Robin Williams as Genie in Walt Disney’s Aladdin said, “But oh, to be free… Such a thing would be greater than all the magic and all the treasures in all the world.” 

In case you missed it – ¬or even if you didn’t – Robin Williams took his life a little over a week ago. Depression, addiction, disease – the reason doesn’t matter. Now, don’t get mad and stop reading just yet. Those things do matter, and I’ll touch on that, but only after I’ve established why they do not matter. 

You see, Robin Williams’ passing hurt me. I cried. Not like when you cry because you’re five years old and someone stole your crayons. I cried as if he were a member of my own family. Maybe that’s because, in a way, he was.

For many of us raised on Disney movies, he was the Genie we all loved, granting wishes while making us laugh. He was Peter Banning, or Peter Pan, learning how to fly again so he could save his children. And that’s just the beginning.

As I grew older, I was able to experience him in more mature roles, from shouting “Good morning, Vietnam,” to teaching a group of high school boys what poetry is all about. For me, he wasn’t just another celebrity or actor that I saw a lot. He was my friend. He made me laugh. He made me cry. And, to quote Mara Wilson who played his daughter in Mrs. Doubtfire, “He always reminded me a little of my father.”

For the most part, celebrities come and go. It’s nothing for someone to be the new (insert name here). But not Robin Williams. He was his own man. No one could replace him, and no one can. No one will. He was unique. He made everyone who ever felt a little weird feel normal. 

Yes, he was struggling with depression, and addiction, and disease, and life got the best of him. I am in no way attempting to desensitize the fact that he committed suicide, but he was human, after all. He grew up lonely because his parents always travelled, and he suffered from what he called “Love Me Syndrome.” He was bullied everyday of middle school. His life was tough, and though many of us loved him, maybe he never really loved himself. 

While it is true that many comedians and artists are people who suffer with depression, anxiety or any of a number of mental troubles, it is not true of every artist. And those who are troubled don’t want or need to be reminded or remembered for it.  

When you remember Robin Williams, do you want to remember him as the really funny guy you grew up watching that just couldn’t take life anymore? Or do you want to remember him the way I remember him? I remember him as Peter Pan, saying, “To live would be an awfully big adventure!” He’s Mr. Keating, telling me to seize the day. He’s Patch Adams, making me, and his patients, laugh. 

He was a little bit of every one of us in a way. I think if he had seen the outpouring of love after his passing, he would have to say, “You have been a fabulous audience! Tell you what, you’re the best audience in the whole world.”

And to that, I say, O Captain, My Captain, thank you. Thank you for being my friend.