Diana:My Princess

I remember that Sunday morning like it was yesterday. August 31st 1997.I had woken up at 7.10am a bit surprised. My dad had, for many months, woken me up at 7am prompt to get ready for the 8am mass. This was necessary because I always went to bed very late on Saturdays.However, on this occasion, I woke up without hearing my dad’s usual ‘Charlie, wake up. Get ready for Church’ substituting as an alarm clock. As I dragged my feet to the bathroom, I passed the living room only to see my father through the slightly ajar door. He was sitting glued to the TV, watching CNN.That was quite strange as, on Sunday mornings, he didn’t have time to watch the news prior to church service. I opened the door to greet him, only to see the ‘Breaking News’ message scrolling across the TV screen. DIANA, Princess of Wales, had died.
I froze. Diana, DEAD? How?When?Why? Did God approve it? I joined my dad in his glued state, to get more information. She had been involved in a crash within a Paris tunnel while been chased by Paparazzi.She was declared dead minutes later at the Paris hospital she had been frantically rushed to.

When my dad & I got to Church, I was still confused, sad & absent-minded. The parish priest began his usual sermon/preaching after reading the 2nd Gospel. His first words were ‘Today the world mourns’. He had heard, like many others across the world. It was a day of global mourning. That day was simply ‘Black Sunday’.

I normally say Princess Diana was a cross between Cindy Crawford & Mother Theresa. She had the looks of a Supermodel, and the heart of a Saint. Never has royalty been so elegant, yet so humble. So classy, yet so kind & compassionate.

I can’t believe it’s been 10 yrs since that last day of August when my dad didn’t wake me up for church.

Diana, my princess…..The people’s princess.