I didn't know that my innocence (I was 11) would die a few short days later. Nobody could have known my father would be murdered.
My childhood locked itself up in that marathon of movies, and Robin Williams became a totem of the relationship I had with my father. No, he wasn't my father, and I would never even meet him. He had no idea what he meant to me.
As long as he lived and breathed and made people laugh, well, my father was a real tangible part of my own history.
Perhaps I was wrong, perhaps my innocence truly didn't die with my father. A part of it locked away in the childlike heart of Mr. Williams now that he's gone it feels like the door to my own childhood had closed as well.
I know that it is so strange to feel such a connection to a stranger, but when a person is a part of the public eye sometimes in grief we imprint on them.
Do you have any stories like this?