goodnight, mr. williams.

i thought it was probably inevitable. that i would touch on the death of robin williams in this week's blog post. after all, i was a counselor before i became a coach. depression and suicide were words i encountered often while on the job.

i had a lot of mixed feelings about this subject though. how could i best approach it, best explore it? should i use those visceral, raw, quickly scrawled words? the ones i jotted down right away when i heard the news?

the response to his passing has been phenomenal. many have been left stunned, saddened, seeking. in the past few days, i have read several accounts of the aftermath.

about the repercussions of this well-loved celebrity's death. about the confusion and the bewilderment it has brought to the surface. about the many other bleak emotions it has conjured up. about the controversies it has stirred.

by people who admired and adored him. by people who have lost family members and friends to suicide. by people who have struggled with or are continuing to struggle with depression. by people who knew him well and by those who had never met him.

everyone expressing their opinions, voicing their impressions, attempting to make a tiny bit of sense out of mr. williams's final act.

one eloquent article i read mentioned being a spectator to grief. wondering if it was okay to mourn someone you had never met. she decided that, yes - it was okay. that if you didn't allow an outlet for your natural reactions, you would be denying the effect that person had on your life.

with that in mind, i decided to go ahead and share my immediate thoughts.     why do i feel so sad, so thrown, by his death? perhaps because he always reminded me so much of my brother? or maybe it's because "dead poets society" had such a huge impact on my life?

i'm crying and i didn't even know him. but he seemed so kind, so approachable, so real. and if someone who could find humor in everything (and in nothing at all) cannot bear to live, what does that mean for the rest of us?

what demons was he fighting? how did he keep laughing and continue making us laugh? i've heard that comedians crack jokes to mask the pain. how long did he hurt?

goodnight, mr. williams. you brought me joy.     robin williams wasn't perfect. he was a human being with a complicated and complex history. like most individuals. as a well-known actor and comedian, we felt we knew him though. and we liked him. a lot.

i am always telling my clients to FEEL their emotions. to let them bubble up and be realized. to sit with them and let them guide the way. then to begin unraveling the lessons they are trying to impart.

so i did just that. i let the tears flow as i thought about this man's brilliance. and the many smiles he's given the world.

another writer reminded us that he had a choice. yes, he had a choice. and he chose to end his life. but i don't think it's ever quite as simple as that.     i remember the severely anguished look on the face of one young man, that haunts me to this day.

he was admitted to the unit i worked in at the hospital. i was close enough to see the searing pain expressed silently but vividly. and to feel, actually feel, the hopelessness he radiated.

he ending up taking his own life a short time later. his pain overwhelmed him, became unmanageable, unbearable. and, in his desolation, he saw no other way out.

now, when i hear about someone committing suicide, my mind goes back to that teenager. to those staring but unseeing eyes. the high school hockey player whose family loved him desperately.

and i remember the way he seemed to look right through me, when i had tried to engage him.

his passing affected me deeply, as a clinician and as a fellow human being. his handsome but deeply troubled face remains with me to this day.     so why has robin williams prompted so many articles, blog posts, tweets?

because he was larger than life, and provided so much well-needed lightheartedness. but also because he was real, and proved that we are all human.

there is that element of juxtaposition as well. that oxymoron that niggles at us all. a comedian who committed suicide.

that paradox doesn't fit into our schema of existence. if he could create such happiness for others, then why couldn't he be happy? it's a question to which we will never receive an answer.

what an inspiration robin williams was to us. his talent and comedic genius gave us hope. but we lost a little of that hope when he didn't come through for us. when the goods weren't delivered in the way we expected. we will never know the entire story of his depression and eventual suicide. we do know that we are experiencing a huge loss.

goodnight, mr. williams. you brought us joy.     it is time to regain our hope. time to embrace and explore and reclaim our own story. time to conquer more fears than we ever thought possible, time to lift ourselves from despair, time to fight until the veil of darkness is lifted.

we can and we must.

i've had two periods of melancholy in my life. once as a teenager, when i entertained self-destructive thoughts. and again much later, when the fog of grief over my mom's death was replaced with the new reality. i didn't personally refer to those seasons as depressive. but they were the lowest lows i can imagine.

our lives in between our births and our deaths are rife with excitement and suffering, elation and sorrow, delight and sadness, success and failure, determination and defeat, calm and chaos.

everyone responds to their helping of these ingredients differently. according to the measurements of each, and the temperament and makeup of each individual personality.

no one, no matter how well meaning, can totally understand the depth or the direction of another's feelings or responses.

but we can try.

we can try to listen, try to support, try to comprehend and appreciate another's unique take on the world.

i often speak of eleventh hour illumination with my clients. when it feels as if all may be lost, as if nothing else can be done, know it's not over. know you can still see the light late in the day, even at the last minute, at a point in time which is nearly-but-not-totally too late.

it occurs, over and over again. and how magical, how life-affirming, how concept-changing it is.     i miss that tender young soul who was hurting so badly, he graced me with a glimpse of his too-short story. i only wish he could have found the light beyond the depths of his shadows.

death. silence. the final farewell. there is no turning back.

however, i do believe . . .     there is always hope as long as we're still breathing.

i think that bears repeating.

there is always hope as long as we're still breathing.

so breathe. hope. live.    

    robin williams, as john keating in "dead poets society", said it so well: carpe diem. seize the day. make your lives extraordinary.

and when quoting walt whitman: that you are here—that life exists and identity, that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. what will your verse be?

goodnight, mr. williams. you brought me joy. you brought us joy.     how will YOU make your life extraordinary? what will YOUR verse be?     i leave you today with a poignant visual, photographed in 2009: robin williams crying [this link will take you to another site. i'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments before you leave.]           [maxbutton id="1"]