It often seems I’ve skipped a rung
Some days, for what it’s worth.
I’ve missed a step – I’ve slipped and swung
To some peculiar Earth.
On days like these, those moments tossed
Emerge with careless haste -
To leave me hopeless, hurt and lost,
With bitter truths to taste.
I’m sure it seems absurd to hear
I’d grieve to let him go -
I’d close my eyes and shed a tear
For guys I didn’t know -
But all the same – I will a while.
That man I never met -
The man that made me laugh and smile -
I never shall forget.
~Reddit user poem_for_your_sprog
So the world’s funniest man killed himself.
Forgive me if I ramble here, I’m three sheets to the wind. Red wine and scotch, a delightful mix. And if the death of Robin Williams isn’t enough to fill your glass again then what is? Ah, Captain Charles Morris had words on that:
In these convulsive days,
I can’t endure the ruin’d fate
My sober eye surveys;
But, midst the bottle’s dazzling glare,
I see the gloom less plain,
And that I think’s a reason fair
To fill my glass again.
Perhaps not fair at all.
I guess this is what growing older feels like. You watch your heroes die. I wish they were dying a lot later than 63, though, surrounded by family and loved ones.
Comedy and tragedy are the oldest friends in the world. More than friends, close relations—brothers. Two sides of the same coin.
Let me do a roll call off the top of my head: Hook, Good Will Hunting, Patch Adams, One Hour Photo, Insomnia, Night at the Museum, Good Morning Vietnam, Happy Feet, Mrs. Doubtfire, Bicentennial Man, The Birdcage, Death to Smoochy, Toys…
And my favourite Robin Williams film—What Dreams May Come.
There were many more, many great and (let’s be honest, can we be that, just the two of us?) some stinkers. But even a crappy Robin Williams film was better than most. Diamonds in the rough, so to speak.
Dead Poets Society! Holy shit, can’t forget that one.
Oh, man, Flubber…
No one really knows the heart and mind of another—not really and not ever—but Robin Williams always felt like a success story. A champion over the demon named Depression. A great man who left the world more laughter than what he took with him this morning.
He’ll always be the Genie. Peter Pan. Mrs. Doubtfire. He’s still laughing there. He’ll always be Chris ‘Christy’ Nielsen. Sean Maguire. John Keating. A legacy preserved in our memories. A monumental pillar of roles, built tall enough to pierce the clouds. Yet all balanced precariously on that double-faced coin, comedy and tragedy, standing—wavering—on its edge.
His death has caused me a great deal of sadness—sadness and gloom. A big part of my childhood died today. It looks like, in the end, that fucking demon sunk its teeth in too deep and just wouldn’t let go. But I think the man himself would not want us to dwell on such sadness. We must remember what Robin Williams stood for, even in the dark.
It wasn’t depression or sorrow.
It was laughter.