Wouldn’t it be wonderful? On Robin Williams

Last updated on: August 13, 2014 at 2:46 pm by Kerry Connelly

Wouldn’t it be wonderful? On Robin Williams 2014-08-13T14:46:53-04:00 Kerry Connelly

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Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could take our collective laughter from all of Robin Williams’ performances, and store it in a mason jar like glittering fireflies on a hot summer’s night? Then we could pour it into our palms, cupped there like fairy dust, or the residue of the stars in which he now resides. Once there, we could take a collective gasp and blow one, long, swoosh and there he would be again, healed and whole and his lovely, manic self again, filling this big black hole he has left.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful?

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could take the laughter he gave us and blow it across the ocean, and the rockets being lobbed back and forth between Israel and Gaza would become lollipops with healing powers for the shell shocked children who live there? We could spin around, and the golden dust would land on Isis and the Westboro Baptist church, and Isis would stop giving their seven-year-olds severed heads to hold like silver cups after a race and the Westboro Baptist people would wear rainbows and break bread with Elton John.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could take the laughter and sprinkle it on the food companies, and our food could become whole and real again, and we could wrap it up in some tinfoil, sprinkle his laughter on it like salt and pepper, and it would fly over to feed the children who are starving in Africa? And no more mothers would need to mourn their dead babies, no more African villages would shun whole families because of AIDS or Ebola, because this laughing dust, it has the healing power of an unexpected giggle.

Then the contents of our jar could be carried on a whisper to our southern border, where mothers no longer would need to send their children to another country in order for them to be safe and have a future, and that country would not greet them at the border with hatred, lies and vitriol, all while calling themselves Christians. Those people who call themselves Christians would not wear bikinis made out of the American flag while telling Fox News these children have leprosy and don’t know how to use a toilet, because they know that such a statement would demonize a whole people. And besides, they would be too busy ministering to them, especially if they really did have leprosy, because after all, that’s what Jesus would have done, right?

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could do my own magical thinking like Joan Didion and make this all real? Create a world, with the laughter Robin Williams gave us, where Democrats do what they say and Republicans show at least an iota of respect — where the office of the president of the United States does not become a bumper sticker on which Calvin (of Hobbes fame) is urinating on the name Obama? How did we get so far from a sense of self-respect, that we can speak so crudely of our own president? It makes me wonder if the seeds of our national racism go deeper than I ever imagined.

Ah, but I have the dust of Robin and his laughs.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if our dust could touch the lives of women and girls everywhere, and there would be no more arched backs and glossed butts in hamburger commercials? Where women’s bodies could actually occupy their own space, where a woman could lead even if — gasp — she is having a bad hair day, and CNN would report on her leadership, not on her bad hair day?

Wouldn’t it be truly wonderful?

Robin, I am so sad that you are gone. I am sad that my magical thinking can’t be real. That I am so tired with the pit of anxiety over my first world problems and disappointments and that I can not again lose myself in watching one of the most brilliant performers who ever was. This is the part where all I can do is rest my head on the chest of Jesus and weep. Cling to his leg like a toddler being left at preschool. I weep for you, for the seven year old whose father gave him a severed head to hold, for the animals who are abused and tortured, for the children who are neglected and beaten. I am tired of news and Facebook feeds. I’m so sorry that you felt so alone and in pain that this was your only choice.

You will be missed, and I thank you for the gifts you gave us. When I can lift my head again, I’ll carry my jar with me, and I will do my best to spread your joy to whomever I can reach with it. And every once in a while, I’ll pretend your laughing dust is real.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful?

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