Actress Natasha Richardson is dead.

Obviously, that’s a tragedy. She was a wife, mother and had an amazing talent.

But even so, there is absolutely no excuse for the Richardson Media Deathwatch that we’ve seen going on for the last week

I’m not naive – the media, in general, loves a story like this. Famous person, photogenic, unusual circumstance – you even can get a little bit of fear-mongering in there. “Should helmets be mandatory on ski hills? Should you go to a neurologist every time you bump your head?” It’s like hitting the rating sweet spot.

But still, things got a little ridiculous. So much of the stuff coming out of the media over the past week has been nothing but rumour and I disgustingly voyeuristic look at a family’s devastating loss.

Not to say I haven’t been part of this. I was on the desk when word of the accident first came through, and Richardson was taken to hospital after the fall. I was also editing when the news came yesterday that her cause of death had been pinned down by the New York Medical Examiner. I ran those stories – I thought that they were fair, and they were newsworthy. But throughout the week, I tried to stay away from running much on Richardson, just because there wasn’t anything new. Even though no one had anything of substance to say, Richardson Deathwatch 2009 continued.

Is she braindead? Are they pulling the plug? Could she have been saved if she went to the doctor right away?

It wasn’t reporting. It was rumour-mongering. Pictures were taken as Richardson’s family was entering the hospital. Sensational reports about a private tragedy were splashed on magazines and sprayed all over the six-o’clock news. Vultures with tape recorders and press passes perched outside her hospital bed, eager to clean the bones before the others got to it first.

I hope that these “journalists” are ashamed. I know that I am. And it’s not the media layoffs and or the worsening economic situation that most makes me question if I even want to do this job – it’s the fear that I’m going to end up like them.

(Up next – Why I hate my profession, pt. 2: Mickey Kaus – Wrong, even when he’s (sort of) right.)