When the news came across my Twitter timeline that Robin Williams committed suicide on Monday, I, like everyone was shocked and saddened by the news. I was also somewhat unsettled, like I usually am by most celebrity deaths. To mourn someone we don’t know on a personal level, demonstrates a certain sense of compassion, but when that person is a star, I always try to hold back my grief. As much as I have written about celebrities, interviewed them, and even enjoyed reading profiles about them, I have never been in the business of celebrity worship. These people, who entertain me, are appreciated, but not more than those I actually know, so I reserve a full range of emotions for those closest to me.
The loss of Williams is different.
Whether he played an animated genie, a cross-dressing father desperate to be with his kids, an adult-looking fifth grader with a crush on his teacher, a boy who could fly and never wanted to grow up, a doctor with unconventional methods of treatment, a widowed therapist with a unique approach to helping his only patient, I always took a piece of the characters he played with me.
I don’t know what jobs Williams had coming down the pipeline, I don’t know what movie or show he was slated to play in next. What I do know is whatever the role was, he was more than likely going to nail it and transform into yet another character that would probably stay with me for the rest of my life, because that’s what Williams always did.
I truly can’t think of one person who is talented the way Williams was talented. People can name me funnier comedians, they can cite better actors, but I can’t think of someone who had both of those gifts in abundance like Williams did. That man made my whole family laugh, together, at the same time. That made his talent more than entertaining to me; it was downright magical.