We were all fans of yours, from Mork and Mindy to Hook to Happy Feet. Our feet will never be as happy as when yours walked the earth with us. You made us laugh. You made us think.
In Dead Poet's Society, we were captured by your believable work as professor, connecting with the hearts of students and with us. We chanted along with Whitman's
O Captain, my Captain! the fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought was won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring.
But o heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my captain lies,
fallen cold and dead.
We. Just. Didn't. Think. You'd. Leave. This. Soon.
How could someone so funny be so sad? Someone with such knowledge be at a loss to live? Someone with so much - in so much pain?
If you needed your audience with you everywhere, we would have come, if it meant you knowing you were appreciated. We needed you to make us laugh.
Didn't anyone ever tell you there was One who never leaves? One who adores you more than any of us could. He was your biggest Fan.
But you/we get trapped by addiction and shame of past mistakes. Of being alone. Being forgotten. Of a bleak and pointless future. If that was your illness, than we all suffer from it just the same. And we all are craving to feel better. To feel 'warm and wonderful,' as you describe addiction's good side.
God help us run to the right Shelter, the right kind of 'feel good.'
Mork from planet Ork! We met you first then. And we lost you yesterday. With your own Orkan swear-word, we say, Shazbot! Robin, why?
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