Listen

I didnʻt like Robin Williams.

Like most people around my age, I first saw him when he starred in “Mork and Mindy,” a 70ʻs sitcom about an alien sent from his home planet to observe and report on human behavior. I didnʻt like his loud, almost obnoxious manner that was excused on the show for Morkʻs (Williams’ character) alien behavior.  I didnʻt think he was funny.

We used to watch that show at my Popoʻs house whenever we would come visit because my deaf cousin, Bruce, loved that show and insisted that we all watch when it was on. He would laugh and laugh at Morkʻs antics, pointing at the T.V. to make sure we saw what “funny” thing Robin William’s character was doing. Even without subtitles, my cousin found him hilarious.

I guess that’s when I began to look at Robin William’s differently. If he could make my deaf cousin laugh without being heard, maybe I was not listening good enough. I started paying attention to the short monologues that Mork ended each show as his report to his home planet. Some were pretty poignant observations of the human condition.

As I think of his passing today, I wondered what made him connect to my cousin. My cousin, Bruce, was a funny guy and pretty much the family comedian. Even though he couldn’t communicate through words, he still managed to make our family laugh heartily at birthday parties or just simple dinners at Popoʻs. Bruce always seemed to have a gift of joy and shared it readily with everyone and was able to bring it out of everyone.

Still, I know Bruce wrestled with his “demons.” Even if he couldn’t communicate his feelings verbally, I know that he struggled with the same ups and downs we all felt.  I never had one of those “how are you doing?” conversations with him. I forgot that he was “human” too, beyond his disability. And like Mr. Williams, we’ve forgotten that he was human too, fighting depression and addiction like so many others. As many have pointed out today, it’s tragic that a man who made so many laugh couldn’t find the laughter in his own life apparently.

I donʻt want to take my happiness and laughter for granted. Life may not always be rainbows and sunshine for me, for you, or anyone else around us. But I donʻt want to assume that everything is okay because of the mask of a smile or laugh. I hope that I can listen better with the ears of my heart, like Bruce did. I hope that I can bring joy to someoneʻs life as richly as Mr. Williams did.

Rest in love, Bruce and Robin. I miss your laughter.