Eulogies do not typically start with such strong and condemning language.
But damn it, Robin, you abandoned me.
I know you don’t know who the fuck I am. I wasn’t even a face in the crowd for you. The only times I ever saw you was through an electronic assemblage of pixels viewed sometime between days and decades from when you had finished a performance.
But damn it, you were important to me.
You were my captain and my Fisher king. You were the alien struggling to understand a world and you were the narrative writer of the lives you witnessed. You traveled through heaven and hell, and counseled the troubled back to health. These weren’t just roles, they were an acknowledgement of the most brutal conflict of the modern age, and you stood as a hero in battle after battle. And I learned to stand with you, learn from you, and fight with you.
And then I turned around to find you gone.
I know the battle you fought all too well. It’s the battle between chaos and order. It’s the war between the uncontrolled and the controllers. And in your genius, you found and lead us towards the only victory possible: choosing neither and embracing both. You saw through the illusions of the extreme, the lie of absolute control and the insanity of absolute chaos. You challenged the inhumanity of the system and dragged the suffering back from the abyss. And you did it by speaking a simple truth that every person, no matter how weird or broken, deserved compassion and a reminded us that there was more to existence than what we have resigned ourselves to.
When I found myself thrust into this battle, you were one of the few guides who kept me from losing myself. I survived the constant beatings of the structure by remembering your guidance of compassion. I survived the fracturing chaos because you showed me a gentle wisdom. And in turn I did what you taught me and stood up for the people the system wished to abandon, and endured the retaliation of those I challenged. I did as I saw you do, and walked into the chaos of others, endured their fire, so I could show them how to choose to walk out, and got burned many times in the process. I did this, because you showed me it could be done, that I did not have to choose, that I did not have to be overcome by either. I did not have to run from those born into the chaos, and I did not have to be crushed by the illusion of order. And despite the many losses, your example helped me to push through so that I had many important victories as well.
And now you’re gone. Taken by your own hand.
You left us.
You left me.
And I am left with tears of anger and grief. Anger because you abandoned me in the battle, anger because your flight causes doubt to sneak in.
And grief because even if your lessons were a lie, I have lost one of the most important teachers I ever had.