The "Mrs. Doubtfire" memorial on Sunday, August 17, 2014.
In the week since the world lost Robin Williams, I’ve seen many touching tributes. At the house in San Francisco where “Mrs. Doubtfire” was filmed, so many flowers and signs covered the walk that the (very understanding) homeowners haven’t been able to use their front steps. The phrase "Bangarang, Peter", a reference to the movie "Hook," was written on the sidewalk in big chalk letters. People all over the world are talking about what he meant to them – as a friend, as a comedic inspiration, or just as an entertainer they enjoyed. Fans are pulling out his movies and stand-up specials to relive the memories, and laughing until they cry. I think that’s how Robin would want to be remembered: through gales of laughter and joy.
However.
It’s also brought out a side of people that is everything from unpleasant – those who talk about how life is precious and they can’t understand or respect someone who would take their own – to downright despicable, as evidenced by the harassment heaped upon Zelda Williams in the days following her father’s death.
Of course, it was because of the one word that kept appearing everywhere: suicide. He didn’t just die, he committed suicide. He chose to end his life. “How could he?” people asked. “How could he do that to his family? How selfish of him. Didn’t he care about them at all?” And I read this and said, “Don’t you understand? He was sick! He wasn’t just having a bad day! It’s called mental ILLNESS for a reason! Yes, there is help, but just like with most illnesses, people respond differently to different treatments, and unfortunately, sometimes treatments don’t work and people lose their battles in the end.”
Then came the announcement that Robin had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. “Oh, well, that’s different,” people said. “The disease would have robbed him of his voice, his control, his livelihood. It was more than he could take.” And I read this and said, “Oh, so now it’s OK? Now you’re sympathetic? A shift in factors and you change your tune?”
And this, ladies and gentlemen, brings me to my mother.
Mom passed away at age 62 from lung cancer. She was a lifelong non-smoker. I have to tell you this because it’s usually the first thing people ask me when they hear how she died. I have actually had this conversation several times: “Did she smoke?” “No.” “Did she live with anyone who smoked?” “No.” “Oh. I’m so sorry.” They always have to check and see if she was a smoker before they offer any sympathy. One person said to me in an accusatory tone: “Well, she MUST have lived with a smoker!” Sorry, no. Neither my dad nor my stepdad are smokers. My grandparents didn’t smoke either, yet lung cancer was also the cause of my grandfather’s death. (I heard that asbestos in their basement may have been a factor, but the actual cause was never determined for him or Mom.)
What I’d like to say in response to their question is, “Does it matter? She still missed my brother’s wedding, never got to meet my fiancé, will never get to enjoy a retirement or meet any future grandkids she may have. She died from a disease whose research is underfunded because there is a stigma that the people who get it did something to deserve it and therefore should suffer the consequences.” I tell myself I don’t say that because I’m too polite, but it’s also because I figure they’ll assume I just don’t want to say “yes”.
Depression has a similar stigma: the “snap out of it” stigma. There is still the assumption that people are just feeling sad and will cheer up eventually. Too many people don’t understand why someone “chooses” to keep feeling sad. Tom Clemson wrote an excellent post about it on his blog last week: "Robin Williams Did Not Die from Suicide". I highly encourage you to read the whole thing, but here is an excerpt:
Depression is an illness, not a choice of lifestyle. You can’t just “cheer up” with depression, just as you can’t choose not to have cancer. When someone commits suicide as a result of Depression, they die from Depression – an illness that kills millions each year ... Perhaps Depression might lose some its “it was his own fault” stigma, if we start focussing on the illness, rather than the symptom. Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. He died from Depression. It wasn’t his choice to suffer that.
Robin’s death has started opening up a dialogue about mental illness that may actually lead to a new understanding of the condition – how it is actually an illness and not just a bad mood. If this new understanding lasts, it may be the one positive that has come out of this loss.
Bangarang, Peter. We’ll miss you, Mr. Williams.