For the past two days, I've been following the tragic, devastating story of the beautiful Tony award-winning actress Natasha Richardson and how a simple fall on a beginner's ski slope in Canada led to her unexpected premature passing on March 18 at age 45.
It's hard not to draw parallels between this incident and my friend who purposefully jumped from a third-floor balcony in my building last week in an attempt to end her life after being dumped by her boyfriend. At one point, I was certain that my friend would not survive and even began to prepare myself for life with her, but it now appears she will be okay and is now on a very long road to physical and emotional recovery. Though she's apparently still in a somewhat confused, dreamlike state, she's now eating, and the other day, unimpressed by the hospital food that she had been served, she demanded to see a menu. It's fitting that she'd assume she was in a restaurant after coming out of a coma because we've always spent so much time in them.
But poor Natasha. She didn't fall nearly as far as my friend did, and, one presumes, she had every hope and intention of continuing to live a long, creative life with her husband, Liam Neeson, and their two sons. My heart goes out to her mother, Vanessa Redgrave. I can't even imagine what she must be going through right now. I believe there is more to this story than is being told, that it was not the random, freak occurence that is being bandied about in the press. Hopefully, time will reveal more.