I know I didn’t think very much about Natasha Richardson after I chatted with her for about 45min in 2006 – I wasn’t obsessed, though, like a lot of people, I was smitten. I remember that she had some tea from a large silver pot provided by the hotel, and that she answered her telephone and apologized to me, explaining that her husband was in state, fishing, and that she was to meet him later. I remember wishing I could talk to him, too. I dug out the tape of that interview tonight after hearing that she’d died – and there she was – soft-spoken, elegant, lovely. I didn’t listen to much of it.
I remember that we talked a lot about our children before our interview proper; about how they were the same spacing in age and her telling me how it was so wonderful a gift to give a child a sibling. I’ve thought that thought a lot as I watch my kids play. I know what a comfort it was to have a sister when my father passed away. There’s no one else on the planet, at that moment, that knows exactly how you feel without having to compare notes. At the moment you’re the loneliest, see, you’re not alone.
She asked to see a picture. She was a beautiful person.