and dauntless son, Chris McCandless, and I felt as if I should write to you to give you more information about the relationship between my son and me. Chris was always so amiable in his early years, however we always knew he was just different than all of the other kids he knew and hung out with, and that is what we loved about him. We loved how easily he could make any of us laugh and how he would put forth his best effort to ensure a companion’s happiness. He had a faith in humanity and a love for the people and nature of this world for most of his life.
As much as we loved him, Chris was never good with the whole family-thing. He always found it “claustrophobic,” like he was obligated to be part of the affection and tight-knit bond affiliated with family. He found comfort in solidarity. He liked being with people and making them happy, but he found being alone was a cleansing and relaxing experience. That is why when he took up running, I wasn’t quite surprised; it is, afterall, not a team sport. Chris thrived off his ability to put his all into running and channel all of his anger and frustration through it; however he also found a special pride in personal triumph. There was always a somewhat self-centered element to Chris’ personality, but it was never an issue for us.
His narcissism started to affect us when he began doing things because he didn’t think that the odds applied to him. In his mind, he was invincible. Through his high school years he began crazy and dangerous pursuits without thinking the worry he put his father and me through. My stress level in Chris’ teenage years was always through the roof, as I was just waiting to hear that Chris was injured or dead trying to climb some impossible cliff or trying to do something that is just not meant for unprepared teens. It was not an intentional disregard for our feelings, Chris just felt untouchable. His father and I even began to believe he was untouchable, until we got that call. The proof he was mortal. That he couldn’t survive in the Alaskan wilderness forever.
Chris’ love for pain, however, has always confused me. The feeling of unbearable suffering derived some sort of happiness out of him. There is a difference between enjoying accomplishments and intentionally putting oneself into pain in order to feel achievement. It is so hard as a mother to know the pain your son is going through and to not be able to stop it. My maternal instincts were conflicted seeing his pain followed by extreme triumph. The helplessness a mother feels when they know they can’t help their son is intolerable. Knowing the pain that Chris went through in his last days of life is heartwrenching.
One of the hardest things for me to see Chris go through as his mom was the depression he went through in college. I had always known of Chris’ dad’s past and I learned to ignore it because of how happy we were together. His past was irrelevant to our new family. The revelation that his father was not perfect and caused such agony to his first family ruined Chris. Chris came back from his trip to Southern California ruined, his idealistic and optimistic nature vanished. People became so flawed to Chris. His faith in humanity and life was diminished. He had no glimmer in his eye, no hope, and as a mom seeing your son lose the spark he has always had, is devastating. The loss of innocence to Chris changed him forever.
I was so proud of Chris when he graduated Emory University. It seemed to me he was strong and going to overcome his depression to acquire a sustainable job. I never, however, saw him building a “normal” family. Regardless of his love for people in general, the rest of the family and I have always questioned his ability to fall in love with a girl. Even if he did eventually find a “soulmate,” he has never found building family appealing. To him, it was a binding contract in blood. Graduation was the last time I saw my son, and the way I took seeing him for granted makes me cringe. I thought he was just going to shake his mood, find some reassuring things that all human nature is not evil and wicked. I hoped he would find out that mistakes are inevitable and that not all of us can be perfect. Sometimes I think he was so arrogant that he believed in perfection in himself, and was extremely upset in his inability to find perfection in others.
The silence that followed his graduation was awful. Walt, his father, and I felt as if he was betraying us and didn’t care enough to tell us of his whereabouts for several months at a time. We told ourselves that no news was good news and that it was just Chris’ way. He didn’t want our help or advice for the majority of his life and, being now a college graduate, he didn’t need us for anything. He let us know that he didn't want our money either. It was like he left Walt and me in the dust. I knew that was his personality though. He wasn’t good at relying on others his whole life, let alone Walt, the man who ruined his opinion on humankind as a whole. Maybe he didn’t like us, but it wasn’t fair for him to make his sister, Carine, suffer not knowing where he was. They were always so close.
Carine, Walt, and I will always love Chris. He was arrogant and a recluse and we just knew to take him as he was. I think he had such an issue when he found out about Walt’s betrayal of his first family because he had such high standards for us. He believed at one point that Walt, Carine, and I were perfect and could do no wrong. I will always love my son Chris McCandless and remember him for his strength, drive, and ambition. Thank you for putting my son’s story to words and capturing his personality in this article.
Yours Truly,
Billie McCandless
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