Dear Robin,


I hope that you are resting somewhere sweet and that you hear the vibration of love pouring out in your remembrance. The news of your death took our breath away and shook the core of us.


I hope that you get a chance to sit by my dad and share an afternoon. He soared when he talked about you, and he liked to mirror your silliness and quick-witted banter. But more than that I know that he saw your sad underneath it all, and it was a direct connection to his own. He also was full of puns and sidelines and scripts from somewhere magic, and I never lost sight of his underneath. I am certain your children did not lose sight of yours, either, though they shared you with the masses.


He only walked out of one of your movies and I remember him feeling particularly guilty for that, because it was you. When I first learned of your death I thought of him, and I was relieved he did not have to hear the news from the alive and human side of things. I felt relieved you were joining him instead of leaving him.


I like to think about the 2 of you giggling on a green hill somewhere, preferably in Whales. Where the brilliance and joy bubbles to the surface and there is pun after pun with hardly a breath in between. When you were here, the depression covered you solid, or it must have, because otherwise you couldn’t have left. I can remember months would go by that my Dad couldn’t call me, because he was so covered up and underneath. I know how it takes you like quicksand, because I have […]