Robin, How We Loved You, We Haven’t Forgotten

One year ago, Robin Williams killed himself. It was a ‘marker day’ for those of us who knew only what he gave us and not the despair in his heart.

“A marker day is a day when something unexpected and irreversible happens all at once, and every event in your life is re-sorted into what came ‘before’ and what happened ‘after’. A marker day is a scar in the tapestry of your life, a streak of gristle that runs from top to bottom. All moments after are woven with less innocence. A marker day leaves you with permanent regret and an ache that doesn’t go away even though you stop talking about what happened and fake that you’ve moved on.”  (Quoting myself here, kind of nuts for sure.)

A year ago the friends and family of Robin Williams became members of a club no one wants to belong to. I’m a member too. None of us chooses membership and we’d trade anything to be back with the rest of you–on the outside looking in. We are anything but exclusive.

Since a woman I’d seen for years shot herself rather than let the police—pointing their guns at her after I told them she was not dangerous—take her to the hospital, I promised myself I’d do an article every summer to honor her and everyone who struggles with the relentless claws of depression. Now with Robin William’s death, I’ve widened my vow to include a moment for those whose pain was too great for them to stay here with us.

The goal of this memorial? I’m hoping you will stretch your heart a little more with those people in your world who suffer depression. Be patient enough to listen and patient enough not try to ‘fix’ him or her. When we throw ourselves into ‘fixing’ someone who’s depressed and we fail, we’re more likely to see depression as the person’s fault. This kind of thing happens when a physician tries a number of medications that don’t help—then concludes that the problem is all in your head or that you don’t want to get better.

Depression is not a choice. Who would choose it? Depression cannot be shaken off like a stubbed toe. The truth is we psychologists and psychiatrists don’t have nearly the tools, chemical and otherwise, to keep away the monster in any sort of hundred percent way. Contact with a good therapist helps but not always. Television commercials for anti-depressants way over-promise what these medications can do. No one wants to take those pills. They all have side effects, some serious. None of them work all that great.

Relationships are harder when you’re depressed. Holidays and birthdays and school are harder. Waking up. Getting up. Reading. Bathing. Clipping your nails. Returning an email. . .

This vow to ask the world for a little extra heart with depressed friends and relatives–isn’t a fun vow to keep. I want to fix things for people. That’s part of why I do what I do. I want people to be happy. But I don’t want my desire to see another person happy push that person to hide the truth. I don’t want to communicate that in order to be with me, you have to hide feeling helpless and hopeless.

What can we gain from knowing that Robin Williams killed himself, knowing that other people live with pain that those who not depressed cannot even imagine? This much at least. We can say with absolute certainty that the following to not equal happiness: money, fame, power, intelligence, awards, adoration, things, trips, and good luck. Winning the lottery won’t do it for you. Love and romance will not. Even being the best-looking smartest person in the world is no guarantee. They don’t even help very much.

We can recognize what does bring joy: someone to hold, someone to love, a warm pet to hold, faith in the night, friends in the hard times, family, a book to read, a voice to hear, a moon over the water, a smile, a really good laugh, a memory, that feeling as you drift off into a safe sleep, people who let you love them . . . and people like the woman I saw today who keeps a cooler in her car full of plastic Ziploc bags—each containing cool bottled water, a few dollars, fresh fruit (she even picks out the cute little apples), and packages of peanut butter and crackers. She passes these out to homeless people. Even if she passes someone on the freeway and has to fling the bag over other cars. Or try to. “Incoming!”