Make your life spectacular. You know he did.

53e9c2e086289The first thing I thought of when I read about Robin Williams’ death was Neil Perry laying on the floor of his father’s office, while his father shouted “No! Neil, no!” in Dead Poet’s Society.  Robin Williams was an amazingly versatile actor. We loved him in Mork and Mindy.  We loved him in The Fisher King and in Mrs. Doubtfire. He could make us laugh, and he could make us cry. Like Neil Perry, Robin Williams could truly say of his gift,  “I was good. I was very good.”

And like Neil Perry, Robin Williams was sad. He was very sad. He was very much like many of us. He was very much like me. Williams had a vision for life that he couldn’t always make true for himself. His was a vision of happiness.  Mine is a vision of happiness. Ours is a vision of happiness.

Happiness doesn’t always come just because we are successful or we have achieved a goal. Minor set backs can appear as canyons separating us from our next mountaintop, and we find ourselves in the depths of despair.

Depression doesn’t respond to fame and glory. Those of us who suffer from it know how debilitating it can be. And when we see one of our favorites fall to it, we feel it deeply.

It’s hard to say goodbye to one we loved so dearly.  I have no more words, just two borrowed tributes:

o-captainO Captain! My Captain!

BY WALT WHITMAN

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
                         But O heart! heart! heart!
                            O the bleeding drops of red,
                               Where on the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
                         Here Captain! dear father!
                            This arm beneath your head!
                               It is some dream that on the deck,
                                 You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
                            But I with mournful tread,
                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.

and finally . . .

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