Has it even been a month since Liam Neeson's wife, Natasha Richardson died in a freak skiing accident? I may sound like a wimpy romantic who is deeply in love with her husband (and I AM), how-bloody-EVER...I know for a fact I wouldn't be smiling for ANYONE's camera this soon after I had lost the love of my life. Maybe it's just me. I wouldn't be Out. Of. My. Bed. All eating would have stopped. I might take care of the dogs, if only because of the incessant whining, but all personal hygiene would come to an end. I would need a doctor to give me a morphine drip- at the very least--to help me through that agony. I honestly don't GET these people sometimes. I'm also referring to the folks on TV, doing interviews after their child has been abducted and/or killed. The very idea of trotting out onto my driveway to give Nancy Grace an interview completely baffles me. If there is such a notion of "doped-up hysteria", I'm positive that would be my mental state.
I suppose we all handle stress or tragedy in our own special way, but, wow. There's Liam Neeson up there with co-star Ralph Fiennes, bravely smiling for the cameras after a Broadway performance of Mary Stuart. Good for him, I guess. I just know life would not "go on" as quickly for me.
**Update** Just got off the phone with Mom. I told her about this post and she said, "leave Liam alone! He's IRISH!".