I meant to write about Casey Kasem when he passed away, but I knew I needed time to get my thoughts in order. We’re going on 10 months since my father’s death from Lewy Body and nearly 12 months since the onset of his decline. I knew from the moment they described Kasem as having Parkinsons with dementia they meant Lewy Body. I nodded in my faux-sage way and thought to myself, “that’s where he’s been.”

The descriptions of the family ordeals didn’t surprise me much, sadly. All you need for that kind of situation is a family separated by distance or emotion, combined with the presence of fame and fortune, and mix in a little stepmother action. We’ve seen enough on television to know with the right amount of ego anything becomes a spectacle. Throw in Lewy Body and you have a flood of opinions over the most trivial things. Everyone demands a say and out comes “Dad wouldn’t have wanted this” over and over by well-meaning (or not so well-meaning) family. I struggled with a way to fold Kasem’s death and the subsequent struggle amongst his family into something with the right balance of introspection and aphorism.

That’s a hard thing to do.

You see, I know what they were going through, sans the disconnection with my parent. I agonized over choices, felt despair over the conditions, shook my head at the medical care in the country. We had a mostly positive experience with the system, smoothly transitioning from one facility to another. My brother and I remained of one mind on his care and treatment. His erratic behavior and constant state of infection dictated his location most of the time; we were there to support him through each phase and to come when something happened. We spent so much time in the ER, more than I ever want to spend again. But again, we were fortunate in our experience.

But Kasem’s family seemed to be struggling with the old question of who gets to decide. The kids, however well meaning, held different ideas over how to care for their father. If you don’t have a living will and an Advanced Directive ready for the asking you may end up in a situation where someone else makes decisions for you. Imagine who those people will end up being. Now go write one up. Now! (I’m chastising myself here)

What were Kasem’s wishes? How did he want to die? It’s the most important question you ever answer and usually comes only once in your life. The goal is to make sure those around you know the answer, just in case you can’t speak for yourself.

Then the worst thing happened; Robin Williams committed suicide.

Regardless of the reasons why he did it, I’m 100% in support of the right to die. Every human has the right to choose when he or she gets to pass away, something almost none of us actually get when the time comes. I know some religions forbid it; as a general rule I frown upon it too, but for different reasons. I know things get better, even when the sufferer can’t see out of the hole. Making big decisions concerning yourself when you aren’t feeling 100% yourself is like sending an email when you’re angry; just wait a little while and if you still feel the same way then send it. But I lean way left on this issue, almost libertarian in how I feel about personal choices. I’d hate to be on the receiving end of someone else’s decision, but I support their right to choose.

Williams absolutely possessed the right to end his life in a dignified and controlled manner, if he felt it was his time to go. I’m not suggesting we idolize the act, but don’t mistake thinking you or I have an opinion worth expressing if made at the expense of the grieving. That’s not our place. I can think of a multitude of reasons why people spoke the way they did about it. The cruel comments, the mindless pontificating, the insensitive speaking of truth to power drone on even today. Why did he do it? Because he wanted to, that’s why.

Dying on cue is no different than dying suddenly. Both are gone and both leave behind wounded people. Everything else is motive, which should only concern us when foul play is involved. But for Williams, there’s no foul play, only a man struggling with his past, trying to enjoy his present, and seeing a future filled with the challenge of Parkinsons. I admit to a pang of fear if I think about it too long.

But why did he want to die? I don’t know and he didn’t say. But complained about a lot of things. He worried about money, old age, acting jobs. But those complaints could have masked a secret he was keeping, like Parkinsons. How many times have you heard someone say brazenly, “If I end up in a wheelchair, just kill me.” Maybe he saw the wheelchair whenever he closed his eyes. We just miss him so much, like we miss Kasem.

So many illnesses carry a weight and the stigma of their effects. Cancer and AIDs bring to mind images of shriveled souls, hairless and weak. Heart attacks are the demons in the shadows for my family, waiting to jump out and strike. But depression brings to mind something entirely different. When people think about depression their opinion is based on experience or opinion, that’s it. Perhaps they know someone with depression, or have felt depressed. It’s a special club. Never lived inside its sphere of influence? You can only imagine and the parts you imagine will be wrong. You can belong in group two and have a degree in things that deal with depression, but experience brings a lot to the table.

Depression is a lot of things and like art, you know it when you see it, or feel it. Those who suffer don’t need us to see or understand as much as they need us to listen or get out of the way. I’ve belonged to each phase of the club over time and I know to get out of the way if I’m not helping. Telling someone to buck up (we’ve all done it) is a well meaning suggestion, but the depression hears your suggestion through the effects of body chemistry. There isn’t anything you can say to help them. It doesn’t work that way. It’s a chemical thing.

I’ve found the only thing that really works is time and change.

If some kind of change will help, such as removing yourself from a destructive environment, make that change happen. If changing medicines will bring back the old you, seek it out. If moving to a new city and taking a calmer job will allow happiness back in your life, do it. But other times you simply have to wait it out. Sometimes waiting till it’s better is hard for people. Maybe Williams finally reached that point when he took his life last week. Depression over an illness with abusive effects like PD can push someone toward a heavy bout of depression. Who wouldn’t get depressed at the idea of having your body atrophy over time, especially if you’re a physical comedian? The medicines they pump you with play havoc on the same systems involved with depression, making it likely the cure was worse than the disease. It’s always a balance.

All I’m saying is we’ll never know what drove him to the final end, not without a note. It’s not up to us to say if his reason was enough. It was for him. Everything else is our own selfish response to a sudden and shocking event. We lost someone we loved, even if we didn’t know him personally. The asshats giving all of us a “dose of reality” or “speaking some truth” can go back to their day jobs now. We know they’ll be back; anonymity is the cloak they use to say what they wouldn’t in person. You can ignore them until they crop up again on the next tragedy.

Meanwhile some people are crying, all over the world. And there’s nothing wrong with that.