The Loss of Princess Diana

So, it's time for our second topic. The first was rather morose, and I'm afraid this one is, too. I promise that the next will be a little more uplifting. But until then...

I remember getting up in the wee hours of the morning to watch the Royal wedding on the day that Lady Diana Spencer married Prince Charles. I remember admiring the long flowing dress and the ornate pageantry - and I remember feeling both envy and pity as I watched the obviously nervous bride repeat her vows. Following the ceremony, I distinctly recall watching a news feed that showed royal children waving from a balcony to crowds pressed below. Wouldn't it be amazing, I thought, to grow up like that? My thoughts along those lines were fleeting, though, as I quickly remembered that "growing up like that" often required one to have one's address affixed to a fishbowl - cramped, wet quarters, indeed. Cameras, constant attention, and eyes-of-the-world might be nice for a gorgeous wedding day, but the inability to turn them off might just begin to weigh on one no less than the very next day. And so my original awe and envy were quickly replaced by quiet sympathy - enduring in gentle percolation for years, and culminating in near tears on August 31, 1997 - the day that Princess Diana died. Following is my journal entry, written 5 days afterwards.

- 9/5/97 -
This is my favorite time of day: right before dusk in the afternoon. The sun comes streaming in my window and I sit on my bed and gaze at the world around me. My thoughts at this time sometimes come thick and fast - an ideal setting for writing. But I didn't decide to create this entry to reflect on the beauty of the day. I create it to record a little piece of history...one that will undoubtedly be spoken of during my grandchildren's times...Princess Diana died.

Almost a week ago (Saturday night, U.S. time) I was watching television, and the station sent a textual bulletin that she had been injured in a car crash. Initially, I didn't think much of it. After all, people are injured in crashes every day. But the message continued, and I learned that her boyfriend had been killed in the wreck. At that point, I sat up and took notice. An accident accompanied by death is not trivial - no matter who survives. I still had no doubt, however, that Diana would survive. Looking back on this certitude, I can only explain it by supposing that I held the subconscious belief that Diana was somehow immortal. She was, my quiet, unreasonable inner thoughts held, too famous to die.

A little later, the news station informed us that Diana had suffered only a wound on her thigh and a concussion. Again, I was sure in the belief that she would live. I was wrong. Around midnight, the news cut in with a full visual broadcast: Diana had died. The newscaster was, in my mind, shockingly glib. Perhaps he was not aware of the sheer gravity of what he was saying. Perhaps he was blissfully ignorant of the fact that each word uttered was a sledgehammer beating against the emotions of those within the sound of his voice. I was shocked, and remained so until just yesterday. Denial set in hard - like concrete. I kept asking myself: Why did I care [so much]? She was a continent away. Why was I so affected? Perhaps, for 2 reasons: First and foremost, I immediately felt sorrow for her sons, William and Harry. That those boys would be required to face life without their mother was sobering indeed. Secondly, I couldn't help but reflect on my trip this summer. As I watched the news and saw a reporter standing in front of London Bridge, I thought, "I've been there." When the news camera lens focused on Buckingham Palace, I thought, "I've seen that." It was all infinitely more real to me. Here were people mourning, pouring out their emotions in a place that I had visited not 3 months before. So real.

I will watch the funeral tomorrow. To see it, I will need to rise at [4am] U.S. time. Surreal, isn't it? Don't I seem to recall having to rise early to see the wedding 16 years ago?...

Additionally, we learned today that Mother Theresa died of heart failure.
I'm living history.
Two giants have exited life's poor play, and left the audience wanting.

So ends the entry. Reading it again brings back to mind the sheer disbelief that I felt when I first learned that Princess Diana had died. As it happened, I had been on my first trip abroad just months prior, and London had been one of our first stops. After Princess Diana's death, I felt that I had been privileged to see the city beforehand - when it was still infused with her life instead of solely her memory.

What about you? Do you remember that day in August? Where were you, and how did you find out?

Send us your thoughts. We'll keep you posted.