Depression cannot kill Robin Williams, because Robin Williams is life. Put on a frenzied recording. Watch his jittery action. Feel the energy and listen to its message. It tells you the world is poetry, that there’s magic in this box of rain, that our lives can be tender and hilarious and full of wonder.
Depression cannot kill Robin Williams because depression is a stone. Depression is like a juice box, or a cotton swab, and can do nothing. Some might get upset at this point and say, no, depression is like cancer. Fine, say it’s like cancer. But, know: cancer cannot kill Robin Williams.
Depression cannot kill Robin Williams because Robin Williams is a person, and a person is a king or a queen, and lives and dies with honor. So when you say depression kills, know that you explain one thing while destroying another.
Depression cannot kill Robin Williams because it is neither G-d nor Robin Williams. If that kind man decided he would rather die, perhaps we would stand in his way. Perhaps we would say he’s selfish. Perhaps he is; people do selfish things all the time. But with all the gravity and the glory and the hot disgust that is our proud lot, he acted.
But if he had no choice in the matter, compelled by forces beyond his frail limits, then let it be known that depression did not kill him; a belt did not kill him; drugs did not kill him. These are dumb rocks and deserve not the praise. G-d took his life, because it was his time, and though we don’t like it or understand it, someone did it, not something, and that is dignified.
Let him live.