"Ms. Williams, my thoughts exactly"

If you have been anywhere any type of news lately, you will have heard that Robin Williams died this week.

I know there have been a million and a half blog posts written about their view on it, their view on him, their view on suicide. 

I'm sick of it. 

I'm sick of it in my face.  I'm sick of hearing people's stupid and ignorant opinions of something they know nothing about.

This won't be one of those blog posts.

I didn't know him (obviously) and therefore shouldn't be feeling as melancholy as I have.

I know this.

But I can't help it. 

News like this makes me sad.  News like this affects me.  News like this brings back a flooding of memories I don't want to relive.

In the first moment of hearing he comitted suicide, I had that pit in my stomach, sick, black inky feeling that comes when I hear that ugly word spoken.

Part of me is sad for me.  For my generation.   Growing up in the 90's, he was a major film star with many roles that impacted our culture and will forever be etched in our memories.  He made us laugh and sometimes, even cry.  In each of his films, you could sense that he had a deep soul, some depth to his thoughts, his emotions, and what drove his ability to make others laugh with such feeling.

I feel things big.   When I laugh. I laugh.  But when I'm sad.  I'm sad.  There is no happy medium.

 Most days I'm thankful I feel big, but there are times that I hate it.

 I hate that painful news is like being stabbed in the gut and there is no escape. Even if that painful news isn't yours to hear.  I hate that hearing of someone else's pain, hurts me, and only because I'm frustrated I can't soften their pain.   I hate that hearing bad news that reminds me of my own heartache will affect me for days, and the only escape is time. 

And tears.

Which is slightly ridiculous....crying over Robin Williams. 

In a way, the thought of Robin Williams not being here to make us laugh, does hurt my heart. 

But what really hurts are the reminders.  The knowing how his family feels.  The questions they are asking.   The anger, the sorrow, the questions, the pain.

it just plain hurts.

I came across online a letter that was written by his daughter (or so it says she wrote it) and I was in awe that she wrote the words that I have been trying to form for years.

"While I'll never, ever understand how he could be loved so deeply and not find it in his heart to stay..." 

 

This is one question I ask repeatedly.  How could he (my dad) know that I loved him so deeply, but not find it in his heart to stay...

 

It is a question that there is no answer to.  People can give pathetic attempts to answer it...with the concept that it will bring me comfort.  But reality is, there is no answer.  Or only one possible answer.  But that is too painful to let the thought pass through my mind.  So I stop it from crossing over my thoughts.

 

I am slowly healing, I laugh more than I cry,  but  most likely I won't ever complety heal.  Some days I think I've moved on.  Doing great, the stabbing pain has lessened. 

Then I am reminded.

 

And find myself with tears silently and ridiculously streaming down my face while riding the bus into work after hearing about Robin.  

 

I love how she closes her letter:

 

"Dad was, is and always will be one of the kindest, most generous, gentlest souls I've ever known, and while there are few things I know for certain right now, one of them is that not just my world, but the entire world is forever a little darker, less colorful and less full of laughter in his absence.  We'll just have to work twice as hard to fill it back up again."

 

I can't say that the entire world is a little darker because of my dad's death.  I can only say that my world is definitely darker because of my dad's death. 

"Ms. Williams, my thoughts exactly"