I met her once. The producer I worked for had produced one of Ms Ephron’s movies, and so Ms Ephron had stopped by our set to visit. I spent the time at my producer’s computer, answering her e-mail while Ms Ephron, my boss, and the couple other producers we had chatted. I wasn’t paying attention, so I don’t know what they talked about. I should have been eavesdropping, I’m sure (isn’t that how one learns on film sets?), but I was too caught up in dealing with my producer’s son’s dramas as well as helping the L.A. office write an afterword to my producer’s book. Sorry. No big story, then, about Nora Ephron except that we shared a room once, she introduced herself to me, and I thought, I’ve heard that name somewhere. But it was months or even years before I put two and two together.
Artists—writers, directors, singers, painters, &c.—are known through their work. And when they pass, their work is their testimony. I didn’t know Nora Ephron. I met her once is all. But her work will stand for her in her absence. Which makes her far from absent in the end.