Imagine what it takes to convince a man of Robin Williams' passion and character that life is an exercise in punishing misery and death is the sensible answer to it. If you can do that, you can begin to grasp how deeply depression runs and how tragic its impact is.
 


When you're an addict, you hurt people. Addiction is, by its very nature, a selfish thing. It's because of this that when you're deeply in the throes of it you begin to wonder if your root problem involves some kind of sociopathy, an inability to feel what others feel and a naked disregard for the pain you're causing and even for pain in general. This is what I thought when I was in rehab in August of 2001: that the insatiable hunger I had spent day after day, night upon night futilely feeding was symptomatic of a profound weakness of character. That the hurt I was causing proved I felt nothing for the people around me and cared about myself in only the most superficial, hedonistic of ways. Then someone made it clear to me that most addicts aren't addicts because they feel too little, they're addicts because they feel too much. And what they feel is often constant and agonizing, so they seek out something, anything, to make them feel better. To fill the gaping hole at their center that only knows suffering and to maybe quiet the unrelenting voice in their head -- the one that sounds trustworthy and almost comforting, because it is in reality their own voice -- telling them that nothing will ever be okay even when things seem perfectly okay.

Depression isn't the absence of happiness, it doesn't manifest as tragic melodrama and it can't always be noticed by those who don't know what to look for. It doesn't present only during times of corresponding darkness and uncertainty and it can't be exiled by times of relative joy or contentment. It can be impacted by events in the outside world but the thing about it is that it doesn't need to be. It's always there, at best surviving inside you like a dormant virus waiting patiently for its chance to flare up and take total control; at worst, totally in control, pulling you down into a thick murk you can't break free of no matter how hard you may struggle. Put simply, it doesn't matter how happy you should be, how awesome your life is, how successful you are, how many people look at you and think you're on top of the world and are understandably smiling through every second of it -- if you're depressed, there's a very good chance you're always depressed. Just because you can't see it at a given moment doesn't mean it isn't still there. Depression is absolute. It's a loss of hope and an unwitting relinquishing of belief -- and it hurts like hell, so much so that after a while the acceptance of the pain becomes matter-of-fact and second nature.

It's easy to be shocked by the heartbreaking suicide of Robin Williams the same way it's easy to feel a kind of grief not usually associated with the death of a celebrity. He was so brilliant, so vital, so much a part of our collective consciousness that it's difficult to fathom a world without him. In many ways he was one of the most famous people alive simply because his career had spanned more than 35 years and his popularity transcended crude constructs like political, ethnic and racial divisions. He was as beloved a figure as any actor or comedian could be -- a man whose miraculous heart, humanity and generosity of spirit made him feel like a personal friend to us. He was someone we laughed with and cried with and were always surprised by and it's impossible to overstate the impact his death will have on our culture. But if you have any experience at all with depression, if you live with it every day and understand its insidiousness, it's difficult to be completely surprised by the way Robin's life ended. He couldn't tame the disease that very likely told him -- irrationally, counterintuitively -- that he was valueless and that nothing would ever get any better no matter how good it already was.

Imagine what it takes to convince a man of Robin Williams's passion and character that life is often an exercise in punishing misery and death is the sensible answer to it. If you can do that, you can begin to grasp how deeply depression runs and how tragic its impact is. When I first learned that Robin had taken his own life, I broke down and cried violently. I did this not simply because, like so many others, I felt that I had a personal stake in the loss because Robin's work played such a profound role across the many stages of my life. I did it because I understood. I understand. I get why Robin Williams did what he did. I've battled depression for years, had that voice in my head -- the voice that sounds just like my own voice -- telling me that I'm worthless, hopeless, and damaged beyond repair. There have been times that I can keep it submerged in a sea of distraction and even, on occasion, unadulterated joy at even the tiniest of life's wonders. But it's always there and as the years pass its pull becomes more and more difficult to dismiss handily. The result is that I now have to remind myself on occasion that I am, in fact, suffering from a particular kind of brain chemistry and shouldn't necessarily give in to the belief that I'm doomed to take my own life at some point rather than peaceably living out my days. When it comes to depression, self-awareness is half the battle.

Last summer, I opened up about these thoughts and feelings in an extended column over at my blog, Deus Ex Malcontent. It was written during a period of excruciating personal turmoil that made an already difficult situation worse -- and was in turn made worse by my view of it -- but in no way was it time to pull the plug on this world by any objective standard. Still, there I was, for the first time in years publicly alluding to some of the darkest thoughts my head regularly conjures and giving physical form to the pain I'd lived with for far too long, through good days and bad -- the pain I'd once attempted to bury under the weight of every chemical known to man and which continued to stalk me no matter the ostensible successes I could count nor the unremitting love I felt for and from my family and friends. I tend to write about my personal life only when I feel like I need to -- when there's an especially toxic presence that I need to symbolically push out and away from me -- and last summer was one of those times. Again, though, the thing about depression is that it's always there in some form or another, even when it's not shouting in your ear. I have no doubt that Robin Williams understood this and maybe even believed that it was only a matter of time before he gave in to the demands of his disease as he had before with the depression-related disease of drug and alcohol addiction.

It's so hard to overcome those feelings. It's so hard to make yourself believe there's hope even when the evidence of it is all around you. This is the destructive lie depression tells you and it's probably the lie it was telling Robin, although I'd never presume to know what exactly was going on inside his head since depression can be a surprisingly personal affliction.

What I do know is what was etched clearly all over Robin Williams's face: an absolute, insuppressible passion in everything he did, but one that came at a very high price. In order to feel as strongly as he did in positive ways he had to feel just as strongly in negative ways. To bring that much laughter and joy to us, the darkness of his depression must have been a burden that always teetered on the edge of being achingly unbearable. He felt so much. It's what made him brilliant beyond words. It's probably also what killed him. He felt everything, particularly his own pain -- and at some point maybe he just wanted it to stop. I wish I could say I have no idea at all what Robin was feeling and what he felt for most of his life, but if you live with depression and understand the reality of it, you can't. You just can't.

Robin Williams and daughter Zelda Williams play the Nintendo 3DS in an image from a promotional video. Williams, an avid gamer, died earlier this week.

Nintendo 

 

Robin Williams, the late comedic actor who died earlier this week, was well-known for his offbeat characters and devotion to acting on stage, screen and TV. But to the video game community, he was also known as an obsessive fan and shameless advocate of video games.

Among the games he played was World of Warcraft, the massively multiplayer online game played by millions. Upon news of his death, fans began a petition to the game's creators, Blizzard Entertainment, to memorialize Williams in the friv 2 game.

The petition grew, and when asked on Twitter, World of Warcraft technical game designer Chadd Nervig responded: "Yes. We're taking care of it."

This was later confirmed by the official World of Warcraft Twitter account:

Williams spoke openly about his fondness for video games. Recently in an Ask Me Anything on the website Reddit, he mentioned playing the games Portal and Call of Duty. Though, he confessed, he didn't play the latter much online because "getting my ass kicked by an 11-year-old is very humbling."

Most notable was Williams' fondness for the Legend of Zelda series of games by Nintendo. He was such a fan of the game he even named his daughter after the oft-in-peril princess, Zelda. Williams went on to do promotions with Nintendo for several games in the Legend of Zelda franchise.

As he told it, Williams and his wife played the first Legend of Zelda game while she was pregnant with their daughter.

"It's a sweet name and really kinda fits her, she's really kinda magical," he said in an interview with Jimmy Fallon in which he joked about his "cyberaddiction."

In-game memorials are not new to the World of Warcraft game, which is nearing its 10-year anniversary. It's not clear yet how Williams will be remembered in the game, but in the past Blizzard has paid tribute to many fans who have died with statues, memorial sites, magical items and permanent, nonplayer characters that persist in the game's world.

Let's allow Robert De Niro to tell us about his experience making Awakenings with the much missed Mr Williams...

"I can think of lots of people who wouldn’t put me and Robin Williams together as close friends. Robin has this well-deserved reputation as an anarchic comic genius and, rightly or wrongly, I’m seen as this intense, “serious” actor. When we made Awakenings, though, Robin and I got on great. To be around someone with Robin’s energy fourteen hours a day, it’s impossible not to be tickled by him. I got the impression a lot of directors in the past had simply wanted Robin to show up and do his shtick. But Robin’s a really good actor, he’s very serious about his craft, and you could tell from our discussions that he really relished the opportunity to talk about acting. Oliver Sachs, the neurologist that inspired Robin’s character, had spoken to both of us at length and we were so impressed with his work that we both felt we owed it to him to do justice to his amazing story.

"So there you have us — two actors who get on well and are very committed to the movie they’re making. And then one of them goes and breaks the other one’s nose. And it’s not the guy who played Travis Bickle who breaks the nose, it’s Mork. What happened was, we were filming a scene that called upon Robin to be at his most animated. As you probably know, the guy never sits still anyway, so there was Robin pacing up and down and throwing his arms around, and there I am playing his catatonic patient. More than anything else during that scene, I was trying not to move. Because of the way I prepare for a role, I’d got the part down pretty good — so good in fact that, when Robin Williams’ elbow collided with my nose, I didn’t really flinch. It was only when the blood started to spurt out and the director Penny Marshall screamed “Cut!” that I realised how much damage had been done. Of course, Robin was mortified — “Oh, Robert, I’m so sorry! What have I done?”

"The thing is, I’d broken my nose before when I was young and when Robin whacked me, he straightened it back out again. I like to think it says a lot about Robin Williams that, when the guy breaks your nose, he leaves you looking better than you did before. Thanks, Robin, a professional couldn’t have done a better job."

Robin Williams opened up about some of his favorite roles in a 2013 Parade interview.

Mork & Mindy (1978-82)
“The first year with Pam Dawber and the last year with Jonathan Winters were a joy. The two desperate years [in between] I don’t really remember because of craziness and drinking and the network; everything was kind of rough. But Pam always made the experience wonderful. She’s so giving and so kind. As crazy as I was, she brought me back to earth whenever we worked.”

The World According to Garp (1982)
“The first day of shooting, I started improvising, and [director] George Roy Hill said, ‘Oooh. Cut. Just say the lines. You’re trained as an actor. Commit to that.’ So after four years of doing Mork & Mindy, where you’ve got to riff and find something funny, I went, ‘Commit to this character, Garp, and you’ll find yourself.’”

Good Morning, Vietnam (1987)
“An amazing experience. A lot of Vietnam vets like it because it’s not a combat movie. It reminds them of Vietnam in their non-combat moments, like in Saigon. It’s also a story of unrequited love. He doesn’t get the girl. A bit like we didn’t win [the war]. It was a draw.”

Mrs. Doubtfire (1993)
“A bit like demonic possession. Once in the right makeup and finding that voice, I was so freed up. You know, that very sweet voice. Initially she sounded like Margaret Thatcher. Scared the hell out of children. I went, no, no. Make her very soft, and very dear, and say horrible things in that soft voice. The idea of that film, which literally came from a divorce counselor in my first marriage, was, ‘Don’t use your children as little hostages. Just treat them with love and respect and you can get through this.’ ”

The Birdcage (1996)
“My favorite scene is the history of dance. And working with Nathan Lane was a blast—just to build off of our characters, the love for each other, which was wonderful. It got interesting reactions. Some people said, ‘How could you do that?’ Yet the idea of them loving their family, making this sacrifice for their kids, that’s why I loved it. In the end, you realized how damaged [bigots] are.”

Good Will Hunting (1997)
“One of the best experiences ever making a movie. It’s so well-written. I knew Matt Damon and Ben Affleck were really talented. As actors, they were both studly young men, and they had great writers’ chops. I didn’t have any idea what they’d do [in the future]. Ben, at the time, wanted to be a star. Matt was going, ‘I want to be an artisan,’ a guy who just pursues his craft. Which he’s done, brilliantly. Matt sampled [celebrity] and eventually went, ‘I’m going to be quieter, have a not-so-public marriage.’ He just lives his life. Ben kind of went off, then came back brilliantly.”

One Hour Photo (2002)
“Probably my favorite creepy movie I’ve ever done. It disconcerted people in a very good way. It’s about the idea of someone living vicariously through someone else’s life, before all of the stuff with social media on the Internet. It is very, very minimalist, but I’m really proud of it.”

World’s Greatest Dad (2009)
“It’s really good, and very dark. I loved doing that movie, working with a great friend and a great director, Bobcat Goldthwait. He makes these weird little movies and he’s so film-savvy that he knows how to make them for nothing.”

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Robin Williams

REED SAXON/AP

It's a testament to the vibrancy of Robin Williams that, even a year later, his death remains a cultural touchstone, the psychic shock we can't quite get over. 

The Oscar winner and star of modern classics like Good Morning, Vietnam, Dead Poets Society and Mrs. Doubtfire died by suicide a year ago Tuesday. Though he privately wrestled with addictions and illness, including a form of dementia that may have contributed to his death, Williams was – and still is – a vivid presence for family and fans. 

"We try to focus on the joyful moments and memories," Williams' son Zak, 32, recently told PEOPLE, noting what would have been his father's 64th birthday on July 21. "We're moving through the process of healing and recovering," he continued, adding that he relies on "wonderful family and friends" to help with the grief. 

In honor of his father, who generously gave of his money, time and influence to various causes (most famously the homelessness charity Comic Relief), Zak also gives back. The tech executive teaches financial literacy to inmates in San Quentin State Prison, providing his students with invaluable budgeting and investing skills. 

Williams' other children, Zelda, 26, and Cody, 23, spent their father's birthday quietly, with Zelda posting on Instagram on July 20 that she was taking a break from social media. "It's a time better served away from the sentiments or opinions of others," she said, expressing a wish to pass the day in private. 

However Williams' family chooses to mark the milestones after his loss, including this anniversary of his death, the late actor's public presence continues to resonate. Longtime friend Bobcat Goldthwait credits Williams with helping to champion his upcoming documentary about fighting child pornography, Call Me Lucky. 

"This movie would not have gotten made, or been what it is, without Robin's support and influence," Goldthwait recently told PEOPLE, revealing that his friend put up the seed money for the project. "His generosity and kindness are well known." 

As was his talent. Critics found much to admire in Williams' last on-screen performance as a closeted gay man in Boulevard. (He also has a voice role in the Simon Pegg comedy Absolutely Anything, in theaters Sept. 15.) It was one of his quieter, more contained turns, all the better to take in the enormous range of his acting talent. He was, quite simply, a man with so many more parts in him – and to him. 

"We never got off the phone without saying, 'I love you,' so I know that's the last thing he and I said to each other," says Goldthwait of his old friend, whose death is just beginning to register for him. "It's strangely starting to feel like I'm only processing it now." 

It’s been almost a year since Robin Williams died, and it’s still strange to think that he’s no longer with us. He was such a constant and welcome presence during his four decades of movies, the rare performer who truly was beloved. Even director Dito Montiel, who directed Williams’ final onscreen performance inBoulevard, which opens July 10, often slips into the present tense when describing his leading man. “Everybody always has such nice things to say about the people they work with, but the stories about [Williams] are true,” he says. “He is a sweet man.”

Boulevard, in which Williams plays an unhappily married 60-year-old man who impulsively acts upon some latent desire and offers a ride to a young street hustler named Leo (Roberto Aguirre), is a serious and daring relationship drama. The roadside encounter and subsequent romantic awakening have immediate consequences for the older man, Nolan, fallout that threatens to finally destroy his long, passionless marriage to Joy (Kathy Baker). Bob Odenkirk plays Nolan’s best friend, a college professor who’s long envied the stability of his pal’s marriage but immediately senses that things are falling apart. 

In this exclusive clip from the film, Nolan confronts Leo after the younger man failed to show up for the restaurant job he helped him get. It turns in to an angry scene, and as Montiel explains in the conversation below, Nolan’s outburst made it one of the most difficult scenes to get right. In fact, it nearly broke them. 

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: Was Robin already attached toBoulevard when you came aboard? What was the chronology?
DITO MONTIEL: Yes, I was all excited to do a big blockbuster. Robin Williams! I was wondering, “Why are they calling me for a big blockbuster with Robin Williams?” Then I read it and was pleasantly surprised and I fell in love very quickly with the whole implications of the film. It’s a very delicate film to make. You’re walking a very thin line that gets exploited, in my opinion, sometime, as a one-way story. Like, this is a great coming-out story, or this is a mean-wife story. But this was more complex.

Robin jumped around a lot his last five years, with roles in indies and supporting roles in studio blockbusters. When you got the call, were you surprised this was a character he was interested in? Were your expectations about him different than what you found?
I wasn’t that surprised, because it’s hard to define a guy like Robin Williams. Each generation has a different opinion of him. It’s pretty remarkable. Depending on who you’re speaking to, he’s Mork or the teacher from Dead Poet’s Society.

Right, or Mrs. Doubtfire, or the shrink in Good Will Hunting. What was he like to work with?
I couldn’t have loved him more and I know that sounds corny. Everybody always has such nice things to say about the people they work with, but the stories about him are true and you’d have to search pretty far and wide to find the bad ones. He is a sweet man. He really cares a lot about getting things right and being honest about his character. One thing that Robin was very particular about, and I couldn’t agree more, was that Joy, his [character’s] wife, is a huge part of the film. The big thing for us was that this was more a film about letting go, I guess, than coming out. How do you say goodbye to the love of your life, which is Kathy Baker’s character, as opposed to the story of Nolan at age 23 coming out. This would be a very different story if he had been married at 18 and divorced at 23 and moved on. Not that it can’t be beautiful at any age, but it’s a little bit more complicated, letting-go, than maybe initially what the plan [of the movie] was, so I was very happy that was where Robin’s head was going. He didn’t think the audience would clap for him when he walked out on her, and I guess that was a big challenge for that role.

Robin is one of the biggest stars of the last 40 years, and I imagine he’s supremely confident on a movie set. This isn’t his first rodeo, by any means. But when you worked with him, how did he ask or look for cues from you on certain things?
I’m trying to say it without sounding corny, but the guy is really good. That being said, I wouldn’t say there’s any bravado to his confidence at all. He certainly wants to talk about it until your ears are bleeding. And I’m all for that. There isn’t a take that we don’t talk about in between; there isn’t a scene that while we’re not setting up the next one, we’re preparing for it. Even the last day of filming, he was really obsessed about this one thing. Literally, we walked through the whole hour of “lunch,” back and forth, trying to figure out how to make it work. I love that. That was maybe particularly unexpected about him: That he cared that much. This is a little movie. Like you said, he’s been making movies for decades, and he’s got every acclaim that you can ask for, and then he signals me at 3 in the morning in Nashville, walking for 20 blocks on his lunch to discuss the next scene. Not many people care that much.

We have an exclusive clip where Nolan confronts Leo at his apartment… 
That’s it. That’s the last scene he filmed. The last day, that we took the walk.  

What was he asking you about when you were walking that night?
Well, you know, we couldn’t get [that scene right]. The whole movie was so delicate. I call those scenes really boring. [Laughs] Like, let’s make sure it’s really boring. I love when a scene can almost be boring because it’s so honest, you know. But that scene was difficult because for whatever reason, we had sunken into this sort of very quiet character, Nolan, who doesn’t really say much to anyone. And then obviously this scene, he gets a little louder. So we were having a hard time with it. We couldn’t get it. There was a whole weird thing where he hugged Leo and tried to kiss him. And we went to lunch, and in my whole life, I’ve never gone to lunch without getting something [in the can]. But we just did. And he came over to me and goes, “We’ve gotta get this scene, we gotta get it. Let’s walk.” I don’t know where the hell we walked, but it wasn’t the best section of Nashville. We walked forever, and we got a couple of, “Yo, Mork!” He just said, “Why can’t we get this scene?” I said, “I don’t know, let me think.” And he goes, “I don’t know if I would try to kiss him.” And I said, “Yeah, it’s kind of a big deal to even go into that room, right?” And he’s like, “Yeah.” I’m like, “Forget the kiss, who the hell needs the kiss?” So he’s like, “That’s it! That’s it!” Of course, we had to walk 20 blocks back. And that’s the scene. 

I feel like, because of what happened to Robin, that audiences will inevitably conflate him with Nolan, just in the sense that both men seem to be silently suffering behind a facade. 
You know, you make a movie, and if there’s a red light flashing in the distance, everyone thinks that the director had a whole lot of money and a great idea that the red light means something. Then you say, “Yeah, we couldn’t afford to shut the red light off that was broken two blocks away.” So people will read into it what they may. It’s hard to tell. It’s kind of hard to even understand the whole deal [with Robin’s mental state at the end of his life]. I guess if we could understand it, then maybe it wouldn’t be happening. It’s hard to even know any of that. I know that I loved the character Nolan and I really liked Robin a lot, so it’s hard to tell what people will gather out of this film. 

What’s it like to watch the movie now? I mean, it must be surreal and in some ways terribly sad to see something that you love and that you put so much of your heart into, but obviously real life has spilled into it in some ways. 
Yeah, you know, movies are the weirdest thing in the world. You join this weird little cult for a couple of months and you’re attached at the hip with all these people that you talk to incessantly. And you’reout there and everyone’s trying so hard and working crazy hours. And then it ends and you just kind of all go your own way. It’s really odd. Because you’ve formed these incredibly strong relationships that you kind of know are going to end, in a world of make-believe. It’s all surreal. You have these strong attachments—half to this character that’s not real, and half to a person that’s pretending to be that character. I don’t know anything else like it, and I’ve kind of done every weird job in the freaking world. This has to be one of the weirdest, man. And it’s very sad, of course.

(Photo: AP)

Has it really been a year since Robin Williams died? Somehow the world spun on without Williams' special brand of comic genius in it.

But what has happened since Williams killed himself, sending a tidal wave of shock and grief around the world?

At age 63, after a lifetime dealing with addictions and depression plus a new diagnosis of Parkinson's, Williams hanged himself in his home in Tiburon, Calif., north of his hometown of San Francisco, on Aug. 11, 2014.

A year later, his estate is slowly being settled, as his widow and children work out their remaining differences following court hearings in San Francisco.

The unreleased movies he left behind have opened (Night at the Museum: Secret of the Tomb, Merry Friggin' Christmas, Boulevard) or soon will (the animated Absolutely Anything).

The Waldo Tunnel, AKA the Rainbow Tunnel, from San Francisco to Marin County, Calif., renamed the Robin Williams Tunnel. (Photo: Randall Talbot)

He was honored with a special Emmy salute by his close pal Billy Crystal. At the World Series featuring his beloved San Francisco Giants, his kids and Crystal participated in an emotional tribute at the start of Game 5. The bench in Boston's Public Garden where he filmed scenes for his Oscar-winning role in Good Will Hunting has become a visitor destination. California even renamed the Waldo "Rainbow" Tunnel in Marin County near his home the Robin Williams Tunnel.

A day after Robin Williams' death on August 11, 2014, fans created a memorial at the Boston Public Garden bench used in 'Good Will Hunting.' (Photo: Michael J. Ivins/ Getty Images)

Williams' potentially most far-reaching impact on American culture remains just that: Potential. When a beloved and world-famous star kills himself, it brings new attention to suicide and mental-health disorders and how to effectively treat them.

Williams' death "opened a national conversation about suicide and suicide prevention," says Jeffrey Borenstein, a psychiatrist who is CEO and president of the Brain & Behavior Research Foundation in New York. "People are now more aware that they or their loved ones should seek treatment for depression and other psychiatric conditions.”

Still, the problem is too challenging to fix in just one year, and in the interim there's been a plethora of other shocking events, such as mass murders and shootings, associated with mentally ill assailants.

In the meantime, here's a look back at a year without Robin:

A friend's tribute

Two weeks after Williams' death, Billy Crystal delivered an emotional tribute to his longtime friend. "I think it's the hardest thing I've ever had to do," he later told Matt Lauer. "They asked me if I would do it and I said, 'Of course.' But then came the task of doing it right — and being the spokesman for everybody in front of 17 million people. He's my closest friend, and to do it with some humor and only in the short period of time that I had to do it was…difficult."

A red carpet goodbye

Robin Williams' widow, Susan Schneider, made her first public appearance at theDecember premiere of of Night at the Museum 3 in New York, thanks to a personal invitation from director Shawn Levy. "I called to connect with her," Levy told USA TODAY. "We don't know each other that well, but I feel connected to her," says Levy. "I cannot begin to fathom what she has endured."

Schneider did not talk to press, but smiled and waved to fans who showed up to support her husband's last comic role. Williams had just completed final sound work on the film when he died in August. The actor had starring roles as Teddy Roosevelt in all three Night at the Museum films.

Instagram | @zeldawilliams

Instagram photo by Zelda Williams * Aug 12, 2014 at 4:18am UTC

His children are 'still grieving'

In February, Zelda, 25, opened up about her father for the first time on the Today show.

"He was incredibly kind and incredibly caring man," she said. "And he was also very private and very calm and very subdued. So the side of him that people know and love and attach to their childhood is the characters he had so much fun being. And that's what's important and that's not going anywhere."

Does she ask "why" the tragic dead happened?

"I don't think there's a point," she said, shaking her head. "It's not important to ask because it's (done)."

Robin Williams' children, Zak, Zelda and Cody, threw out the ceremonial first pitch before game five of the 2014 World Series between the San Francisco Giants and the Kansas City Royals on Oct. 26. (Photo: Kelley L Cox, Kelley L Cox-USA TODAY Sports)

Last month, Williams' eldest son Zak, 32 told People he and siblings, Zelda, Cody, 23, are trying their best to celebrate their father's life and to honor him in whatever ways they can. "We're still grieving," says Zak, adding that they "try to focus on the joyful moments and memories."

Just two weeks ago, in advance of her father's birthday and the anniversary of his death, Zelda took a break from social media.

"It's a time better served away from the opinions or sentiments of others, and I appreciate your understanding. In my absence, I understand there will be those who wish to leave messages regarding Dad on my board, but please attempt to be respectful and kind to one another in the process, both because I will not be here to delete or mediate trolling, and because kindness is in short supply these days anyhow. Thanks guys."

Williams' last movie opened

Robin Williams and Kathy Baker in a scene from 'Boulevard.' (Photo: Starz)

Boulevard opened on July 17, an art-house drama about a married man coming to terms with his sexuality, marking the last dramatic film of Williams' distinguished career. (The actor's final role is as the voice of a dog in the upcoming sci-fi comedy Absolutely Anything.) Williams' suicide last August at age 63 came just months after Boulevardpremiered at Tribeca Film Festival, and distributor Starz held off the film's release.

Before and during the 30-day shoot in June 2013, Williams pored over details of the confined character, director Dito Montiel told USA TODAY. Rather than take dinner breaks during the night shoots, Williams often preferred to take walks around Nashville with Montiel, discussing upcoming scenes. "He just cared so much about it. He was talking about every single nuance of the role," says Montiel. "For this Oscar winner to care so much about this little movie, obsessing about it at 3 a.m. on Day 23 like he did, that was pretty special."

Gallery: Robin Williams in photos

Actor Robin Williams, 63, was found unconscious and not breathing inside his home in Tiburon, Calif., on Monday, Aug. 11, 2014. He was pronounced dead of suspected suicide. We remember Williams as we look back at the beloved actor's illustrious career. Todd Plitt, USA TODAY

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Next Slide

One night, Williams joined an impromptu rap video with crew members. When a fan yelled out "Mork!" on the set, Williams responded without missing a beat: "I've got a new job now."

The film failed to make a splash at the box office, but critics made their sad goodbye inBoulevard's reviews. "Williams summons a low-simmering sadness in a bittersweet turn that makes you rue all the roles we'll never get to see him play," wroteEntertainment Weekly.

Two Williams classics announced reboots.

Talk about too soon: A Jumanji remake is set to hit theaters Christmas 2016, it was announced recently. Fans were livid at the news.