Last night's stunning announcement of
the death of Tony-winning actress Natasha Richardson had a extra dose of sadness for me. Many of my close friends and family (and now, you) know that I have
HUGE "thing" (the term "crush" would be an understatement) for her husband, Liam Neeson. I remember reading about how they met on stage, cast opposite each other in a Broadway production of
Anna Christie--their palpable chemistry apparent to nearly everyone who saw the play (I didn't--I wasn't living in NYC at the time). Not long after the play closed, they were married.
Many times I've jokingly commented on how I "hated" Natasha Richardson. Not only beautiful and talented in her own right (rent either The Handmaid's Tale or Patty Hearst to see her at her best on screen), she was with "my man." I just saw her on Top Chef a few months ago, where she was a guest judge and the honorary chairwoman for an AmFAR fundraiser. A twinge of jealously bubbled up even then.
Now, remembering those comments, even though they were in jest, makes me cringe. I would never wish this fate upon her and her family, but I can't shake this hovering feeling of ... guilt?
My heartfelt condolences to Liam Neeson, their two sons, and the Richardson and Redgrave families.
