They say it's never too late to make amends but they are wrong. I'm too late. Your gone and these words went unsaid. In the spirit of maybe hell is paved with my unwritten letters, and maybe just maybe writing this one will light a fire under my rear to write the others that equally deserve to be written to people who feed us laughter and wit, so be it.
I understand from the news machine you died last night. I disagree. I'd like to protest, sir this possibility. You of all people should know that you have existed in the realm of our immortals. Make us laugh. Make us sing. Do a dance. Distract us Fisher King into that other realm that you so easily bestow on those of us who take kindly your good medicine.
But somewhere, the med failed you. And, from that dark corner of your mind, you've taken your final bow.
Still, I wish to say thank you for bringing one like-minded in that silent storm to a place of laughter. That's no easy task for me. Not now. Not ever. Yet, you did it, man. From silly antics of Mork and Mindy to that wild ride of that magic carpet (my son memorized your entire part word for word) to the Mrs. Doubtfire moments that are family friendly fare.
And then there's you up there alone on that stage bringing the house down - you raunchy thing.
But for all the laughter, all of it, it's the roles you played that were a shade of darker nuance that captivated me. The ones that haunt me still.
You in Good Morning Vietnam, Moscow on the Hudson, Good Will Hunting, The Fisher King.
Brilliant sir. Just f'ing brilliant.
Those moments of those movies where the pain of being human, of surviving, is luminous, I thank you.
And one more thing.
When my son was on tour, the first of many of his deployments, you traveled to entertain the marines. You didn't have to, did you? Life held enough OohRah already. But there you were making the guys laugh, visiting the wounded.
For that alone, I should have written, dropped a note, sealed it to the fates of wind and postal graces trusting it make it's way through the slush pile and red-tape of your fame. But I did not.
But, just on the outside chance that Einstein was right about that time flow thing. About the circle of beginning and ending, about those endless possibilities of time folding into time, I'm tossing out these words to you in the hopes that they bizarrely make their way into that great space across the dimensional divine of frozen hell and good intention.
Peace, brother as you travel into that light.
(Here's a link to son's facebook page who gives credit to Robin Williams and brings attention to the fact that 23 veterans a day commit suicide.)