Those Who Laugh Loudest

It is often said that “Those who laugh loudest hide the most pain.”

After the death of Robin Williams, it certainly hits home.  May 2018’s Vanity Fair published an excerpt from New York Times reporter Dave Itzkoff’s new biography, “Robin” – Inside the Final Days of Robin Williams  His excerpt is revealing about all that Robin’s smiles could have been painfully hiding.

Yesterday,  I saw a  Facebook acquaintance post a picture of his friend who had clearly died by suicide.  Beside it he posted that quote.  In the picture, his friend had been smiling, of course, and sitting back with a friend, seemingly enjoying his day.  After the quote, my acquaintance posted his phone number to his Facebook community with a promise to any and all to be available as a shoulder, a friend, a confidante if anyone is hiding that kind of pain.

It struck me.  It’s kind.  It’s so…human.

Afterall, isn’t this what it’s all about?  Connecting?  Helping each other out?  Extending ourselves to our fellow brother?

I think many people feel lonely.  A deep sadness.  Not an ungratefulness….An intense hole.

I’ve struggled with it.   I have a beautiful family.   My children fill my heart and make it overflow every single day.  The man in my life loves me completely and I deeply love right back.  I am thankful.  I smile.  I feel joy.  But I also know that deep sadness.

That sadness is so powerful and encompassing that it can swallow you up like a black hole.  It can make you believe that you don’t matter.  And that the only matter you are, is a burden to those around you.  And it’s lonely.  So painfully lonely.   And it’s so intense like a burning blue flame.  No one can communicate within your black hole so the closest communication to the world outside is in the insanity of laughter and art.  And maybe, for a moment, the loneliness  subsides.  As long as others are laughing along.

In my early twenties, I became close friends with a woman through a waitressing job.

She was a bit older than I was, and married to a man who had been married previously. That first marriage had produced a son a few years younger than me – her step-son. He was often in and out of trouble, but he was someone who had such a spark – a light in his eye – the kind of kid you just wanted to root for, and he and I got along pretty well.

He would frustrate my friend – his stepmother and rightly so, because he just kept making bad choices . But he wasn’t a bad kid.  His smile lit up a room every time he walked in it and was always full of laughs.  My friend and her husband eventually had a baby girl of their own,  and even though my friend and I were once very close,  I eventually moved away, got married and lost touch over the many years.

I was recently on Facebook, once again, and through not so many degrees of separation,  saw a picture of my old friend’s baby – now all grown up and beautiful.   It made me wonder about her half-brother and I looked him up.

My heart sank as I realized that he had died by suicide, not too long ago.

The tears started to stream down my face uncontrollably.

Why?  I have no right to be so sad.

I hadn’t seen this kid, who had since become a man – a father, I learned – in decades.  And when I did know him, it was as an acquaintance – my friend’s step-son – who drove her nuts.   So why did it make me so sad?

We often wonder – at least I do – if what we are doing matters….

This year has been a challenging one for me with lots of ups and downs and I’ve questioned myself endlessly.

The other night I had a dream about my old friend’s step-son.  He was wearing a tuxedo walking across a parking lot.  I saw him with his father.  I let out a huge sigh of relief, saying to myself, “See? He’s still here.  He’s ok.”  But then I woke up.

It’s striking me how much his suicide has affected me.   And even how much other deaths by distant acquaintances over the years have filled me with sadness.  And I think I know why.

It all matters.  All of it.  The smiles you exchange.  The tears you share.  It counts.

The day-to-day, the mundane, the hamster wheel of our lives – within those lie moments – that we don’t recognize that mean so much to others – that they can carry forever.

For me,  it was a moment at the restaurant where I once waitressed with my old friend.  For a short while, her step-son worked with us, too.  I recall a moment while he was busy washing dishes where he had the brightest smile on his face and a glimmer in his eye as he worked so cheerfully and laughed, making me feel special – like I mattered.

I may not have ever lost anyone directly close to me by suicide so I cannot even begin to imagine the pain that is suffered by loved ones and family.  My heart aches for those left behind.

But I recall every single acquaintance that has passed through my life that has died by suicide – and each of those individuals touched me.  They mattered.  They really mattered.  I am far removed from the scope of their lives – and I can say that.  Imagine how those closer must feel.

My Facebook acquaintance that posted his phone number gets it.  No matter how removed we may be from one another, we must begin to be here for one another.   We are in this together.  We really aren’t all that far removed.  We all have been in the black hole.  We all know pain.   You really AREN’T alone.

But also – and this is the thing that I’m trying to embrace for myself – you just may be surprised how much of a difference you may be making in someone else’s life.

I mean, I look at how much I was affected by the death of my friend’s step-son. The sadness stayed with me.  Perhaps I’m extra sensitive or perhaps what I’m saying is truth – or a bit of both.  You never know how much your life touches another’s – in any little or big ways.  And the life you touch could be someone you didn’t even know or realize.  This world needs you and you were put here for a reason – whether you know it or not.

If you or someone you know needs help:

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/