Thinking about Natasha Richardson.
Last week Natasha Richardson fell, hit her head, suffered a traumatic brain injury and died. Her injury was what's called a subdural hematoma, which means there was bleeding on her brain. And because blood is toxic to brain cells, any bleeding inside the dura, the membrane that surrounds the brain, can kill you. Or leave you unscathed. Or somewhere in between, which is the case for me.
I feel deeply for her friends and family. The shock must be massive. And it will linger, probably for the rest of the lives of everyone who knew her. They will be going along with their daily trials and joys and suddenly, out of nowhere, a memory of her will surface and it will be hard. And it will never get any easier, I don't think.
Some people have asked me over the last several days how Natasha Rishardson's accident has affected me, since I, too, suffered a TBI. I confess, I marvel at my luck. Not only did my TBI not kill me, but it seems to have re-wired my brain ever so slightly, so that I can write songs more easily than before. And I feel a bit low about feeling lucky. I mean, why should I have survived and she died? But such musings are pointless. I do no believe in god, or fate, or any sort of master plan, or that things happen for a reason. As Clint said in Unforgiven, "Deserving's got nothing to do with it."
I send my deepest sympathies to Natasha Rishardson's family and friends. No one should ever have to go through something so awful. And I hope for all them that something good comes out of all this.