Block the Door

Philip Seymour Hoffman was found dead today, and I am heartbroken.

He was found, they say, in his underwear, with a needle in his arm, on the bathroom floor.

It's that part that gets me the most. I believed him to be a creative genius, capable of depth and believable on-camera-grit than most, and his talent will be missed. He leaves behind a successful career, an admiring public and a family who loved him. But the hardest part to process isn't the how or the why. It's the where.

The bathroom floor.

The dirtiest place in the home. It is not made to comfort a resting body. The bathroom floor is cold, hard and lonely.

And yet at one point today for Philip, there were no offers more appealing than stretching out on the bathroom floor and calling it a day.

Philip's death made headlines. But there are so many that don't.

I am privileged to know a family who has been standing between their loved one and the bathroom floor for years. They are waging an inspiring and relentless war on hopelessness, acknowledging addiction and battling mental illness with every fiber of their being. Individual lives are put on hold while they position themselves at the bathroom door. It is exhausting and frustrating and expensive and never an exact science.

Being involved in their struggle has taught me that we are all addicts, and the only thing that stands between all of us and the bathroom floor is grace.

Whatever the addiction: substances, food, money, the praise of others, our victim complex...it is what  drives us. And without the right voices surrounding us, whatever we're addicted to can drive us right onto a bathroom floor.

Church: Are we being the right voices? Are we staring our own addictions in the face so that we can get over ourselves and block the bathroom door for our hurting friends?

Rest in peace, Philip Seymour Hoffman. I'm sorry we didn't make you a better offer. You deserved more.