It’s been a few weeks since I got the news that Robin killed herself.  The news was a billy club hit square to my gut.  I couldn’t breathe.  Although I’ve tried to leapfrog right into anger, I’ve mostly felt numb and shock.  The un-reality of it keeps me from falling into a black hole.

The details of her final act were delivered before I could defend myself from the evil of hearing it.  Now I can’t get those images out of my head.  Alcohol is the only explanation for why she did what she did, and the way she did it.  The Robin I knew loved too much, had too much compassion, to inflict that kind of damage – on herself or the person who discovered her body.  I know another discoverer of a similar fate, and her pain is a dark gift that keeps on giving.

Is it really THAT Robin who’s gone?  The Robin who held my hands during my first exercise at Journey School?  The Robin who talked to me all night when I couldn’t sleep because the metal beds at Journey School reminded me of being a 4 year old at Juvenile Hall?  The Robin whose stories about water skiing stunts and Gulf of Mexico excursions had us all laughing so loudly that we emptied the restaurant?  I can see her brown eyes sparkling with tears from laughing so hard herself.  The Robin who, with her sister Wendy, pretty much ran the small Cajun town they grew up in – drinking the men under the table and kicking their asses while doing it.  The Robin who represented the Fire element at our wedding.  When she asked if our love would survive the harsh fires of change, I didn’t realize that she wouldn’t be able to.

THAT Robin is gone.  Her suffering was so great that she took her own life.  I couldn’t scale her walls since Katrina, and now it’s too late.  Is that really it?  Come on!

At a birthday party before Katrina, someone was moaning about getting older.  Robin’s response was, “I reject that!  That’s bullshit!”  (Actually, she said in her Cajun drawl – “That’s boo-sheet!”)  She meant that you are as young, or old, as you let yourself be.   She was fire – full of life and passionate about everything.  When we meet again, I’m going to tell her “I reject that, Robin!  I reject this exit you’ve made.  I selfishly want you to come back so we can hash this out.  This is bullshit.”

This tragedy – this billy club – reminds me that life is precious and fragile, and so are our loved ones.  For those moments with Robin that suspended time and space, I am humbled and grateful.

I don’t believe it’s all for nothin’.

It’s not just written in the sand.

Sometimes I thought you felt too much.

You crossed into the shadowland.

In my dreams

the pipes were playing.

In my dreams

I lost a friend.

Come down Gabriel and blow your horn

’cause someday we will meet again.

Robbie Robertson – “Fallen Angel”