Nothing like the sun

film_rickman.jpg

Aw, man. Alan Rickman isn't someone I thought about every day or anything, but he was one of those indelible spirits who made every character richer, weightier, deeper. A part meant something just because he played it, you know?

But to call this grief a performance is to miss the point – it’s not a performance, it’s a rehearsal. It seems right to me that grief be public, and messy, and inconvenient, that it make everyone in its path uncomfortable. Small amounts of discomfort, after all, increase our tolerance for large amounts of pain. Mourning celebrities who mattered to us is a way to remind ourselves that no one is spared, not even those who seemed immortal, larger than a human being with petty little organs doing their pedestrian little jobs inside their skin. Speaking things aloud removes their terror, dulls the power of their unfamiliarity. We speak this over and over to try to come to terms with something that cannot possibly be made familiar.
Helena Fitzgerald
Source: http://tinyletter.com/griefbacon/letters/f...