I don’t normally cry over the death of celebrities, but I’m a bit hung over this morning, thanks to a wonderful night out with a couple of very good friends, when we touched on old age and grief and that which lies ahead. Yet the apparent death by suicide of Robin Williams, has hit hard, and I’m breaking another rule by writing about it.
Perhaps it’s partly because he was so full of life, that it seems impossible that he’s gone. And I really do hope that he is at peace now in a better place. Perhaps because I always adored Dead Poets Society, about the power and passion of words. Something I get. Perhaps because he may have died as a result of depression and addiction, both of which have touched my life in different ways.