We Heaglers
appreciate a little sparkle in our lives. OK—maybe a lot. It shows up in all sorts of places. In this
house, the tooth fairy leaves a little sparkle with a dollar bill under a
pillow. The garden fairies once brought a jar of sparkly Goblin Repellent when we were overrun with goblins. Those same fairies later unloaded a dump truck of sparkly fairy dust on a mischievous Elf on the Shelf. It’s been
rumored (and I will neither confirm nor deny) that I showered my Yearbook Club kids in glitter as part of a celebration for a job
well done. The kids and I even
sprinkled glitter around our new house before the new hardwoods were laid so we’d know
for sure there was a hint of sparkle (and maybe a bit of magic) in this house—even
if we can’t see it. We do love a little sparkle. A little everyday magic.
A few years
ago, I wrote a blog post about suffering from depression and in that piece I wrote
about the feeling of hanging by a thread. A wonderful friend responded by
telling me that she liked what I’d done with the thread I was holding onto. She
wrote, “It’s multi-strand and colorful, with a hint of glitter.” Her comment touched me deeply and made me really think about that hint of glitter, my love of a little sparkle...a little magic. And I realized that the hint of glitter my friend could see in that thread I sometimes cling to was simply a glint of “me”
showing through, even in my darkest times, even in those times when I've felt practically
invisible.
I started
writing this blog last week. I intended to segue from this opening about a love
of sparkle and belief in everyday magic to my excitement at finally finding my
spirit animal—a toy bunny whose packaging proclaims, “I poop glitter!”
Seriously—I couldn't make this up. See for yourself: Moxie Girlz Poopsy Pets
In my head, the
piece was hilarious. How could it not be? Did I mention the glitter-pooping bunny? But I just couldn't make it work on paper and I wound up posting nothing last week (and
beating myself up about it). In retrospect, though, not being able to draw a straight line from crippling depression to a glitter-pooping bunny is pretty understandable.
I planned to
revisit this piece Monday night after work. And then I heard the terrible news
that Robin Williams had taken his own life and a toy that poops glitter
no longer seemed funny at all.
I've read a
lot about Robin Williams, depression and suicide over the last few days. I cried imagining all too vividly his struggle, and winced witnessing the shock
and naked grief of those who loved him. At
the same time, I've been encouraged by the conversations happening about the devastation
of depression and the need for open dialog, understanding and accessible treatment. And,
as is frequently the case for me and countless others who suffer from
depression, I turned inward, and did a lot of thinking. Which led me back to
that thread, the one with the hint of glitter, to which I all too often find
myself clinging.
So many of
us cling to that thread. Too many. But in every single thread there is a hint
of glitter—a glint of the true beauty of that person shining through, even in
their darkest moments. Is it possible that the most sparkly threads are also
the most slippery? The most difficult to hold?
If Robin
Williams was clinging to a thread, the hint of glitter that shone through—that piece
of him that we could all see—was positively luminous. It will continue to
shine, in his body of work, in his children, his wife, all who loved him and
the countless lives he touched. I hope his tragic death will remind us to hold
on tightly to our own thread and seek help when we feel our grip slipping. That
everyone we meet is fighting a battle we know nothing about. That nothing is more
important than caring for one another. And that kindness doesn't cost a damn
thing. We really should sprinkle that shit everywhere.
Which I
suppose brings us full circle to the glitter-pooping bunny. I’m so glad I managed
to work my way back to my newly-discovered spirit animal. Somehow I think Robin
Williams would have approved. Maybe even laughed.
Rest in
peace, Mr. Williams. Thank you for the memories and for your truly brilliant
hint of glitter.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: in the US, call 1-800-273-8255 or visit
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/
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