Remembering Robin

When I woke up this morning I, like most every one of you, had no idea that we were about to hear such terrible news. I woke up and pretended that I cared about the state of tickets at work, pretended I cared about nonsense happening with a friend of mine in her ridiculous life and then I pretended that I couldn’t hear the racket that my children were creating not forty feet away.

I may not have known Robin personally, and for that matter anyone else in the Williams family, but I have not felt such a terrible loss in a very long time. Robin is among a handful of unsung heroes of my life, the select few that have impacted… fuck impacted… cast me. The comedy that I call my own, that so many of you appreciate, was born of making fun of the Indian accent when leaving 7-11 in the 6th grade; it was grown from the acute attention to detail when looking out from my glass house at the world, and appreciating that in spite of how absolutely ridiculous and depressing I think my life is, there is always someone else out there that will at least be able to smirk – knowing that if I can trudge through this bullshit and find something to smile about they can too.

I was deeply inspired when Robin came back from his bout with addiction, seeing him rise back up onto his feet and attempt to resume working in the trade that he clearly had a strong appreciation and love for. The fact that he did it without ignoring it, that he rose up and acknowledged it openly to the public, exposing himself as few of us are willing to do…

He will be missed.

He will be loved.

He has left an indelible mark on my life, and unless you were living under a rock he surely touched yours as well.

Thank you for all that you have done.