The Lucky Ones- To My Dad

Robin Williams' death hit me with very unexpected emotions. I left the room I was in and actually cried. I know. A little on the crazy side. Perhaps this is because, like many of us, we felt like we grew up with him. On rough days maybe we'd watch one of his movies and he'd somehow make us feel better. He was a person who had one of those unique souls that penetrated the television screen and felt like a friend. He made us feel like we could laugh no matter what our circumstances. However, I wonder if part of the reason for me was that there was something in him that reminded me of my own dad. My dad that died three years ago today and it felt like I lost another of my memories of him. In the week after Robin left us, I read a statement from his daughter, Zelda. She said, “My family has always been private about our time spent together. It was our way of keeping one thing that was ours, with a man we shared with an entire world. But now that’s gone, and I feel stripped bare. My last day with him was his birthday, and I will be forever grateful that my brothers and I got to spend that time alone with him, sharing gifts and laughter. He was always warm, even in his darkest moments. While I’ll never, ever understand how he could be loved so deeply and not find it in his heart to stay, there’s minor comfort in knowing our grief and loss, in some small way, is shared with millions. It doesn’t help the pain, but at least it’s a burden countless others now know we carry, and so many have offered to help lighten the load. Thank you for that." I somehow felt very close to her in that very moment. Though my dad was not as famous or even quite as funny as Robin there is still something that is very familiar and reminiscent there in his memory. Dad made people laugh when all they felt they could do was cry. He played pranks and goofed off in the cleverest of ways. My father was someone that was loved and respected by so many. His funeral was full of stories of how he impacted them or how he changed their life or how he played a prank on them. It was full of joy and laughter. Three years later I still am moved by the stories people share. My dad loved people. My dad would do anything for anyone. My dad wasn't only my dad but a dad to many young people throughout his life. While these people will never share his name they share in his heart. He saved a little place in his heart for each of them. Even for the ones that walked away and never looked back. I know he thought of them and loved them just the same, with his stern and clever ways. Even though he may not be their blood, they feel his loss because it wasn't just me that lost a weird ball of light, we all did. Light is not something one can keep to them self. If it's there, everyone sees it, is touched by it, is warmed by it. He was just that, a weird ball of light.

I miss his voice, his loud laughter, the way he teased, and the stupid faces he would make. I miss the glimpses of awkward seriousness and the lessons hidden in story. I miss the way he loved to teach me everything. I miss his awkward hug and seeing him light up when people would lend an ear for a long winded and often exaggerated story. His stories were the best. I miss the way he treated strangers and friends just the same. It really isn't as bright out there any more.

I am thankful to all of you who still tell me stories and share your memories of my dad and your friend, teacher, employee, boss, councilor, advisor or whatever goofy way his slipped into your life. He's still in us, many of us.

Us, the lucky ones.