The Diana Connection
The mystery of dreams
Twenty-seven years ago last night, I had a dream that I met Princess Diana. We were at some sort of event. I was trying to get her autograph and asked her to sign it for my son, who was a baby at the time. She smiled and signed it,” To Philip”, which was odd. That was my father’s name and also my son’s middle name. My father had passed away before I was born. I was confused, but thanked her anyway before she was swept away into a crowd of people.
The dream felt so real that I told my husband about it as soon as we woke up. He went to get a shower and I turned on the television to watch the news, as I usually do. There was the terrible coverage of the accident that killed Diana, Dodi Fayed, and the driver, Henri Paul. Only Diana’s bodyguard survived. I was shocked. I called for my husband and we watched, stunned, as they officially announced her death.
I’ve always been drawn to and have been a student of British history, but didn’t pay a lot of attention to the current Royal Family before that day. From then on, however, I’ve felt a connection to Diana and her tragic life.
This past summer, in Paris, we drove over the tunnel where the accident happened. The large flame torch in the photo, Flamme de la Liberté, was supposed to be a symbol of the Statue of Liberty, the gift from France to America, but the public has turned it into a memorial to the Princess. It was especially poignant for me, and I could feel myself getting emotional as I took this photo.
I still don’t know how to sort that one out, exactly. I don’t understand the connection, or why I’m still so affected by it today. Every August 31, though, I make sure to take a few minutes to focus on those lives lost.
Rest in peace.
