As has been officially announced, the two-day vigil is over. Natasha Richardson has died. I’m told the horrifically sad event occurred this afternoon after Natasha’s life support was ceased, amid her heartbroken family members saying their goodbyes.
So here's mine:
I've known Natasha Richardson so long, I was at her first wedding to producer Robert Fox. Her bridal selection was a creamy, lovely ivory, a pantsuit actually (very classy), with a décolletage down to her navel. Was pretty fun stuff. I'd already become very fond of her, interviewing her extensively for my old gig, Premiere, but that damn nervy wedding look made me love her even more!
It was vintage Natasha: classy yet seductive. Just like she was in The Parent Trap when she lured wayward Dennis Quaid back into her clipped, British seductress ways. Go, Tash! That's precisely how she was in life.
And true to the sexy lady's ways, after marrying Fox, she decided Liam Neeson was the man for her, divorced Robert and started up with the Oscar-nominated stud for a life of interesting domestic love in upstate New York.
And for those naysayers who thought Liam would leave Natasha as some sort of karmic payback for her having left Robert (who, ironically, had left his wife, Celestia, for Natasha), uh, didn't happen. Ever.
I'd selfishly like to credit Tash for that marriage's success, if I may: Even though Liam and Natasha's gorgeous boys, Michael and Daniel, are a very real and wonderful reflection of Natasha's second union, knowing how to keep a marriage, a life and a career going through levity was Tash's hallmark. She told me so. Her equal senses of humor and grace were paramount to her. Her mom, Vanessa Redgrave, told me so. I can still hear Tash's self-deprecating, throaty laugh telling me she didn't even think she was that gorgeous.
How wrong she was. Bless you, Tash, wherever you are.