I come not to praise Robin Williams but to bury him.  I did not know him any more than 99.99 percent of his adoring fans did. I only knew of him from his public persona, his theatrical works and his comedy. I’ll admit I was not a huge fan of his sometimes lewd and smart-alecky kind of humor, though I respect the fact that he was a rare and enormous talent with a huge following that he had earned by his tremendous talent and ambition. He turned out to be a fine actor and played some roles which I even liked.

As all of us that did not know him, I was shocked to hear of his death. Being the same age as Williams I first saw him on the Mork and Mindy Show. I could not help but hearing about or seeing his movies over the last forty years. I and my grandkids liked him a lot in Jumanji.

Apparently, by all accounts, he was a thoughtful, kind, regular guy. The kids in his neighborhood liked him right until his last day. For this, I am deeply sorry that he ended his own life. Who among us, fan or otherwise, cannot help but be emotionally disturbed by the life of this successful man of the world that ended prematurely, a guy who was, by all accounts of those who knew him, emotionally tortured, mentally disturbed.

As a Christian man for forty years, I am not here to assign Robin to Hell for committing suicide. Suicide is not the unpardonable sin. We all know that there are forces working upon men and women, especially young men and women, to give up and give in to addiction. These things, these spirits, these temptations to forget and feel good, to get numb to the pain, can win. They can trump intelligence and nerve. The angels in heaven cry. If Robin had an angel assigned to him, which is likely he did, Robin’s guardian angel weeps today.

But suicide is far from the reason we cannot praise Robin at this sad time. It is drugs that had a finger in this catastrophic event of a human who was not vicious, though maybe mischievous, neither was he evil as some people who are without a doubt. He is a tragic man who has gone off to his just reward, to be judged before the judgment seat of Christ, good or bad, for the things he had done for real in this fleeting body here on this passing earth.

I know I do not want to see any man cast into Hell where the worm never dies and there is no peace. I would like to get to know Robin Williams in eternity. Surely he is fun, surely drugs contributed to him having lost his fun and delight for life. For this I hate drugs. They may have deprived me of having a fun relationship with the guy who had me enjoy some time with my grandkids when he beat death and came back from a world of confusion and doom to gain life in that fairy tale called Jumanji.

It has come out publicly that Robin had little or no peace in this world. Though by his act and persona one would never have guessed such an ironic fact. His confusion and desperation that led him to suicide was fueled by drug and alcohol addiction. I hate drug and alcohol addiction from the bottom of my soul – even if it’s just because it played a role that deceived Robin and made a terrible victim out of Robin Williams. Another notch for drugs and alcohol on the holster of death.

They say he was bipolar, but we cannot dismiss the problem of addiction to drugs and alcohol because Robin himself admitted that they were aiding in the destruction of his life and happiness. I have seen it in so many loved ones in my life. He tried to shake this homicidal predator on a number of occasions, but could not. It tells us all how powerful addiction to drugs and alcohol can be. I am proud to say I hate the deadly duo. They saw to it that Robin cannot be praised in his hour of death. If we know anything about Robin we know he was intelligent and insightful, but he was no match for the merchant of death. I come to bury drugs even if it be in just one life that may hear this and escape with their life. 

Do not think that I assign Robin to Hell because of drugs and addiction, either. Take it from one who knows about drug addiction and its overwhelming perils – personally, and in loved ones. It is a plague on the world. It victimizes the good humored ones, the innocent, the rich and not just the poor – it kills the good guys and does not reserve its merciless hand just for the bad guys who we think might deserve it.

I will not praise Robin and let drugs off the hook. We have not gotten over Philip Seymour Hoffman have we? We shake our heads. Money could not buy off the assassin sent by dope. Who doesn’t hate heroin for the murderer it is; the inmates hate the prison guard more than those on the outside, but there is no escape. I come not to praise those in the jailhouse, but to advise that we should somehow bury the lethal ability of drugs and alcohol. We cannot do it for those in society; we can only teach the individual not to get caught in the cross-fire. Never mind sticking a needle in! I say stick it needle! I snort out with fury; I will not snort anything in.

We as a society let ourselves be deceived more than the victim Robin. Doctors, physicians, AA, NA, society in general, tell us that the terrorism of drugs can be negotiated away. We can talk to it softly in friendly terms. We can get together and ward it off from ourselves by the deception of group therapy and the help of admitted addicts who are told they can never get free.  It hasn’t worked, it isn’t working, it doesn’t work. People like Robin who have gone through ‘rehab help’ are dropping in unprecedented numbers. They not only are leaving grand-children behind, they are abandoning little eight year olds in feces-infested apartments with nothing but incompetents to manage their future.

Why do we think we can negotiate with the terrorist called drugs? We ought to stop kidding ourselves. Real health measures are not accomplished by sitting around in a circle in some church hall or school building or YMCA lying to and deceiving one another and giving one another little medals for supposedly not doing drugs for two months? All too often I am just making new connections for the ones that have dried up.

The terrorism of addictive drugs knows only one thing, bows its neck to nothing but force. “Cut it out! You be hanged!”,  I say to the Lord of Drugs. Robin knew drugs was a problem, but he bowed to the mental narcotic that he was bound forever, imprisoned behind steel bars of addiction; he just had to drive that car slowly, try to stay on the road, hope he didn’t fall asleep at the wheel. As Robin might have said – that’s nothing but bull crap. The crap contributed to his ending his life at the end of his own belt, his wrists weakly cut. Smarter, richer, more beloved guys than me, like Robin Williams and Philip Seymour Hoffman, couldn’t drive safely on that winding, poorly lit road.

There is ‘One’ guy, one answer, one thing only that can free us completely and permanently from the tyranny of that treacherous winding road called Drugs. Only knowing Him can get me free. I have to let Him take the wheel. Then I can get safely home. When that happens we don’t have to live in fear of that Drug Lord getting and keeping hold on us ever again.

I don’t need sponsors – I already have one – I don’t have to meet with others – He is always there at my side everywhere I go, driving me home, even when the road becomes slippery, dark, lonely. Drugs and alcohol addiction ought to be put squarely behind us and lost forever. Our past addictions can be put behind us and buried. This is not a time to praise anything that man can offer, it is not time to praise Robin Williams – it is time to shed a tear for all the Robin Williams and those they left behind wondering, weeping. Robin’s time of praise came, I suppose, when he won his Oscar and people clapped for him, even though he was lost on that slippery road at the time and the clapping hands could do nothing to save him.

It is a time to point to the killer and have it arraigned— a time to have that which threatens me buried once and for all. We are not allowed to drive drunk anymore but we sit behind the wheel of life hopelessly impaired by addictions because we are told by the official propaganda that we cannot get free.

I hate the robber that suicide is. I hate drugs for the killer and rapist that they have become. No, I shall not praise Robin’s work, though he made us laugh, or feel better about injustices, for this is not the time to do so. I come to bury, if it be in only one heart somewhere, the accomplice of death, the drugs and alcohol that did poor Robin in.