I write this on deadline in mid-August.  Like millions worldwide, I'm reeling from the news that Robin Williams, comedian, actor – genius – (the god of tragedy and comedy combined in human form?), has died at age 63.  Along with his multitude of fans, I'm standing (metaphorically) on my desk in sadness, disbelief and homage to this Renaissance Man whose out-of-but-so-stunningly-a-part-of-this-world talent lit up the stars, stirred the hearts and jump-started the minds of generations from the "greatest" to the "millennials."

Death sucks.  Still, knowing that thousands of brave, good, talented, even celebrated people fall to the Grim Reaper every nano-sec way before their time, often desensitizes me to the sadness, horror and injustice of death.  But Williams' passing brings death front and center into our living rooms (where we watched his intoxicating mix of mania, satire, intelligence, wit and hunger for love in TV shows from "Mork and Mindy" to "Letterman" and "The Tonight Show" to HBO comedy specials) and cinemas (where, aged eight to eighty, we reveled in his performances in movies from "Aladdin" to "Good Morning, Vietnam" to "Mrs. Doubtfire").

How, we wonder, could such a force of nature die?  We know from the statements issued by his wife and publicist, that Williams suffered from severe depression.   His recovery and addiction to cocaine and alcohol were part of his comedy act.  "If on your tax forms, it says '$50,000 for snacks!' May Day," you have a problem with coke, Williams joked.

Yet, who can emotionally comprehend why Williams, who left four movies in the can (to be released in the coming months), and was (is) beloved by his family, co-workers, friends, fans (and probably all the dogs on earth!), would commit suicide?  Not me. As a Rosalynn Carter Mental Health Journalism Fellow, I spent 1998-1999 learning about and reporting on mental illness. Our group of fellows heard Rosalynn Carter, psychologist and writer Kay Redfield Jamison and the late, great humorist Art Buchwald, and others talk about their personal and professional experience with depression and other mental illnesses.  Even so, my mind can't take it (Williams' suicide) in.

I did learn a couple of things from my Carter fellowship.  Unless you suffer from depression, bi-polar disorder, generalized anxiety or other mental illness, you won't have a clue as to what it's like to have  a mental illness.  Unless you've been suicidal, you won't get what it's like to want to kill yourself. "When people are suicidal, their thinking is paralyzed, their options appear spare or nonexistent, their mood is despairing, and hopelessness permeates their entire mental domain," writes Kay Redfield Jamison in her book "Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide," "The future can not be separated from the present, and the present is painful beyond solace.  'This is my last experiment,' wrote a young chemist in his suicide note. 'If there is any eternal torment worse than mine I'll have to be shown."

Maybe this explains the uncomprehending "what????" I got when I spoke with a pal years ago.  "I'm so depressed," he told me, "I can't get out of bed.  I don't know what to do."  Did I listen to him or try to urge him to seek treatment for his depression?  No, I, the sensitive one, said, "Why don't you go for a walk?  That often makes me feel better."

Treating depression and other mental illness isn't easy.  But treatment for mental illness is possible.  I, and, I bet, you, know many people with depression, bi-polar and other disorders, who, with treatment, lead full, creative lives. It's hokey to look for "silver linings" to come out of tragedy.  But, having said this, I hope, a "silver lining" will emerge from Williams death.  Maybe knowing that Williams was under treatment for depression as well as the circumstances of his death, will decrease the immense stigma that still surrounds mental illness in this country.  Men, especially middle-aged and elderly men, are most victimized by this stigma.  One hopes against hope that in the wake of this tragedy, more of us will talk openly about and seek treatment for mental illness.

Williams' family has asked that he be remembered not for his sad death but celebrated for his talented, vibrant life.  I'm up with that!  Everyone has their fave Williams movie or comedy special.  For me, (sentimental, romantic, poet that I am) it's the movie "Dead Poets Society" and the comedy special "A Night at the Met."  Whatever your fave, immerse yourself in Williams' brilliant art.  Then seize the day, and make your own art. 

(See my poem "Carpe Diem" in memory of Williams in the Writings section of this issue of Scene4.)  

September 2014