Disjointed Thoughts On Robin Williams

At 48 years old, one does not expect to cry when a celebrity dies. 

At 48 years old, one is supposed to be “over that”.

One year ago today, I pulled my car over and cried for 20 minutes, after hearing of Robin Williams death by suicide. 

It made me ache. All I thought was “no”. 

A year later, all the memes, posts about depression, beautiful rememberences, video clips, and his movies….I still cannot believe he is gone. 

I think of his children. I think of the roles as an old man he would have been so wonderful at. I think ” if I could have CALLED him….I could have saved him”, as if he were a neighbor I failed to visit.

Millions of arms would would have given anything to hold him, and tell him, it will be ok. 

Please stay.

He chose to go. 

I cannot pretend to be ok with that, but, I understand. 

We could not save him. Only he could. 

I get sad about it, and then start finding irony. Donald Trump lives. No Robin. Dick Cheney lives. No Robin. Per William Munny; “Deserves’ got nothing to do with it.”. i eventually start to laugh, my inner monologue becoming him, in crazy, manic voices. I smile.

I can’t really watch his movies yet. I will eventually. In this man, I sensed such kindness, empathy, joy, and REAL sensitivity.. I felt that the man we saw in the movies was the way he likely was. Gentle. Funny. Kind. 

Missed. So. Missed. 

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