This week, our nation lost a man who was so much more than just an actor and comedian. Robin Williams was a father, a husband, and a friend to many. By all accounts, he was a gentle soul and a warm, engaging person. He was an advocate for the homeless, a supporter of our soldiers overseas, and a man who made our nation laugh without racial insensitivity or crude humor.
But as I think about this man, who gave a nation comedic relief for years, I mourn for that same man who couldn’t find peace, and whom we couldn’t help. Acknowledging his battle with depression, those close to him have probably asked themselves, “what could we have done?” And while I don’t know the answer, I can share their confusion and grief.
It was only three years ago that I lost a close family member to suicide. And it has been three years of “why?” and “what should I have done?” since then. Like Robin Williams made our country laugh, my grandpa made our family laugh. He was our class clown, always quick with a joke and always keeping the grandkids smiling. My grandfather’s death haunts me. We saw his depression but weren’t able to convince him to take help. We saw the decline but couldn’t stop the heavy, rolling ball.
As Robin Williams did, my grandpa had a close and loving family as was a strong man. But depression takes hold so tightly that it shuts out family, weakens love, and cripples strength. It is as powerful as addiction and as relentless as war. It is an internal battle with grenades of dark sorrow that land unexpectedly and quick bullets of inexplicable hurt that come at seemingly random times. Though it feels like the most unnatural thing in the world, it is organic, within those who suffer its confines.
We all know what to do when someone is threatening suicide while standing on a bridge; we call 911. But what do we do when someone we love is slowly dying on the inside, and we don’t know how to help? We can’t force adults to see therapists or take medicine, nor should we. I don’t know if we can offer much more than a listening ear, an open mind, and a non-judgmental heart.
I don’t think there is anything my family could have done to prevent our loss. It was my grandpa’s choice, and his alone. I hope the family of Robin Williams can find peace in knowing that his death was also his choice, and his alone. Our families are victims of suicide, too. But I hope that from the suicidal deaths of both a common man, who brought our family laughter and joy, and a celebrity, who brought our nation laughter and joy, we can look at depression as the disease it truly is without stigmatizing, doubting or ignoring those who are afflicted.
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After the Semicolon 