Selfishness and Genius

So often, in so many ways, I'm reminded how two things can be true at once. A few days ago marked another anniversary of legendary writer Earnest Hemingway's suicide in 1961. 

It is well-known how tortured his life had become his last decade, the illness and depression, the multiple shock treatment sessions, the alcohol. Finally, he could no longer write or even read, the two mainstays of his very existence, identity, and ability.

But, my own empathy regarding Hemingway and his very sad decision is reluctantly blurred by the way he chose to exit this world. No, I don't mean by his gruesome manner of dying by gunshot. 

I mean that he chose - however one is even able to 'choose' in such final moments of despondency and hopelessness - to end his life in the foyer of the home he shared with his wife. In his last act of brutish disregard for his long enduring spouse, Hemingway underscores the colossal, intrinsic selfishness of his character. Hardly a macho persona, but rather one wholly weak and thoughtless of others. 

His wife Mary, asleep upstairs, came down to the horrific carnage, the memory of which can never be washed off the walls and furniture. I'm sorry for the brilliant author's mental condition, sorry how such genius and selfishness coexist.