You’re kidding me.
Another great, gone.
I have literally written characters in my books with Alan Rickman in mind to play someday if I was blessed enough for my stories to become movies, and even more blessed for Alan Rickman to give notice to these roles I wrote just for him.
I adored this man. As a child I would see a few specific actors as types of family members, and for me Alan Rickman played as my grandfather. I had one incredible grandfather who died when I was young. The other I was never very close to and don’t even speak to anymore (haven’t for years). Alan Rickman was just the no-nonsense, driven, hilarious-to-me, secretly warmhearted grandfather I envisioned for myself… Especially what with little family I have.
But that’s silly, isn’t it? I have a world dedicated to someone I’ve never met who has no idea who I am.
Had no idea who I am.
My mother and I hardly agree on anything, but anything with Alan Rickman in it was a must-watch for us both.
First Bowie, now this. I can’t believe this is even real. Alan Rickman? Really? Can’t be real. Don’t be real.
I think, as a little dedication to him, I will pick up every book I own and turn to page 394 (of course only if it is that large of a book) and read what knowledge it has to offer me.
Perhaps every year, on January 14th, I will ensure to choose one book and do this. I will choose one giant book every year on this day and turn to page 394 and read. And ten years from now when my friends ask me, “After all this time?”
I will smile fondly and respond, “Always.”