For a moment, it seemed as if everyone in the world was frowning...When a man as loved and iconic as Robin Williams passes away, the world cries. It may sound like an overstatement, but the massive social media response to the late, great actor/comedian’s death was/still is astounding. Everyone from Jimmy Fallon to Louis C.K. to President Barack Obama remembered the icon on Twitter. Conan O’Brien gave a gut-wrenching tribute on his show Monday night to a stunned studio audience after discovering the news. iHeartRadio remembered his legacy by playing non-stop stand-up on their 24/7 Comedy station.

But perhaps the most heart-breaking tribute, though, was from Williams’ own daughter, Zelda, on Tumblr, “…the entire world is forever a little darker, less colorful and less full of laughter in his absence. We’ll just have to work twice as hard to fill it back up again.” It seems as though people were way ahead of her. Williams’ legacy of love and laughter goes beyond the icon. An apparent suicide, his death brought with it a surge in suicide and depression awareness. In life, Williams gave us the gift of laughter. He taught us the ups and downs of life. In death, he’s still teaching.

The old quote goes “be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” I’m only one in a million other people who have related Williams’ death to this quote, but it’s been never more apparent or relatable. Behind Williams’ energetic and passionate demeanor there was a troubling sense of hopelessness. In hindsight, it’s hard not to relate his more acclaimed roles to the troubled man behind the comedy we now know existed.

Williams had an impressive range in his acting ability, having starred in his share of wacky comedies but also dramas that he went on to receive critical acclaim for. As English professor John Keating in Dead Poets Society, a film that ironically deals with suicide, he encourages his class to “seize the day.” “Carpe diem,” he phrases it. Keating is a character entangled in the idea of breaking free of constraints. “Only in dreams can men be truly free,” he says.

In Good Will Hunting, he plays psychologist Sean Maguire, who is tasked with being a troubled Will Hunting’s (Matt Damon) therapist. Maguire is the only person who can reach out to Hunting, mainly because of his own personal demons. Much like the boys in Keating’s class, Hunting learns to break free of his constraints (in his case his haunting past and fear of being alone). Maguire himself is a man not haunted by his past (he has no regrets about meeting a woman who would later become ill and die), but deeply rooted in it.

And even the Genie which he voiced in Aladdin just wants to be free of his constraints of being imprisoned in the lamp. When I look at these characters, I see something they all share to some extent. They are all rooted in a sense of freedom, whether it be yearning for it, or teaching it.Flash forward some years ahead, and we have a society grasping with suicide, what exactly it means and how exactly the discussion should be talked about. I’m not here to discuss this in depth. I think it’s a discussion that needs to be had--part of the reason Williams is so monumental is because he’s starting such a conversation--but I’m in no position to talk of it fully. I’ve seen many sides on the matter and many questions raised: is depression a choice? Should we refer to suicide as “freeing?” Is suicide selfish? Why should we care if this man kills himself when so many die each and every day?

My thoughts in brief: we are a society that holds its celebrities to a high, untouchable standard. We look up to them, and sometimes, we get lucky in holding these people in such high regard. Williams was more than a celebrity. He, as many of my friends have put it, was a friend to the world. He brought laughter and joy to those that may have needed it, but couldn’t bring it on himself. That doesn’t sound selfish. It sounds the opposite actually. I don’t know why this was. I’m not his son, or daughter, or wife—I’m just a fan, sitting here writing a tribute. And that means I’m in no position to interpret any deeper understandings of suicide or depression, least of all when it came to him. I can merely write, and hope the world, while they are trying to make sense of all these things, doesn’t forget the true essence of it all: be kind.

And that’s why we should care. Because strip away the conversation and we still have an urge to reach out for others. I don’t remember the last time a celebrity death had that kind of effect on people, if at all.

In preparation for writing this piece, I asked friends and acquaintances what their favorite memories with Williams were, whether from an artistic or personal standpoint. Some told me why they respected him: he had an incredible range of acting ability; that he was loved by all and what we should aspire to be. Others told me more personal stories. Whether it was Dead Poets Society reminding a writer that he can burn his own path, or Mrs. Doubtfire getting people through their parents’ divorce. And as for me, while it may sound silly, I remember watching RV with my parents when I was young. We rented it every chance we got. I remember this because we were together. And happy.

So don’t forget to go see about a girl. A boy. A son. A daughter. A father. A mother. A friend. A stranger. And let them know you care.

Need help? In the U.S., call 1-800-273-8255 for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.