RIP, Phillip Seymour Hoffman

I heard about the death of Phillip Seymour Hoffman while working at my part-time job, which affords me the privilege of writing as a career. It saddened me deeply. Mind you, I never met Mr. Hoffman. Like millions, I was a fan of the many splendid and psychotic characters he brought to life in film. Secretly, I hoped that one day, he might act in one of my films. I was saddened as if one of my good friends had passed.

Pondering a few hours on the heartfelt strength of my reaction, it is not the passing of him that shrouded my day. It was how he passed. It is reported that he died of a drug overdose, and with a needle still in his arm. Tragic.

Here was a man who made brave choices as a professional actor. He was highly regarded by tradespeople for his uncanny ability to bring life to every character he portrayed. In the final act of his life, he bowed to a force that, to him, was greater than all the success he earned as a father, a son and a brother, greater than gold statues and klieg lights, greater than the inner drive that made his talent stand so tall, perhaps the best at his craft for our entire generation.

Whatever demons ensnared him, he gave in to drugs. Here’s where I write of that which I do not know, for I can’t comprehend giving power to substances that alter, that maim, that destroy the fabric of families, careers and lives. I can’t condone or deprecate the deadly use of drugs, seemingly for recreational purposes, because I cannot understand them. What I do understand is the pain one must feel to succumb to their allure. I can understand the lonely, dark road one travels to reach the place where those brave choices made in the light of day can be overshadowed by cowardly vices.

And that is what saddens me.

May the peace that eluded you in life be with you through eternity.
May the joy you brought to us all live on for the ages.
May your brave choices inspire others.
RIP, Phillip Seymour Hoffman.