I am in the process of planning a dinner party. For the past week, it has been consuming me. I've been cleaning and painting and shopping. The menu planning has been on my mind for weeks. Lately, I've actually been losing sleep over this dinner. I've been worried about hosting Mark's colleagues and their wives, all of whom are working moms. My house hasn't been this clean since we moved in, yet there still feels like I have so much more to do. Then last night, when I came home from the store, Mark told me that Robin Williams committed suicide. Wait, what? Suddenly, I was shaken out of my party planning fog. I had to tell my children that one of the actors they love from many movies was gone...dead.
I told the oldest two because I didn't want them to hear about it from TV. I told them that he died. I didn't mention suicide. Maybe I should have. I didn't know how. How do you even explain what suicide is to a child? Tessie asked if he died because he was really old? I told her he wasn't that old, he was about the age of her grandpas. I guess to her, they must be really old. My kids have grown to love Robin Williams in movies like Jumanji, Mrs. Doubtfire, and Aladdin, all ones they watched on old VHS tapes that belonged to my little brother. Lately, they've seen him in the Night at the Museum movies. They thought it was sad that he died, but of course they don't know the extent of why he is gone, his battles and struggles.
This morning, I woke up to my Facebook feed flooded with posts about Robin Williams, depression, suicide. What a somber morning. Somehow, my party planning seems so trivial now. One of my friends posted a video from Dead Poets Society, giving me chills. That movie has so many powerful messages, the most famous one I remember being Carpe Diem. Seize the Day.
None of us knew Robin Williams. While we can feel sorrow for his family and the loss of his humor the world will no longer know, our lives will carry on tomorrow. My dinner party will still go on as planned. I hope that what his death can trigger is a sense for all of us to treat what we have with extreme importance. Let's treat our loved ones with the utmost care. Hug and kiss and snuggle with those babies no matter how tiny or tall they are. Tuck your teenagers into bed, even when they act like they don't need you anymore. Tell your friends how much they mean to you. You can do it over email or text. That's how we roll these days, and it's okay. It will still mean something. Send a card to your grandma or grandpa. They don't have a computer, so something in their mailbox that isn't junk or a bill would be the highlight of their week. Go to bed at the same time as your spouse so you can have a long chat in the dark and a kiss that's longer than a quick smack on the lips. Cherish your relationships...before it's too late.
UPDATE: The following day, I had time to gather my thoughts enough to know what to say to the kids in talking about Robin Williams' death. Trixie asked me if I knew how he died, and I told her that he made himself die. She said, "You mean, suicide?" I asked her how she knew what suicide was, and she said, "You told me."
How could I have forgotten that a high schooler in our school district had taken his own life last year, forcing me to have this tragic discussion with them on a random weekday. Reese and Trixie wondered why Robin Williams would be so sad to want to die. Of course, we'll never understand someone's inner pain, but I explained to them that no matter how much money or fame a person has or happy a person seems on the outside, they can still be sad inside.
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ReplyDeleteLove to you, too, Karen!
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