So sad. So awfully sad.
UPDATE 1/26: It’s been a few days since hearing the news about Ledger’s death. The day after he died a colleague and I went by his building to place a couple of flowers at the ad hoc memorial that fans had created. Looked up at the large dark windows of his apartment and commented on the strange irony that — if it’s true that his overdose was not accidental — someone who had touched so many and who was the target of such affection could feel so bereft and desperate. Seeing his body in that large wooden crate being loaded into a hearse for the trip back to Australia was jarring. I walked past him on 8th Avenue a few months ago. He was hard to miss — very tall and lanky, his gaze cast down toward the street as he walked with a woman. He didn’t see me recognize him but she did and her look at me suggested wariness that I’d interrupt them with some gushing fan tribute. I never would. The joy came in simply knowing that I could walk past him. We were both New Yorkers.