Robin Williams died by suicide five years ago today. I will never forget sobbing, curled up in my crappy post-college bed, clutching my knees to my chest. I’d never been so affected by the death of a celebrity and it was the anniversary of the worst few weeks of my life. I think it broke my heart. I wrote this then:
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My Captain, my Peter.
My heart is terribly heavy at this colossal loss. I'd list his credentials -- but you already know. How many of our hearts has he touched? I'd venture to guess a lot of the people reading this right now remember the Genie, Mrs. Doubtfire, Peter Pan, and countless others. I keep remembering how, when I was a little girl, I would watch Hook and think -- that's what stories can be. They can be ours and they can change us. I watched What Dreams May Come and it changed me, kept me awake at night, endlessly dazzled by possibilities of what I could do one day with my very own words. What a gift his masterful acting was to me, just a little kid.
All that joy, all that laughter.
And I want to say this: open your heart to someone who needs it because you never know -- you never know -- what even your silent, listening presence can mean to someone.
My life was saved by a group of supportive friends and a loving family when I was in dire straits. A wise girl once told me that life was worth living.
And she was right.
"To live. To live would be an awfully big adventure."
Rest in peace, Robin Williams.
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What I would add today is to urge people to push through the awkwardness of reaching out. Push through being uncomfortable. Reach out to people. You never know who needs it — and you never know who will reach right back to you.
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