My family has always been private about our time spent together. It was our way of keeping one thing that was ours, with a man we shared with an entire world. But now that’s gone, and I feel stripped bare. My last day with him was his birthday, and I will be forever grateful that my brothers and I got to spend that time alone with him, sharing gifts and laughter. He was always warm, even in his darkest moments. While I’ll never, ever understand how he could be loved so deeply and not find it in his heart to stay, there’s minor comfort in knowing our grief and loss, in some small way, is shared with millions. It doesn’t help the pain, but at least it’s a burden countless others now know we carry, and so many have offered to help lighten the load. Thank you for that.
To those he touched who are sending kind words, know that one of his favorite things in the world was to make you all laugh. As for those who are sending negativity, know that some small, giggling part of him is sending a flock of pigeons to your house to poop on your car. Right after you’ve had it washed. After all, he loved to laugh too…
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.
My only statement. My brothers’ are also online. Thank you for all your kindness, and goodbye for awhile guys. xo (via zeldawilliams)
Robin Williams didn’t die from suicide. I only just heard the sad, sad news of Robin Williams’s death. My wife sent me a message to tell me he had died, and, when I asked her what he died from, she told me something that nobody in the news seems to be talking about.
When people die from cancer, their cause of death can be various horrible things – seizure, stroke, pneumonia – and when someone dies after battling cancer, and people ask “How did they die?”, you never hear anyone say “pulmonary embolism”, the answer is always “cancer”. A Pulmonary Embolism can be the final cause of death with some cancers, but when a friend of mine died from cancer, he died from cancer. That was it. And when I asked my wife what Robin Williams died from, she, very wisely, replied “Depression”.
The word “suicide” gives many people the impression that “it was his own decision,” or “he chose to die, whereas most people with cancer fight to live.” And, because Depression is still such a misunderstood condition, you can hardly blame people for not really understanding. Just a quick search on Twitter will show how many people have little sympathy for those who commit suicide…
But, just as a Pulmonary Embolism is a fatal symptom of cancer, suicide is a fatal symptom of Depression. 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. It is hard to know exactly how many people actually die from Depression each year because the figures and statistics only seem to show how many people die from “suicide” each year (and you don’t necessarily have to suffer Depression to commit suicide, it’s usually just implied). But considering that one person commits suicide every 14 minutes in the US alone, we clearly need to do more to battle this illness, and the stigmas that continue to surround it. 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.
I firmly believe in small gestures: pay for their coffee, hold the door for strangers, over tip, smile or try to be kind even when you don’t feel like it, pay compliments, chase the kid’s runaway ball down the sidewalk and throw it back to him, try to be larger than you are— particularly when it’s difficult. People do notice, people appreciate. I appreciate it when it’s done to (for) me. Small gestures can be an effort, or actually go against our grain (“I’m not a big one for paying compliments…”), but the irony is that almost every time you make them, you feel better about yourself. For a moment life suddenly feels lighter, a bit more Gene Kelly dancing in the rain.
Steven Moffat Doesn’t Understand Grief, and It’s Killing Doctor Who
There’s a popular joke I’ve seen floating around on Tumblr for a while now. It goes like this:
“Joss Whedon, Steven Moffat and George R.R. Martin walk into a bar and everyone you’ve ever loved dies.”
Here’s the problem, though:
SOMEBODY FINALLY FUCKING SAID IT THANK YOU
"But more importantly than that, when you have no death, when nothing truly has weight or scale, when decisions don’t stick and nobody feels the consequences… it’s hard to care about anything. The stakes on the show feel so low at this point that a once addictive program is unengaging, dull and hollow."
A very smart writer of Pacific Rim once said “there are no heroes in a world where heroes can’t die”. And that’s what Doctor Who has lost for me.
Amazing article. Also, spot on.
I’ve never even watched Doctor Who and this strikes home for me. What an incredible article
'I don't want to be someones forever. '
Isn’t that the point though? I don’t want to go through life being someones Saturday night secret. I don’t want to wake up on Sunday morning trying to find the hands that touched me like I would break but are now nowhere to be found. I don’t want to wake up to cold sheets and a note that tells me to lock the door once I leave.
I want to be someones forever. I want three day adventures that we didn’t plan. Coffee shops that have dusty shelves and an old soul. Bottles of wine that we have collected through the years that leave imprints of where we left them. I want to explore their body at 6am, 11am, 9pm. I want cooking dinner to be something magical where we singe our fingers from trying out a new recipe and having those bright eyes stare into me after kissing my fingertips better.
I want. I want. I want.
I want all of it. I want October and our shitty pumpkin carving disaster. I want November and drunken slurs after our Thanksgiving feast. I want December and Christmas Eve while we re-watch terrible made for t.v. holiday movies. I want New Years Eve and the countdown to midnight but knowing it isn’t going to end there.
I never asked you to be my forever. My forever is out there and when they’re ready, they’ll find me, and then I’ll know exactly what home will feel like.
apparently e.l. james called former child star mara wilson (matilda) a “sad fuck” for critiquing the 50shades books a while ago and now there’s a feud. i love it.
this gives me hope.
mara wilson is also the faceless old woman who lives in your home, so you know she’s got your best interests at heart
Holy shit, Nattie from Mrs Doubtfire has read 50 Shades of Grey. I don’t know who I am anymore.