Heath Ledger has taken his final bow, as it were, and the cynic in me (and almost everyone else) assumed straight off the bat that he'd brought the curtain down himself.
Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. But, let's face it, it was sleeping pills, at home, in the middle of the afternoon, not a nose full of cocaine, at a club, in the middle of the night. Obviously I'll feel quite bad if it turns out it was a whoopsy combination of sleeping pills and pneumonia, but many have gone before him and you become jaded by repetition.
That aside, you can't help but take pause when it comes to the question of someone such as him taking their own life, and it gives a person the oddest feeling to recognise that joe bloggs, working hard, juggling life and family, making sacrifices, struggling trying to get through, make good and live a good life along the way could be so much happier than someone who seemingly has everything.
Sometimes, having the world at your feet isn't the answer to a happy life.
Or, as the husband so delicately put it ...
"Pfft. All that money and he's just as f*cked up as the rest of us."
Pretty much.
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