In the seemingly dark and destructive world we live in, laughter can be hard to come by. We cherish those moments when they come, leaving a kind of light in their wake.

Laughter can be a cleansing, uplifting and wonderful distraction from the problems that skirt around the back of our minds. No one knew this better than the late Robin Williams.

When I first met Robin Williams, he was blue, friendly and optimistic, despite being forced to live in a small golden lamp and grant wishes for strangers. He was a voice of reason. And, above all, the wise-cracking Genie was a friend to Aladdin, who spent his life being chased by soldiers and dodging degrading insults from his neighbors.

I continued my acquaintance with Williams multiple times through the years. Sometimes he was a scientist, sometimes a cross-dressing divorcee, a physician or a doctor. He was a man of many faces, but the sparkle in his eyes remained the same. I grew up with his smile and those eyes dancing across movie screens.

I must admit, through the years, I didn’t keep up with this larger-than-life man. I watched him helplessly battle through an unfortunate RV trip and fall helplessly in love with Sacajawea, but I failed to glance backward and remember him as a professor who taught students to love and appreciate poetry. I didn’t know he warmed the hearts of thousands of soldiers in Vietnam every morning. I never realized he was funniest in his own skin with nothing more than a few feet of stage between him and the audience.

There were quite a few things I didn’t know about the master comedian when I overheard the news of his death at work, read aloud from an article on Facebook. I remember staring at the speaker blankly, asking him to repeat the impossible sentence. Dead. Alleged Suicide. Asphyxiation. Depression.

I didn’t really know Robin Williams. I never met him in person. But it was as though the world lost a friend. His every day presence wasn’t expected, but the sudden realization of his absence was devastating. Why did he do this? How could he leave us so soon? Then: did he not realize how much we loved him? We can ask the questions and pull hidden meanings from his wonderful works. In the end, though, no one really knows the truth. That’s the thing about depression: it’s a complex disease, always evading logic. Try as we might, we cannot understand.

Although we grieve this loss, I don’t think he would want us to cry. The man devoted his life to making other people laugh. His quick energy and bubbly personality left so many speechless from awe and utterly breathless. I think Robin Williams would rather we remember him the best way we can: by sitting together, watching his work and laughing.

Kendall Thompson is a sophomore in advertising. She can be reached at [email protected].