The shocking deaths of Philip Seymour Hoffman and Robin Williams rip the fabric of our lives. These men were so huge in their genius and talent and generosity of heart, they moved me so deeply, that their absence seems an impossible affront. The ground shifts beneath my feet when I am confronted with the awful fact that great men such as these can be so tormented by the pressures of life, and by spiritual loneliness, so compelled to seek comfort in alcohol and drugs, that they are taken from us before their time. I know St. Paul said that faith would rob death of its sting, but that just doesn’t feel right. The loss of a beloved presence in our lives leaves an emptiness that never will fill–nor should it. It seems to me that grief is the sword in the heart of love. It is love’s burden, and love’s…
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dreamweaver333 