In the new issue (March) of Esquire magazine, Liam opens up about the day he rushed to his wife’s side only to say goodbye.
“I walked into the emergency — it’s like seventy, eighty people, broken arms, black eyes, all that — and for the first time in years, nobody recognizes me. Not the nurses. The patients. No one… So I went outside. It’s freezing cold, and I thought, What am I gonna do? How am I going to get past the security?”
Of all the times in the world not to be recognized, not to have the fame helping you out. Finally, it was a nurse on her smoke break who recognized him and helped,
“I’ll tell you, I was so f–king grateful — for the first time in I don’t know how long — to be recognized,” he says. “And this one, she says, ‘Go in that back door there.’ She points me to it. ‘Make a left. She’s in a room there.’ So I get there, just in time. And all these young doctors, who look all of eighteen years of age, they tell me the worst. The worst.”
Working as much as possible is Liam’s only way to sort of run away and cope with his loss.
“It’s easy enough to plan jobs, to plan a lot of work. That’s effective. But that’s the weird thing about grief. You can’t prepare for it. You think you’re gonna cry and get it over with. You make those plans, but they never work. It hits you in the middle of the night — well, it hits me in the middle of the night,” he says. “I’m out walking. I’m feeling quite content. And it’s like suddenly, boom. It’s like you’ve just done that in your chest.”
I can’t imagine ever getting over a loss like that. Such a shocking, sudden tragedy. There was no time to prepare. She was just ripped away from him. My heart still hurts for him.