Surely, if Robin Williams and Mrs. Doubtfire had stayed in touch she could have braved the ogling bus driver and hopped a ride over the Golden Gate Bridge to share a cup of tea in Tiburon.
They could have talked about old times in North Beach and how Miranda Hillard (Sally Field) and the kids were getting on.
Mrs. Doubtfire was a fabulous listener. A widow with nothing but love and compassion to give, she could have talked Robin Williams back from the brink and there could have been more.
Surely, if Williams had been in touch with therapist Sean McGuire late of Boston they could have had a chat as was depicted in those poignant scenes with Will Hunting, the troubled kid who just needed someone to understand.
Like Mrs. Doubtfire, McGuire had lost a spouse and was damaged but determined.
Will Hunting (Matt Damon) was right over at Stanford. He could have jumped in that old car and bombed over to Marin County in short order for a therapeutic brew. He owed Williams, after all.
Williams played all those nicked up and forsaken people, troubled but hilarious banshies of the black holes of life.
There was a dash of Jonathan Winters in his stand-up routine. But Winters never had the full-spectrum capacity — the ethos to pathos to wackos that Williams brought to screen and stage.
They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. That was sadly true of the comic and thespian genius of Williams.
But he was missing that something that so many of his characters discovered that allowed them to go on.
We are all sad because of that.
On Sunday, the last day Robin Williams was known to be alive, I happened to write about Mental Health First Aid.
There are things we can do. Start with listening. Finish with listening. Mrs. Doubtfire and Dr. Sean McGuire were models. They will live on with Williams in film.
Though we think everyone in our circle is on the mend, life teaches otherwise. I'm OK You're OK?
We learned again Monday that is not always true.
Robert Ehlert is the editorial page editor of the Idaho Statesman.