Why Does a Celebrity Death Hit Us So Hard? My Thoughts and Memories of Robin Williams

For most of us, watching a movie or television, listening to our favorite music, or enjoying a sporting event is a way for us to release, to escape the mundanity of our ordinary lives.  With the total 24 hour-a-day, 7-days-a-week access we now have to any and all entertainment options, it's easy to see how celebrities seem to become a part of our lives. They were there when some of our biggest moments occurred--Enya walked me down the aisle. When Imma was born, the Black Eyed Peas "got it started".  I have dozens of memories of watching The Beverly Hillbillies with my grandmother.  Does that make Buddy Ebson my friend?  Well, sort of.
I consider myself a pretty empathetic person.  I tend to take on the emotions of others, particularly those who are sad, those who are struggling. Therefore, I identify with people more so than a lot of people that I know.  So, when one of the celebrities I really care about passes on, I tend to take it personally.  I think many of us feel this way when someone we consider to be a part of our lives is no longer present, even if we only knew he or she through their art, through their medium.  Nevertheless, the emotions we have are real.
When Robin Williams passed away just a few days ago, it hit me pretty hard. Not in the same way it affected his family or friends, of course not, but when considering I had never even met the man, my reaction seemed a little much.  But, having reflected on this for the last few days, I think I know why. And I bet a lot of you can relate to my reasoning.

Robin Williams (pic courtesy of Wikipedia, fair usage)

Robin Williams has always been a presence in my life, even though he didn't know me. I remember watching Mork and Mindy when I was little.  At a time when I didn't really have much to say to my parents, we could still watch Good Morning, Vietnam together and laugh and cry.  And then, there was Mrs. Doubtfire. It came out at the same time that my parents were going through a brutal divorce, complete with custody battle over my younger sisters.  I watched it with my mom, and then my dad wanted to know her reaction. He identified with Robin William's character in that movie because they were facing the same struggle.  In that regard, Robin Williams has always reminded me of my dad.
And so he did in his passing as well.
My dad had a lot of similar qualities to Mr. Williams. He was a funny guy, always making people laugh, always acting goofy and silly. He loved kids and did his best to leave every single one of them that he coached or taught in Sunday school with a life lesson, something he did extremely well. He also struggled with depression.  To paraphrase, one of the last things my dad told me was that he was tired of being alone when he wasn't really alone, which is very similar to the quote we've seen all over social media lately, from Robin Williams, "I used to think the worst thing in life is to end up all alone, it's not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel all alone."

Dancing with my dad at my wedding, photo bomb courtesy of my little sister, Braidi

And then there was the way I found out that my dad had died. I've discussed it here before.  A nonchalant (or so it seemed to me) phone call from a family member, "Levi died yesterday." Levi--my dad, Levi? Yes, that's the one.  I found out that Robin Williams died when I was half asleep, just a blurt from someone who didn't think I would care so much.
That person was wrong. I cared. A lot.
My dad died of a heart attack while fishing alone at night. He fell in the water and drowned. We don't know exactly which cause of death is correct. But I do know that he died all alone, struggling for air, and thinking of his loved ones.
I'm sure it was the same way for Mr. Williams.
I don't know, nor do I care, whether or not Mr. William's should have, could have, would have been better off to seek help--whether his friends or family or the medical professions should have done something different.  It does not matter now. I do know that he felt all alone and in complete despair when he passed and, for some reason, I feel partially responsible for that. Perhaps, it's because I never told him how much I appreciated him when he was still alive. That may sound ridiculous, considering I never even met him, but then it was one of my initial thoughts. How could someone we all care so much about think that he had nothing to live for?
But then, part of that probably comes from the fact that I didn't get a chance to tell my dad how much I loved him one last time either, considering he also passed so suddenly.
Although, I'm certain that he knew.
You see, when we lose someone like Robin Williams (or for others, maybe it's the legendary Lauren Bacall), we lose part of ourselves as well. We realize that none of us will live forever, that those who are around us, those we really care about, are just as finite as we are. We are reminded that we are all marching forward together and that, sometimes, from time to time, footfalls will cease and we will march on with one less.  This simply serves as a reminder that time is timeless, our journey is endless, and no matter which way we are headed, we are all progressing forward down the same intertwining path.
Does it seem odd to cry over the death of a celebrity I never met? Perhaps to some.  And that's okay. But part of me wants to believe that, if Robin Williams heard of my passing under a similar circumstance, he would be emotionally moved as well.  Because that's just the kind of guy he was. He truly cared about other people. That's one of the reasons that we, that I, love him.
It's not my job to speculate as to where Mr. Williams is now. I can only hope and pray that he has finally found peace and the same sort of joy that he brought to so many others. I can empathize with his children--having also lost a father suddenly and far too soon. I pray for their peace as well.  I ask that God will comfort his wife, his family and friends and that somehow they will find a way to continue to move forward, with one less set of footprints in their sand.
To all of his fans, those of us who were hit so hard and maybe we don't know exactly why, I say this, don't question it.  Embrace your reaction and your emotions and know that being human and loving others is okay, regardless of what may seem like an insignificant impact you had on his life amongst the millions of people who count him amongst their favorites, I have no doubt, he cherished each of us. So, it is okay to cry. It's okay to watch What Dreams May Come and sob into your pillow. It's okay to pray for him and his family and to tell others that you can't go out today because you've lost a loved one. And it's okay to remember all of the times that he made us laugh, made us cry, made us think.
Good-bye, Robin Williams. May you look down from the sky and finally realize just how much you are truly loved. You will be missed.

Has it Been a Year Already?

It doesn't really seem possible that it has been a year since my dad passed away.  Technically, the anniversary is this Sunday, May 19th, but I am fairly certain that he actually died on May 18th, which was a Friday last year.  So, in my head and in my heart, it's been a year ago tomorrow.
For a few weeks leading up to my dad's death, I was constantly bugging Brian about going camping.  I really wanted to be outside for some reason.  I would go out at night to take out the dog and just stare at the lake. The frogs and insects were especially loud, the weather was beautiful.  It was all very peaceful outside and that's where I wanted to be. I haven't been camping since I was a little girl.  Dad used to take us from time to time and I was never really a fan.  But this time last year, that's all I could think about.
The Friday night that my dad died, I took Barkley out, stood and looked at the pond as usual, but I didn't feel right. My stomach was really bothering me.  I had a very uneasy feeling.  I decided to take a bath and see if I could calm down a little bit. But it didn't help. I just had a horrible feeling that something was going to happen to Lucy.  I was extremely worried about her. I know most mothers worry excessively over their children, but this was different. This was a feeling of dread, of overwhelming doom. I just couldn't shake it.
I have had these feelings from time to time in the past.  When I was almost 10, I was sitting in church one day and just had a horrible feeling that my grandpa was going to die. He did a few weeks later and ever since that happened, I've always paid careful attention to that feeling that something isn't right. I often think that, if I talk to someone about it, whatever I'm worried about can't possibly happen, because, after all, I'm not a fortune teller. From time to time, I would get that feeling that something bad was going to happen and I almost always talk to Brian about it. I remember telling him around Christmas Eve that I was nervous about 2012.  I told him that I didn't think it was going to be a good year. He joked that the Aztecs didn't think so either.  But then I told him I felt like someone was going to die that year. I was hoping that, by voicing my concerns, they would not come true. Unfortunately, this time, that was not the case.
For all of my feelings of uneasiness, however, I honestly never saw my dad's death coming. Of course I worried about him, he was getting older and had some serious health problems, but it never occurred to me that we were so short on time.  In fact, I was so obsessed that evening with the idea that something bad was going to happen to Lucy, it never crossed my mind that something terrible was happening to my dad.
My understanding is that he went out fishing that Friday evening, after having returned home from Sienna's graduation.  She never saw him, didn't even know he was there.  He was supposed to go to her house but he didn't, he drove home instead. My brother, Chris, saw him after he returned to Liberal.  He apparently came by the baseball diamond for a bit.  Then, he went home to get ready to go fishing.  As far as I know, no one saw him again until he was found in the pond the next morning by a sheriff's deputy.  My dad could not swim and was always concerned about drowning. I really can't think about how awful this must have been for him. It's too painful to think of how he may have suffered. I just have to hope that the heart attack was quick and that it was all over soon.
The next day, Saturday, May 19th, my mom called.  I was sitting on my bed with Imma watching her play a game when the phone rang.  I almost didn't answer it, but I decided to interrupt Imma's game because my mom doesn't call very often.I will never forget her exact words to me because they completely caught me off-guard. She said, "Levi died yesterday."  I remember every step of the mental process I went through to try to figure out what she had just said.  I remember thinking I had to have misheard her or she must have been talking about someone else named Levi because, surely, if she were talking about my dad, she would have said, "your dad," and she would have done something to prepare me for what she was about to tell me. So, I asked her to repeat herself.  After she said it again, I still had no idea what she was talking about.  My exact thoughts were something to the extent of, "My dad wouldn't die and not tell me about it," which clearly makes no sense, but that's what I was thinking.  I made her repeat it once more time before I asked, "Are you talking about my dad?" By then, my sister, McKinley, was ripping the phone out of my mom's hand and she began to explain the story, or at least what she knew at the time. No one was sure of anything.  I hung up with her and went to find Brian. He was outside. I remember having a horrible time breathing, sobbing, almost unable to talk.  He came in and called Chris.  There were a lot of phone calls made. No one knew where Kelley or Braidi were.  No one knew if they knew. No one knew much of anything.
Even though it's been a year, I still don't feel like I know much more about what happened to my dad that night then I knew that day on the phone.  Since that time, my family has started to crumble.  There's not a lot of glue to hold all us together. I'm doing the best I can but without a patriarch, it's difficult.  My brother, Chris, was outstanding during the whole funeral process and I think this has brought him and I closer together but it's hard to be in the position of oldest male in the family when there are so many of us. I am hopeful that we will all be able to stick together. I know that's what my dad wanted above all else. He talked to me about it often.
He talked about what would happen when he was gone all too frequently for someone who was only 55.  He was very nostalgic those last few years. Now that he is gone, I wish I would have asked more questions. I wish I would have written things down.  I catch myself thinking, "I need to ask Dad about that," all the time but, of course, I can't.
I have learned a lot of life lessons through this experience.  I've learned I'm stronger than I thought I was, I'm older than I thought I was, I'm wiser than I thought I was.  But, at the end of the day, I am, and always will be, a Daddy's Girl.
I often wonder if I was drawn to the pond for those weeks leading up to my dad's death because that's where he was when he passed. He loved fishing and being outside.  Some of my best memories are of him taking me fishing. In the end, he was doing something he loved when he died.  It's just completely unfair that he was so young.
I also wonder why I was so fixated on the idea that something was going to happen to Lucy.  It certainly occurred to me pretty quickly after my dad died that both of their names start with an L. In a way, I feel like he may have made some sort of a sacrifice to keep her safe.  That will sound ridiculous to some people but Lucy talks about PawPaw all the time. Lots of mornings, the first thing she says has to do with my dad. She even points across the room, as if he were there. I'm not saying she's seeing ghosts, but it is nice to think he is looking out for her. He's definitely still an important part of our lives, whether we can see him or not.
This weekend marks the last first--the last time we can say this is the first anything we've done since Dad died. I will be glad to have this year behind me. There have been moments of anger, moments of extreme sadness, moments of despair.  But there have been good moments, too. I have had a lot of support from my friends and family, and people I don't even know.  Those are the things that keep us going and moving forward. Sometimes it is difficult not to dwell on the question of "why?" but our loved ones help us realize it's not the "why?"hat matters--it's the "what now?"
This weekend will not be an easy one. I'm sure there will be moments of tears. There will be moments of celebrating memories of an amazing musician, faithful Christian, sports enthusiast, Civil-War-history-buff-extraordinaire, loving father.  Those are the things we remember most about my dad.  He touched so many lives in so many ways. I can only hope that, when I am gone, half as many people can say I was a positive influence on their lives.  He truly was an extra-ordinary person.

Missing Someone at Christmas

I’m going to get away from my series about parenting aspecial needs child today to talk about something I think most people canrelate to.  I hope you don’t mind. I’llget back to the story about Imma’s journey tomorrow.

Word has it that the Mayans believed the world would come toan end in 2012.  As we approach the dateof the end of the Mayan Calendar and people across the globe discuss whether ornot they truly believe the world is going to end, I’d like to point somethingout.  The world already ended in2012.  If perception is reality, ifperspective determines realness, the world ended in 2012. The Mayans were stillwrong.  They were off by about 7 months.But as far as I am concerned, 2012 marked the end of the world, my world, as Ihad always known it. What I am living in now is something else, some new world,some different age, something I am building and creating as I go along.  Because my world will never be the samewithout my dad.

Maybe that sounds overly-dramatic or sappy, the world endedbecause my dad died, but if you’ve been in the position where you have lost aloved one, then you know exactly what I am talking about.  Sure, time still marches forward, we keepspinning, keep moving, but everything is different.  You will never hear a song the same way,watch a movie the same way, eat the same way. Everything is tied to a memory, a moment, a laugh or a smile.  It’s the same planet but it’s a differentworld.

Christmas has been particularly difficult because I spentalmost all of my Christmas’s with my dad. I think I may have missed five or sixat most because we have lived so far apart the last few years.  Every Christmas since Imma was born, my dad,youngest sister, and step-mom have come down to visit us, except last year.  A few years ago when it snowed heavily onChristmas Eve, they made the trek through the ice and snow just in time forchurch. They only went in the ditch once. But that’s how my dad rolled, literally. I remember the first ChristmasEve service he went to at the church we attend. After the service, he patted me on the shoulder and said he was proud ofme for finding such a great church to take Imma to.  Those are the types of memories Christmasevokes.

And there are thousands of those memories.  ChristmasVacation, can’t watch it this year. Love that movie but keep hearing my dad laugh every few seconds.  He always misquoted the line but I love itjust the same, “The little lights aren’t twinkling, Clark.”  It’s the same with A Christmas Story, It’s aWonderful Life, any of the cartoons. They all elicit memories of my dad laughing, calling us silly names,like “Klonk,”  or “Slonk-oh,” quotingline after line and eating popcorn on the couch.

My dad and I dancing at my wedding, photo bomb courtesy of my little sister, Braidi.

When I am in the car almost every song brings back memoriesof my dad, an extremely gifted musician. This summer, I remember being blinded by tears as I drove to the storeto the tune of, “Take Me Home Tonight,” simply because my dad had owned the 45.Christmas music brings a whole different sort of sadness.  My dad sang carols like no one else. He had asweet falsetto, beautiful harmony, and a gift for finding exactly the rightkey.  He would also change the word tothe song so that our names were in it. Every time I hear “I’ll Be Home forChristmas”  I hear my dad’s versions, “I’llbe home for Amy,” except he would purposely sing my name in a booming bassvoice off-key.  Those were the sillythings that will always stick with me. Those are the memories I am glad to havebut they still make Christmas very difficult.

My dad loved my home-made pizza. I’m not sure why.  I don’t cook so it’s nothingcomplicated.  Pre-made crust, jar ofpizza sauce, bag of cheese, and toppings. That’s all.  But he loved it so we had it almost everyChristmas Eve.  One time he didn’t getany because he was out picking up a few things I needed when we were eating. Itried to save him some but it was all gone. I’ll always remember things like that, the time I wish I had back to doover.  And every Christmas Eve, we willeat pizza, and miss Paw-Paw because he could eat pizza like no one else.

We will make new memories now, in this new world, the onethe Mayan’s predicted so long ago.  Wewill make silly songs for our girls, watch movies for the first time, laughbecause Lucy calls Elf “Santa” instead of Buddy.  We will eat pizza, probably store bought thisyear though because I don’t feel like making it.  We will give each other silly names and eatpopcorn on the couch.  And we will talkabout Paw-Paw. We’ll remember all of the good times we spent watching Christmasmovies and laughing.  We’ll talk aboutwhat he used to say, what he would have said, and what he would have sang orwould have preferred to eat.  We’ll go tochurch and be happy that dad thought it was a good place to be.  At the same time, I, like many of you, willneed a moment from time to time to catch my breath, to wipe away some tears, tofind the joy around me and to know that dad is there, even if I can’t seehim.  As Charlie says in The Santa Claus,“Just because you can’t see something, it doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”  My dad is a real part of our lives, still,and always.  This Christmas I will misshim so very much, but I will  continue toconstruct this new world, one memory at a time.