Priscilla Buckley died this morning.
She died peacefully, at home in Sharon, Conn., at age 90.
She was a backbone of National Review for so many years, a loving and trusting rock for her brother, our beloved WFB. A beautiful and accomplished writer and editor who embodied great style and humor.
It’s with great selfish regret that I relay that news. Selfish because while I believe there is something beyond all human joy awaiting those who live good lives, I’ll miss her. Never have I known a more gracious, rich woman. Rich in experience, happy to share stories from around the world — and National Review and Buckley family history. And also rich in humility, despite her great talent — also just as happy to listen. She was a source of generous encouragement for me personally.
R.I.P., Priscilla.
There will be much more to say. A prayer of gratitude for a beautiful woman and for eternal peace on a Sunday morning seems an appropriate start.