I was coming from a yoga class with my Israeli boyfriend, entering the member’s lounge, finding everyone huddled around the TV.
A SPECIAL REPORT
Britain’s Princess Diana has died at the Pitie Salpetriere Hospital in Paris, after confirmation from Buckingham Palace at 5:20 a.m.. The Princess of Wales died as a result of injuries sustained during a fatal car crash.
Women began crying while men shook their heads. I remember falling into a chair, as shocked as anyone.
I too was a Diana fan.
My boyfriend sneered in the most remarkable manner before saying, “Who cares about some spoiled Princess. People die from bombs and murder in my country, every day. “
To say I was further shocked at his lack of compassion would have been an understatement, but still managed to shower, dress and join him for brunch.
“Why are you so sullen?” he had asked, in his rough, stilted accent. “I take you to this nice place, yet you’re not happy.”
I may have been afraid to address what I knew was the truth, that he was too cold for me, parting not long after.
Diana was a very special person, and I’ll tell you why.
Unlike my chilly friend, she cared, especially for the sick and shunned, the helpless and misunderstood.
She rebelled against the coldness of the family she married into, not realizing, rather than for love, she was chosen as a sacrificial lamb.
She spoke openly about her bulimia, depression, betrayal by her husband, and her own affairs while married, searching for the love Charles denied her, still involved with the woman he’s married to today.
At 19, marrying a man she loved who didn’t love her, though wounding her deeply, opened her heart to others in an unprecedented way.
Tony Blair, England’s Prime Minister at the time, aptly named her…
The People’s Princess.
She held the hands of AIDS patients, without fear. She walked across landmines in Angola to bring awareness.
She ladled soup at homeless shelters, taking along her two little boys so they’d learn, everyone wasn’t as lucky as they were, bringing their humanity to the forefront of the men they’ve become.
Conspiracy theories linger, saying THE FIRM, what’s referred to as the machine ruling the Royals, had her killed, afraid she’d marry Dodi Fayed, a Muslim, she’d been dating.
No one really knows why this beautiful, caring creature died so young, leaving two young sons to weep for her.
But her legacy lives on.
Help where and when you can, and don’t be ashamed of who you are.
I'm just a girl who likes to write slightly on slant. I've had a career in fashion, dabbled in film and to be honest, I don't like talking about myself. Now my posts are another matter so I will let them speak for themselves.
My eBooks, A New York Diary, Model Behavior: Friends For Life and Notes From A Working Cat can be found on Amazon.com. Thanks.