Conversations about Robin Williams’ suicide leave me conflicted. My mother was never the same after my grandfather killed himself and I’m convinced his suicide caused her to act in ways that made my life hell growing up. On the other hand, I know exactly how it feels to live in a perpetual black hole of Calcutta—what it’s like to be so depressed, I’d try anything to relieve the pain. Perhaps my biggest conundrum comes from loving people with terminal illnesses who would trade the worst depression for more time on this earth. Yup. Conflicted is definitely the proper word.