Remembering Robin Williams

When a well-respected celebrity dies, there’s a pang of sadness, typically followed by a quick eulogy. You know the one I’m talking about – it’s usually something along the lines of “Oh, man. I really liked him. What a shame.” Then we go about our lives without giving the person another thought, save for misty eyes or a heavy sigh when we run across one of his old movies on TV or see his face pop up during the Oscars’ In Memoriam segment.

But that’s not what happened when I heard about Robin Williams on Monday evening. This one hurt. Instead of a brief, sharp jolt, it felt like someone punched me in the stomach. Clearly, based on the outpouring of grief I’ve witnessed over the last 24 hours, I’m not alone.

I was having dinner with family when the news broke, so I was away from my phone for a couple of hours. When I got back to the car, I had a ton of text messages and e-mails. My first thought was, “Oh, God. Who died?” When I saw Williams’ name, I was crushed. As subsequent messages revealed that he took his own life after battling depression, my soul ached. It felt like I lost a friend.

I know that sounds ridiculous, considering I never met the man and he had no clue I existed. But I’m not exaggerating in the slightest with that comparison. The pain in my gut upon hearing about Williams’ suicide felt a lot like the pain I experienced last year when I learned that a good friend died under similar circumstances.

By all accounts, both men were beloved by everyone who knew them. They both had lucrative careers they enjoyed, and they both took pleasure in sharing their successes with family, friends and even total strangers. Rationally speaking, their lives were awesome. What the heck did either of them have to be depressed about?

But there’s nothing logical about depression. While scrolling through the many tributes to Williams on Twitter, I came across this astute comment: “Depression is the worst opponent in the hardest fight you can imagine. Depression cheats.”

If someone as wonderful as Robin Williams – with his unparalleled talent to make people laugh, his millions of dollars, his countless awards and the admiration of practically everybody on the planet – thinks he has nothing to live for, you know depression cheats. If my friend – who was popular, intelligent, handsome, charming and financially secure – ultimately decided the fight was too hard, you know depression cheats.

Those looking for a way to remember Williams have plenty of movies to choose from. Of course, there are the biggies: Good Morning, Vietnam, Dead Poets’ Society, Mrs. Doubtfire, Good Will Hunting, etc. Families with young kids will always have Aladdin, Jumanji, Hook and plenty of others. Fans who appreciate his haunting work in darker fare can look to Insomnia, One Hour Photo and – in a much different way – World’s Greatest Dad.

But those weren’t my favorites. I think back to my first experience with the uncensored comedian, watching his A Night at the Met special on VHS as a kid (don’t ask me how I got my hands on a copy), marveling at his manic energy and gaping wide-eyed at all those words I never heard him say on Mork & Mindy. It’s long out-of-print, but there are ways to track it down.

I think of his brave, heartbreaking work in Terry Gilliam’s The Fisher King. I think of his epic, romantic portrayal of a man willing to leave heaven and brave hell to save his wife in What Dreams May Come. I think of his surprisingly understated performance in The Birdcage, graciously setting up co-star Nathan Lane to get the big laughs.

Oddly enough, the first thing that popped in my head when I heard about Williams’ death wasn’t a movie. It was his brief appearance in an episode of the extraordinary FX series Louie. Playing fictionalized versions of themselves, he and Louis C.K. are the only people attending a memorial service. It turns out the deceased was a terrible person, but – even though they both hated the guy – they still show up at the service because they couldn’t bear the thought of nobody being there. The eight minute segment is funny, dark and bittersweet, a lot like Williams himself.

While it’s nice to pop in a DVD or fire up Netflix and reminisce, there’s another way we can honor the ultimately tragic life of such a warm, compassionate and hilarious man. We can work to ensure the same fate doesn’t befall others battling similar demons.

To those struggling with depression, substance abuse, family issues, or something else: it’s easy to believe that voice that tells you to give up. That if someone like Robin Williams can’t beat this thing, then what shot do you have? Don’t listen. There are plenty of people in your life who want you to keep fighting and want you to know that you don’t have to go it alone.

Talk to someone you love. Or call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. Someone in your area is available to talk 24/7, the call is free and you remain anonymous.