Dear Robin,
The world is simply not the same without you. Film screens. Stages. Comedic. Dramatic. Humanitarian. They are missing.
You were a light that shined and shined eternally and lately it has become more apparent—your impact, your humanity and love for everyone, which cannot be duplicated nor denied. I grew up with you. I grew up with your voice. I was inspired by you. I think, if only for the length of “Flubber”, I might have even liked science! Your characters encouraged me to stand on desks and lose myself to art and creativity. They encouraged me to think happy thoughts and fight evil. They encouraged me not to think too hard and let the energies and voices inside of me scream and yell out, to sweat, move a mile a minute and to express myself. I’ve never been able to take golf seriously since listening to you create genius turning it into a comedy act. There was something about the way you bounced off the walls one second and then subsequently expressed the frightening calm that made me feel like my two extremes had a home. You didn’t show me that a balance was necessarily required, but that these two opposite sides of the spectrum had a place. I’m constantly reminded that there will never be another you. I can’t deal with these remakes of your original characters that were guided by your soul. Board games one moment and granting three wishes the next. I think lately it’s been your troubles that have drawn me closer to you. I wonder what you could have been going through and how lonely you must have felt. I wonder about this proximity. This proximity to so many things.
Your news has always been so terrible. It hurt so much that day and it still hurts so much to this day. I wonder inside what those last moments could have been like and I hope more than anything that they were of peace and love. I hope that you know how much we all loved you and revered you. I know that fans loving a celebrity might make that love and reverence seem superficial, distant, or inauthentic, but it was so real to us. To me. I remember when I was in San Francisco for a little while and the family I had been staying with knew you because you lived in the same neighborhood. I think they had met you several times and used to see you often and knew your son or your family, but in all of those interactions they had with you there was this intense fondness and kindness and humility you displayed. There’s something to be said about those traits in a person. When you had every reason to have an inflated image of yourself you stayed true to your humanity. I grew up with “Jack.” I used to wonder what it might be like to grow that fast. I probably wondered the agony of having Jennifer Lopez as a teacher too, but that’s another story. Maybe I considered being a radio personality because of your performance in “Good Morning Vietnam” or a healing doctor in “Patch Adams” or “Awakenings.” I wondered what it might be like to be a divorced dad who would pretend to be an old lady babysitter to get their wife and kids back. Again, there are great actors and there are people who sink into those real life characters and make you start to think about those situations. To the point where they substitute you in to see how they might play out.
What are you up to now, Mr. Williams? Do you reflect on a wonderful life lived? Do you watch over your loved ones? Do you whisper suggestions with the hope that people will listen? As such a source of guidance in your films I do believe we keep our ears peeled for those words of wisdom. Maybe we watch your films religiously in the hope of finding new meaning in them. I know that the first time I watched “Dead Poet’s Society” after you had passed and we arrived at that final scene that I could not hold back my emotion. It was an imprint left in me since I was a child—a performance, but also a man that lived behind the performance, leaving me with those ingrained attachments that triggered an emotional response. That must be you. Inside all of us. Inside of me. Eternal and forever.
On your 70th birthday I give you words of love and appreciation and gratitude, as I’m sure everyone that adored you and was lucky enough to take part in your aura over all those years gives you as well. You are a shining sun. On a clear day. That breaks through the clouds. That waits patiently behind a storm. As all of these are. So were you. So are you. So will you be.
With love from down yonder, sent up to the heavens.