Flabbergasted, I shared the news with Scotty and then, unfathomably, burst into deep gut-wrenching sobs. Yes, I was saddened, even devastated by the loss of this gifted comic, but it was not a personal loss. I questioned my reaction; Why was the death of Robin Williams affecting me this way? Had his work, his life, really had that much of an impact on me? Or, was it simply that within moments of hearing the news there was an outpouring of love and admiration that would have humbled him, had he been alive to see it. Was my grief simply a response of being too late to matter? Is it that I see a similarity between Robin Williams and someone I hold dear? I still don't have the answer. For the next few hours I scoured Facebook for every mention, every picture, every quote; each one bringing fresh tears. I prayed endlessly that he would find peace and would make God laugh before finally crying myself to sleep. And this morning I woke up still terribly saddened by his death. Today I have read every obituary and every tribute that I could find. I've watched countless clips that made me laugh and cry. I've replayed lines in my head, thought about characters, and remembered the suspenders I had just like the ones he wore as Mork.
"Celebrity" deaths don't normally have this kind of affect on me. Sure, I cried for hours when Elvis died. I even shed a few tears when Paul Newman died. But none affected me as deeply, or as profoundly, as the death of Robin Williams. Perhaps in the end all that is really important is this: his life and his death mattered.
I hope Robin Williams is at peace and I hope he finally knows, in every significant way, that he was loved, he was appreciated, he mattered, and he will be missed. "Fly...be free Robin!"
