Natasha Richardson’s death left me completely stunned.
A few years ago, the roommate of a friend of mine died after she slipped and fell on ice in front of their house. She was up and laughing about how clumsy she was right away, but was dead within twenty-four hours. I find it so difficult to reason with the randomness of tragedy and the fragility of life.
I have always admired Natasha Richardson. She was a beautiful and charming. She made over 40 look glamorous. As the daughter of acting legend Vanessa Redgrave, I figured she had dealt with some pretty heavy emotional baggage and managed to come out of it smelling like a rose. She was married to Liam Neeson, a big strapping Irishman, and they really seemed to like each other. She was the mother of two teenage boys. All seemed right in her world. And then she died.
My thoughts keep going back to the movie Love Actually, in which Liam Neeson plays a young widower with a step son that he’s having a difficult time connecting with after his mother’s death. The story in the film is a tear-jerker. If you haven’t seen the movie, it’s a masterpiece of storytelling by writer and director Richard Curtis who much like Judd Apatow seems to know the magic formula that balances comedy and romance.
Since Natasha Richardson’s death, the role Liam Neeson played has become even more poignant. And frightening, since it seems to be yet another example of art becoming life. May she rest in peace…