A Fan's Tribute to Robin Williams: Find Your Light and Share It

I'm writing this evening in loving memory of Robin Williams. Of course, it's not as if I knew him personally. I never shook his hand. He never sat next to me at a diner booth and discussed world politics. No hugs or gestures of appreciation were ever exchanged.

Yet he touched me. His presence in this world has touched me so entirely that I can't stop weeping every time I see another tribute video. His daughter's letter, fellow actors and comedians posting their condolences, even a poignant quote from one of his many inspirational films just brings those big, puffy-eyed tears crashing down.

Well, here's my tribute. You suck, Robin. All your life, you've given to others. Your heart and soul laid bare in your work, your words, and your hidden moments of charitable kindness. But as your twilight years crept up on you, knowing soon it would mean that others would have to give back to you, you wouldn't allow it. Couldn't you give the world a chance to redeem itself? But for all your well-meaning, sir, I understand. I just wish I could have given even an ounce of that back to you.

I understand your dedication for helping others, even if all you can do is cheer them up. I understand your compassion for the underdog, and your passion for wisdom. Ultimately, it's possible I even understand your depression. I think it comes down to a very simple intention: pay it forward.

There are many demons of varying degrees in my family's past. Among them is alcoholism, thyroid disease, bipolar disorder, and depression. Yet, so many who have met a Walker Woman would say she "lights up a room whenever she walks in". This light is beyond enthusiasm or optimism; it's unabashed happiness, and it penetrates all armor. It's an inner glow unlike any other, and I instantly saw it in Mr. Williams. When I first saw him as part of his stand-up routine A Night at the Met, I knew then how he must suffer. We all see how he shines; how can you not? If ever there was an appropriate application of the term "whizz-popper", it would be proudly bestowed upon the crown of the late Robin Williams. But the nature of life is 'balance in all things'. Someone who knows and shares such abundant light must also know equal depths of darkness. Only the closest to him would see his darkness, of course, as the Walker Women know all too well. But we know no other way to suffer. We cannot suffer in silence. We must shine, and the consequence is unthinkable darkness.

Each of us suffers in this life, and Robin sought to ease that suffering in others. In the end, I think he didn't want help because he wanted our efforts to be redirected. Just as he shared his light with the world, so should we. Everyone has that light inside of them, by the way. It's the light that shines when your defenses are down, and you approach the world without fear of judgment or ridicule. You walk through the world with a sincere belief that you can make the world a little brighter; and it's contagious.

So, when you're done mourning, as I'm seven ten tissues on my way to doing, find your light. Breathe in that light, walk boldly up to a gloomy face, and make their day. Talk to a family member just to let them know you miss them. Even if you don't miss them now, you will miss the opportunity to tell them when they are gone. Visit a nursing home just to listen to stories long forgotten. Touch their hands and remember what it's like to risk embarrassment for the sake of someone's delight. Volunteer at a hospital, or, if you're really keen on feeling the love of Robin's legacy, volunteer at a homeless shelter. I'd suggest more drastic measures, but this isn't meant to be a social or political call-to-arms.

Or is it...

Yes, a social call-to-arms. For us to connect with compassion and laughter again. For us to include the aging in our young, turbulent lives. Most importantly, for us to live with integrity and compassion. Don't be afraid of caring too much! Don't be afraid of your light going to dark! Be afraid that your muted glow will never touch another.

And don't be afraid of crying. I'm sure Robin wasn't. I'm quite sure he knew all about crying. It's why he preferred to laugh. After all, doesn't laughter make crying worth it?


As a personal note to the late Mr. Williams - you don't really suck. I'm sorry I said that. And I'm sorry I never got to see What Dreams May Come (though, I laughed so hard in the theater when I saw Death to Smoochy that I swear my mother moved seats so no one would know we were related). I knew I was going to cry like a baby, so I've just been avoiding it for years. I think it's time to see it now.