This week I find myself deeply saddened. The kind of sadness
that pulls on your ribcage and gets stuck in your throat. It’s a culmination of
things I’m sure, but in large part flowing from the suicide of Robin Williams.
I have been trying to comes to terms with this incident which seems to have
opened some deep well of conflicting thoughts within me. I wrote it off at
first, calling it mere sentimentality. After all, am I not just selfishly
upset that the man who seemed to be the funny uncle of my childhood would no longer entertain me? Yet it didn't fade, and as it clung to my chest I began to
pay more attention. Why am I so sad about a man I didn't really know? Is it the
larger problem of the sadness of being human, wherein we all wrestle with a
multitude of pains, run away in a thousand different ways? At least in some
part yes it is. To see the brokenness of humanity day after day does weigh
heavy, and every once in a while breaks the surface erupting in tears
and melancholy. Yet that’s not the end of it, this answer merely scratches the
itch.
I continued to try and make sense of it by reading others’ responses to his
death. In reading I've been outraged, confused, saddened, bewildered and a
hundred other forms of grief. We all seem to grab onto one piece of grief, as
is the way of grief, and claim it as the answer. (This is in no doubt what I am
doing right now). Some folks have focused on his ‘choice’ of suicide and the
grief and guilt it left for his family. Some have centered on the darkness of
depression. Others still have looked at the disease of addiction. In each case
I’ve found myself offended, which typically happens when reading another’s
explanation of reality as they see it. As I understand it, truth, no matter how
small the grain of it, tends to upset me. When looking at addiction, depression
and suicide I am deeply offended because I am deeply impacted by the central
truth of each - I am capable of each one.
Spending some time alone and quiet this morning the dawn
began to break. Light was shed on my grief, giving it form and helping me
recognize its substance. In a sort of ‘A-Ha’ moment it made sense. The reason
Mr. Williams suicide struck me so acutely was simply this, ‘There but for the
grace of God go I.’
Some time ago I was on a retreat, spending some time in
connected community as well as in contemplative solitude. I had a similar dawn
break for me at that time, shedding light on my internal insanity. At one point
I was sitting on the side of a mountain, the sheer weight and grandiosity
putting me in my place as the small and fragile man that I am. I was broken by the thought that
if something didn’t change I was going to go crazy and die – be it emotional,
spiritual or physical death I didn’t know. The sheer weight of holding it all together was too much, my false and true selves were far too disassociated from
one another. The suicidal panic which told me everyone would be better off without me was becoming too frequent and loud. I needed help and fortunately found it in a fellowship of men and
women who call themselves alcoholic.
Reports say Mr. Williams did the same recently,
turning back to a 12-Step program to try and have a reprieve to his addiction (ie - insane thinking). Yet it won.
That’s the thing with addict thinking, it’s not satisfied until you are dead,
because as addict thinking goes, death is the ultimate solution. Which is
another crazy thing about addiction- be it drugs, sex, alcohol, work, etc.- the
problem substance or behavior isn't the problem at all. In fact, it’s your solution
– albeit a false one.
So what made me get sober and find a new way of life when
Robin didn't? Simply put, ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’ This cliche has been spoken in every room of AA at some point. Honestly, this scares the hell out of me. The real reality is that I am completely
powerless in this life to change myself or those things around me, yet I’m
completely responsible to do so. This dilemma then leads me to need a power
outside of myself to do for me what I cannot do. As I understand this power to
be God, I am now completely dependent on God to give me what I need, even when
I don’t see my need for it, and if he doesn't, well then...I'm toast. I need someone I don't really trust to consistently take care of me, whether I want it or not. The craziest thing is that He does. I cannot comprehend this mystery.
The grief that strikes me this morning is that I was given
this gift when another was not. I don’t know what to do with that. It begs at a
thousand deep and offensive questions. Yet, I know it’s true. I need God to do
for me what I cannot do for myself, as did Mr. Williams, as do a thousand
alcoholics, and as do you. So I’m sad, deeply saddened that Mr. Williams didn’t
get sober in mind and body, and that the insanity of addiction took over. I’m
also sobered by the thought that had God not done for me what I couldn’t do for
myself I’d have eventually followed in Robin’s footsteps.
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