Lessons While Driving

I’m sure all parents do their best to shield their children from pain. But those teachable moments seem to come at the most unexpected times…ours are usually in the car.

Yesterday, my 13 year old daughters, having heard about the sudden death of Robin Williams, asked how he had died. To them, he was the voice of Genie and more recently Mrs Doubtfire (which my husband and I made them watch along with other favorite movies). To me, he was Mork and the worn out grooves of the LP of Reality, What a Concept that I’d practically memorized when it was first out. Later, of course, he was a teacher who taught us to “seize the day”, a therapist and Jack, the boy who aged too quickly. I even had the joy of seeing him live once when I worked at Radio City as a seat-filler for a performance of Comic Relief.

But driving in the car with my daughters, I had to make the quick decision on how to explain “how” he’d died. A version of the truth was clearly required. They know what suicide is. But when my daughter asked again “how?” I opted for the whole truth. I really didn’t want them to be left with the image of their beloved Genie in the manner Mr. Williams chose…but if I didn’t tell them…one quick search on the internet would have told them anyway. Better they hear it from me.

We talked about what it means when someone suffers from depression. We talked about what it means for Mr. Williams’ family and children and close friends who lost someone they loved. And we talked about the life people show to the world vs the one they see in the mirror.

But most important, I wondered aloud if the outpouring of affection and admiration we’ve all seen this week since his death was even a fraction of what he knew to be true in life. I hoped he knew. And THAT became the teachable moment. I implored them to never let it go unsaid how you feel about someone, or what they mean to you, or how they’ve influenced you. And if ever someone you love seems sad or feels unimportant, or unappreciated or unloved…make sure they know how special they are and what they bring to you and to the world.

And no matter how bad things seem, I made them promise me that they would remember that tomorrow will always be better.

Pulling into the driveway, we were all a little teary. But I hope this sad moment leaves them with words to live by.

Life is short. Have no regrets.