Is it weird to cry over the death of a man you never
actually met? I hope not, because that’s
what just happened to me. I came home, read an
article published in The Guardian about Robin Williams, and cried.
I’m
someone who loves to laugh--I mean, annoyingly so. I love to really
cackle and I think it drives everyone insane because my laugh is unfortunately loud and
shrill, but I stand by it. Laughter
fuels my soul with happy thoughts long enough to make it to the next laugh, so
it’s something I plan to continue doing forever.
I
have my dad's impeccable taste in films to thank for my refined comedic taste. Monty Python and the Holy Grail was my
favorite comedy at the age of six, and Eddie Murphy was probably the first
celebrity I knew by name. I remember
watching "Good Morning, Vietnam!" around first or second grade: my
introduction to Robin Williams. Most of the storyline went *way* over my head,
but I was entranced by Williams' ability to be a dozen different people in the
span of two minutes, complete with voices and mannerisms and facial spasms.
Then Aladdin clinched it for
me: Williams was a comedic genius, and that was my professional opinion.
When
I was 12, I learned that Williams was bipolar and suffered from addiction and
manic depression. This knowledge was like learning that Santa Claus had
cancer. Depression, I knew, could tear people apart in the same way.
The gift I enjoy most of people is their ability to make
others laugh. Laughter is too rare, and
a truly good joke is a moment of sheer brilliance. I have long envied Williams’ unique talent
for being uproariously funny, but with genuine sentimentality and a deep respect and understanding for the human condition. He was humorous while knowing full well the pain of
the world, and used that pain to construct even more poignant humor. He continued to prove, like others before
him, that someone with a debilitating disease can have a profound, positive
impact on the world.
Williams’ death has made it all too clear that even filling
your life every day with laughter sometimes isn’t enough to overcome pain. But it is enough to create an everlasting
bond, even between strangers. A laugh echoes. A good joke never
dies. Laughter becomes part of us, making us lighter as we pass that laughter on to the next person. And with that, Robin Williams will live in the hearts of this world forever.
The next time I’m sitting on the bus and a smile creeps across
my face while thinking of Mrs. Doubtfire chucking a lime at Pierce Brosnan’s
head ("a run-by fruiting!"), that laugh is Williams living on.
He never knew I existed, but Williams will be an important part of my
life until my dying day.
My entire generation lost a direct connection to their
childhood on August 11th. He’ll never read this, but in some way I
just needed to say: his death has made me really, profoundly sad. And heartbroken for the sadness that
constantly lingers under the surface of those we love.
Peace be with you, Mr. Williams. Goodnight.
