I woke up today and did what I know I shouldn’t do first thing in the morning: check my social media feeds.
At 4:23am, the alarm 7 minutes from buzzing, I laid there nuzzled in my comforter with my face an iridescent glow as my finger flicked through Twitter, then Facebook, Linkedin, Instagram, and of course my email.
Flooding my screen with his famous gregarious elephant of a smile was Robin Williams. And I liked them all. No, really, I clicked “like” on all of them. I didn't just like Robin Williams. I loved the man for his talent and ability to make me fart with laughter. Because of Robin Williams, I didn't quit my job at Blockbuster, but instead stayed so I could continue to watch his films: a beautiful hodgepodge of pop culture wit and classical beauty.
With every "like", more news articles and posts began to fill my feed of Williams’ suicide. I closed my eyes and attempted to fall back to what dreams may come and William's face sat like a polaroid pinned to the back of my eyelids. Until finally, I stretched my limbs to stand and walk to the coffee maker.
With the lights out in the house and my eyes stressed by the all too bright screen of my smartphone, I fumbled to find the light switch. And because a psychic told me at 16 that I have psychic abilities, I always imagine it’s moments like these where a ghostly figure will appear at the other end of the room, staring at me with hollow eyes.
Today, I was sure that ghost would be Robin Williams.
I powered up the laptop and walked out of the office and into the kitchen to check on my coffee, looking over my shoulder to see if Robin Williams’ ghost would be there in the kitchen, joining me for my morning cup of coffee. And then, right there, the strangest thing happened. Robin Williams did actually join me.
I began to hear Robin Williams talking and laughing and I thought am I going crazy?
I jumped up and quickly looked around the kitchen causing my cat to jump and run head first into the refrigerator. I peered around the corner and into the hallway with no Williams in site -- no Mrs. Doubtfire or raging Vietnam vet staring back at me. No homeless and hairy savant basking nude in the Central Park moonlight. And no ghostly doctor in a white overcoat with a red clown nose.
His voice grew louder and I began to hear him talk of Sarah Palin and marijuana and wolves. And I thought I really am going crazy.
"Hello?" I whispered as I crept closer. My cat, Yoda, crawling like a Green Beret next to me. But he didn't answer.
I opened up the office door and there he was, dressed all in black, illuminating my computer screen.
There right in front of me laid open my laptop, with Robin Williams’ most recent stand-up comedy skit blasting through the speakers as my computer crawled to a start -- slow from shutting down accidentally in the middle of watching a clip of Williams' stand up the night before.
Two minutes passed as I sipped along. It was like Robin Williams was there with me -- joining me for a morning cup of coffee -- there coming to say hello after he chose to say good-bye to this world.
I sat there, staring at a startup window, with Yoda in my lap, listening to jokes about alcohol and politics and thought, thank you Robin Williams for one more laugh.