"Any man's death diminishes me", er, no, not really!

That is the sort of sentiment that poets go in for and we all nod sagely and agree - until we actually think about it.  The human ego, or perhaps, the human will to live, is enormous and we survice even the death of loved ones.  The death of strangers, frankly, barely touches us.  Well, it certainly doesn't touch me, let alone diminish me, when it is the death by suicide of yet another talented, mega-rich, Hollywood star with a wife and family and therefore much to live for.  I do not suggest that psychotic depression does not exist and that its malignant features do not inflict grievous wounds on human personality.  However, what I do think when I hear that the likes of Robin Williams, after a lifetime, apparently, of booze and drug abuse has topped himself, is of those people I know personally who suffer similarly but who have the guts and determination to fight back, to keep going, to stay the course, if not for their own sake then for the sake of the people who love them.

Their life amplifies mine.

Comments

[Andra]

Make that Robin Williams...........
Your story doesn't make sense when you've got the wrong bloke!!

[David Duff]

Cringing apologies, m'lady!

[Louise]

;However, what I do think when I hear that the likes of Robin Williams, after a lifetime, apparently, of booze and drug abuse has topped himself, is of those people I know personally who suffer similarly but who have the guts and determination to fight back, to keep going, to stay the course, if not for their own sake then for the sake of the people who love them.'

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

BY ROBERT FROST

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

[David Duff]

Oddly enough, Louise, although I don't know you except via the internet, you were one of the gutsy people I had in mind. That is a marvellous poem, such apparently simple words but hiding ... well, what? The last two repetitive lines, I think, are deeply moving and evocative of ... well, what exactly? ... I'm not sure and I guess they will mean different things to different people as they struggle onwards in differing circumstances. Whatever, they made me blink rather rapidly and swallow hard. Thanks for the poem.