What’s been rumored as inevitable the last day or so has now been confirmed:Natasha Richardson has died at 45, two days after suffering a fatal head injury at a ski resort in Canada.
I can’t imagine what Liam Neeson and his boys are going through right now. This just seems like such a freak thing, but apparently “talk and die” head injuries happen fairly often. She was talking and laughing with one or both of her boys, and she was dying that whole time. And didn’t know it. My God.
It’s almost a cliche at this point, but in times like this “What Sarah Said” by Death Cab for Cutie always goes through my mind. I’m not going to listen to it right now, because it will make me lose it.
I wish the media would leave the family alone right now. And it’s one thing to get pics of adults going into the hospital, but another entirely to get pics of her sons. The former is definitely skeevy, but the latter is just ridiculous.
Do the photogs and such feel like voyeurs? Did the Toronto Star reporter who saw her being loaded into the ambulance, saw Liam Neeson “looking very concerned” (well no shit) and touching his wife tenderly feel any guilt or any sense of “I am not supposed to be here?” Look, I know reporters need detail and info when something happens. But I don’t know that anyone needed to see or report on that. More so for Liam’s sake than hers, as sadly, she was probably pretty much gone by then.
Once I covered a murdered police officer’s funeral, and I felt a bit like an intruder during the burial. Looking back on things like that, I think that was probably exactly how I was supposed to feel.