Send back the clown

Don’t you love farce?

My fault, I fear.

I thought that you’d want

what I want —

Sorry, my dear.

But where are the clowns?

Quick, send in the clowns.

Don’t bother, they’re here.

Isn’t it rich?

Isn’t it queer?

Losing my timing this late

In my career?

And where are the clowns?

There ought to be clowns.

Well, maybe next year.

(from Send In The Clowns)

I already miss this clown. He was seriously funny.

Send him back.

News of Robin Williams’ apparent suicide is, unlike the indelible cheery image we have of him, utterly tragic. All suicides are sorrowful, but Robin’s apparent taking of his life shocks us frozen because he didn’t show the signs. He hid them very well under a smiling mask.

Where is this clown now? Is he finally smiling in heaven, free from the demons that stole the laughter from his heart, and the “ripple of light” from his eyes? (That’s how Henry Winkler described the twinkle in Williams’ eyes, a “ripple of light.”)

President Barack Obama’s statement sent from the White House summed it up:

“Robin Williams was an airman, a doctor, a genie, a nanny, a president, a professor, a bangarang Peter Pan, and everything in between. But he was one of a kind. He arrived in our lives as an alien — but he ended up touching every element of the human spirit.  He made us laugh. He made us cry...”

As I was growing up, I was one of the 60 million viewers who tuned in to watch Mork & Mindy. And as my son was growing up, I was one of those who fell for the warmth and the charm of Mrs. Doubtfire, relegating the handsome Pierce Brosnan to the sidelines.

Williams, as others have noted, threaded at least two generations together with his work and the gift of laughter that he gave. (Williams was once married to a Filipina named Marsha Garces, with whom he had two children. Marsha was his eldest child’s nanny, and eventually a movie producer.)

It is the irony of this funnyman’s devastatingly sad death that grips many of us. How can one whose business it was to lift the corners of one’s lips suddenly weigh them down?

Every man, in a way, is a clown. He masks his sorrow, his disappointments, his despair with layers and layers of brave, brightly colored paint. He smiles though his heart is crying. He carries balloons even when they feel like anchors.

One never truly knows what lies beneath the veneer of someone’s smiles. Beneath every man’s exterior is a story, sometimes a comedy, sometimes a tragedy. I’m reminding myself now not to be quick to judge even the most annoying people I meet — who knows what bad episode is going on in their life’s story?

“Never miss the chance at looking at other people’s plight. Even when we have every reason to be wrapped up in ourselves and our personal lives, it would be good to be aware of what is going on with others,” says my sister Geraldine Mayor, a psychiatrist who practices in Philadelphia. “There are people in greater need than us, all the time.”

The world’s best actors aren’t on stage or on the silver screen. They’re amidst us — on the desk near you, behind the wheel of the bus you took this morning, the teacher you just ridiculed, the boss whose neck you wanted to wring, the clerk you wanted to send back to grade school, the bully who is actually a frightened kid deep down.

***

So when you feel like you are trapped in a clown’s body and are yearning to cry out loud and peel off your makeup, do so. Let the world see your laugh lines and your frown lines. Weakness is not a weakness. And showing weakness is also a strength.

Williams reportedly struggled with alcoholism and depression. This, plus the pressures of fame were probably too much for him to smile about.

But for those of us struggling with everyday aches and pains of the emotional and physical kind, “Be able to say, ‘Life sucks!’,” counsels Geraldine. “Acceptance brings so much peace. If you continue to struggle against an occurrence, strife will continue to inhabit your heart. Stop asking why, just say, ‘Yep, this time it got me’.”

“And just move on...” adds Geraldine. “Focus on the good that you have and still have. We may have losses, but if we look closely, those that are essential and really matter in life, are still in our life. Appreciate what you have left, even that which is damaged. It can be rebuilt. The greatest rewards felt are in those endeavors where you had to put in effort to rebuild, grow and watch flourish. Give every misfortune a chance to become a blessing in disguise!”

It also helps to reach out to others. “When you care more than just for yourself and your circle, and choose to care for a greater good, cause, and a wider circle, life just gets richer....and more lives are touched by goodness.”

***

Let me end this piece by sharing the goodness of Robin Williams, which was personally felt, not just heard of, by my Assumption Convent batch mate Chary Ozaeta-Gohh. In 1996, Chary’s three-month old son Paolo underwent open-heart surgery at the University of California, San Francisco Medical Center just before Christmas. One day, mother and son received a special visitor at the ICU — Robin Williams himself! Apparently, it was Williams’ advocacy to visit sick children and their parents, especially during the Yuletide Season.

Williams’ assistant took a Polaroid of Chary and baby Paolo, and enclosed the snapshot with a Christmas card he sent the baby.

Paolo is a healthy young man now.

And we grieve for Robin Williams, and for the ripples of light that went with him. His curtain call came too soon. Too soon.

Send back the clown. (You may e-mail me at [email protected].)