Mortality sill confounds me. If Davy Jones can die then what about the rest of us home coming queens?
THE other night we were flicking through the channels trying to find something to watch. We ended up on an old movie with Natalie Wood, who was once one of my favourite actresses. I felt so sad that she died young, and spent a moment reflecting on her brief life. We flicked again. There was Heath Ledger looking beautiful and fragile. Maybe it was because it was a Saturday night and there were so many old movies showing, but on our third try a young Burt Lancaster flashed on to the screen.
For my partner it was too much to bear. ‘‘Everyone’s dead!’’ he said, almost alarmed. For most people it never sinks in. We never get over the shock that people we love or admire die. The fact that actors and actresses are beautiful, famous and seemingly immune always fills us with more fear when they die, or get Parkinson’s like Michael J. Fox. We get a more acute sense of mortality breathing down our necks. Continue Reading →
