I had drinks with a friend last night when I expressed my grief over his passing, and my surprise over said grief for someone I didnt know. My friend urged me to reinvest my sympathy on those who’ve met tragic ends through cancer or other horrible diseases. Without going down the rabbit hole of how one defines a “disease” i realized slowly that my grief stemmed not from the manner of which he died, nor the fact that he left behind children and a partner. I realized my grief stemmed from an acute bout of narcissism.

I saw myself in every roll PSH ever played. He had the innate ability to tap into the humanity of each character, and that humanity was like a big mirror that magnified the fear and vulnerability and humor and love that exists in us all. To steal from Capote “It’s as if Phil and I grew up in the same house. And one day he stood up and went out the back door, while I went out the front.” He opened himself up to a level of intimacy that felt very personal by way of a connection to the human condition. He carried that with him like a light even when he was off the stage.

And its hard to see the weight of the world crush someone like that. Its hard to see the hero of the story not win in the end and hold on to the hope that the hero in your story will turn out differently.