robin williams is upstairs at the comedian’s club, hanging with chris farley, john belushi, tony hancock, doodles weaver and freddie prinze. . .
robin had family–children and a loving wife susan. he had success–well, except for the very unfortunate movie patch adams. and he left four movies in varying degrees of completion. including a sequel to mrs. doubtfire and another in the night at the museum franchise. he was a spokesman for st. judge’s children’s hospital. family, creative success, purpose–he had it all. and then on sunday evening, he tried to kill himself by slitting his wrists. unsuccessful at doing anything more than inflicting superficial wounds, he used a belt and a closet door and hung himself.
i have struggled, particularly this past year. with thoughts that i have no purpose, that i have lost some vital connections with my family, that the world would be quite a bit better without me.
i know what it’s like to wake up and think “i’m still here. it’s not time to die. God, can’t this end?” but i have always known that i wouldn’t do anything to harm myself because i don’t want to harm my sons, my stepson, my stepdaughter, and my exhusband that way. and sometimes, just that is enough to keep me going.
so i gotta ask. . .
we miss you, and i’m sorry that there wasn’t anything that could make you stay. . . what is it about the funniest people hiding the greatest sadness? maybe comedy is a compensation for sadness.