Ten years ago this weekend our family was in Laurens, Iowa, a small farming community just a few short miles from the Minnesota border. We were there because the small Christian ensemble I sang with was giving a concert for one of our group members' home church.
As I was getting ready in the bathroom of our host family (who lived in a home that once served as the community's bank), Ron yelled in that Princess Di had died. Of course I was dumbfounded, but was too busy getting nervous about the concert. (That was actually the day that, just seconds before I was to begin a solo, I forgot the first word of the song. Thankfully, my brain kicked in and I came in on cue. The word? "Silence." How weird is that?)
However, once we returned home and began seeing the images of the unfathomable grief of the British public - and the world, really - I became quite sad. You see, Diana and I had much in common. She was a beautiful, shy girl . . . and got married just two weeks before I did, in 1981. I got up at the crack of dawn to watch her wedding ceremony, already in progress by the time I tuned in. It was such a fairy tale, the likes of which I'd never seen. Then, Prince William was born just a couple of months before Kate. My brother studied in England the summer they were born and brought back a London newspaper heralding William's arrival. We still have it somewhere. We plan to sell it on Ebay once he becomes King and make a fortune. Actually, I think Ron would rather be a pauper than part with it.
As it became clear that the fairy tale was turning into a nightmare, I was grateful that, although we had several things in common, I was just a normal commoner who could live my life (with my own prince) without the glare of the public lights. I think it's so hard to believe that it's been ten years because her picture still pops up on magazines all the time. As I watched an interview with William and Harry tonight I had to wonder how they've handled it. The public's drive to keep her memory alive has to be extremely taxing and burdensome. I wonder how it's possible to fully grieve and then move forward when the public refuses to let her go. I must say that her sons seem very much her sons - relaxed, outgoing, engaging. They planned two memorials to her - one today that was solemn and proper in a church, and one on July 1 (her birthday) that was an all out rock concert that featured home movies and her favorite band, Duran Duran. Clearly they understood their mum so much more than anyone else. And in the end, that's all that really matters.
1 comment:
i remember where we stayed when we were in iowa. it was like an old bank or something, and they had this little cubby carved into the staircase wall and it was a place to sleep.
i really wanted to sleep there, but i probably got freaked out or something like that.
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