I remember it quite well. I was sitting in the sunroom where we lived on Wachusett Ave in Arlington Heights while my mom was finishing up her Jane Fonda aerobics video. She shut off the VCR and before she could shut off the TV, we heard the News anchor cut in that Princess Diana had died. My mom froze and I got off the couch, moving closer to the TV. I don't remember what the information was at the time other than she had been in a car accident and had died after being in surgery for 4 hours in a Paris hospital. It was after midnight our time. My mom called out, "They killed her!" I'm not sure who she meant. The royal family? The paparazzi?
It's been 18 years, and still, every August 30th and 31st, the media drags out the story. As if Prince William and Prince Harry needed a reminder that this is when their mother died. She was 36. I am 35. That's just scary. Of course, she married young and had children young, so the idea that she had two young teens at my age is possible, even though I can't imagine it.
I read an article on People.com this week about her and why she went to Paris with Dodi. They didn't portray him very well, and said that Diana wasn't serious about him. That she never would have entered something serious without consideration of how it affected her two boys. Well, they got that part right at least. If only she had worn a seatbelt. If only the driver hadn't been drunk. If only the paparazzi weren't chasing them. If only...
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