Many people have written their tributes and tales of Robin Williams. Many people have written their stories about suicide and depression. Many people have posted videos of Robin. As well as countless photos. I have been somewhat quiet. Just trying to absorb all of the information and love floating around on the internet. I have watched a few of Robins films the last few days. I have spoken to mutual friends who knew him. I have been trying to fathom my own deep feelings that Robins suicide brought screaming forward. Heres what I know and feel; Robin was everything everyone is writing about him. He was brilliant and full of heart maybe even too much heart. He and I crossed paths so many times over the last several decades. Beginning when, as a child, I used to sneak onto the Mork and Mindy set to watch him work. I got caught by security a couple of times. That set was closed tight even to me, in my prairie costumes. Each time I got caught,I was terrified and shaking at the thought of getting into trouble but, even more, that I might interrupt the amazing work I was witnessing. Each time Robin would stop the guard from escorting me off the sound stage. He would say things like Its okay. The kid can stay. or Let go of The Pint. Watching him was like taking a master class. Years later as president of SAG, it was my job to introduce him at a SAG Foundation Conversation. Before the event began he and I stood off to the side and began to riff and improvise. he said, Youre funny president Pint. I said, Well, I am Harry Cranes Grandchild and the daughter of a stand up comic. His reply, I loved Harry Crane. Of course youre funny. Then again later, as one of the most amazing young people I ever knew was losing heart while he fought yet another recurrence of his cancer, Robin went to the hospital and spent hours making that amazing young man laugh. He didnt have to do that, all we expected was maybe a brief phone call. Robin stayed a part of that young mans life until his death a while later. And then I got word from my sweet friend Amanda Cizek that Robin had died. By his own hand. I was standing in the kitchen, sauteeing mushrooms and onions for a tuna noodle casserole and I dropped to my knees. Luckily my sweet husband walked in from work a few moments later and we held each other and grieved. We shared our stories of Robin and even laughed a bit. I was not, by any means, close to Robin but I, like everyone whose life he touched, have spent the last few days in sort of a fugue state. Im sure my reaction is compounded by the death of my own father, a brilliant stand-up comic, who also died by his own hand. Oh how my heart aches for Robins children. Though my fathers suicide was only revealed to me a few years ago, I feel that I have lived with it since he died when I was eleven. I grapple often with my feelings. Though I know that my father was in excruciating pain, Im often haunted by the thought that I wasnt enough for him to want to stay alive. That is something Robins children will carry now. As do all survivors of suicide. Just, So. Sad. I dont know. I dont know if this grief I have for Robin will ever fully dissipate. It is so hard to reconcile the funny man with the man who suffered. Then again, can one have true funny without suffering? I keep coming back to a line from Charlie Chaplins film Limelight (my favorite film for so many reasons.) Its such a sad business, this being funny. Yes, it is.
Posted on: Thu, 14 Aug 2014 19:06:44 +0000
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