Pomp and Circumstances

I will need extra coffee to get me through the day on Friday, and it's all because of a tiny boy wearing a romper, playing on a blanket while his mother looked at him adoringly.

I was not yet a teenager when Prince Charles married Lady Diana Spencer nearly 30 years ago. But I was at the perfect impressionable age, where the thought of becoming an actual Princess was just about the most romantic thing ever. So I got out of bed that summer morning, probably around 5:30, and watched, my attention held rapt, while a 20 year old girl walked down the aisle towards a future that seemed, to me, to be pretty much perfect.  When she kissed her Prince on the balcony, I was sure they really would live happily ever after.

Like many women my age, I was fascinated by Diana. I have the scrapbooks at my parents' home to prove it.  She was glamourous, and beautiful and, not so very long after her storybook wedding, a mother to the cutest little boy.  I remember seeing the pictures of she and Charles leaving the hospital with their new son, she beaming as she held the tiny bundle. And I vividly recall seeing the family, when William was no more than 9 or 10 months old, posing for a photo op during a state visit, the baby determined to crawl his way off the blanket while dozens of photographers snapped away. He, as expected, stole the show, smiling and kicking and testing his chubby little legs with a step or two while Diana held his hands and smiled.

By the time I was in my late teens, I'd figured out that being a Princess wasn't all castles and tiaras. But I remained fascinated by Diana, and by the bond she so clearly had with her boys. When she finally separated from Charles, I was in my 20s, and I realized this woman, not so very much older than me, could finally have the life she wanted, instead of the life that we'd all wished for her. And then I watched, crying, as the terrible news of her death broke, thinking how those boys were far too young to lose their mother.

So I will set my alarm extra early on Friday morning. Not because I still believe in fairytales, but so I can see the young man who took his first tentative steps while holding tight to Diana's hands now take much steadier steps towards his future. I will watch because, nearly 30 years ago, I did still believe in happily ever after.  But mostly, I will watch William marry Kate because I wish his mother could be watching, too.