Princess Diana died at my birthday party

And for a brief moment, I actually cared

(February 26th, 2008 / 2 comments)

I don't remember which of my birthdays it was, although I guess it wouldn't be too terribly difficult to figure it out with a little research and some simple math. We'll just chock my uncertainty up to extreme laziness.

Edit: Having just typed that last sentence, I feel highly convicted about my lazy nature and have decided to do the work necessary to determine my age and which birthday I was celebrating when I heard the news of Princess Diana's tragic accident. I was born in January, 1981 and Diana died 31 August, 1997...oh...well, crap. This changes everything.

Let's get the time and place right first

So, it wasn't my birthday at all! Given the August 31 date, it was more than likely my older brother's birthday party. He was born at the end of August. Why I confused them, I'm not sure. This is quite embarrassing. At any rate, I was sixteen years old.

It was during this birthday party that a family friend stepped out into the backyard where I and a few other party-goers were jumping on the trampoline and called out "Diana and her boyfriend just died in a car accident in France!" Apparently it had just been picked up by the news. Why he chose to announce it to a bunch of frolicking kids, I'll never know.

What do I care about Diana?

I'm an ignorant American, for the most part. I was born here and raised here. While my knowledge of the world outside of the U.S. has grown considerably over the years, it's still nowhere near even a limp grasp. At sixteen, I knew who Princess Diana was - everyone did, I suppose - but I had no real opinion on or understanding of her. She was a person on the television, just like every two-bit sitcom actor, who was somehow connected to British royalty.

But despite my detachment, as the announcement of her death echoed through the air and I floated down from a particularly high bounce to the shiny black nylon below, I felt a sudden pull of loneliness.

Diana just died

Bounce. Back into the sky, my socks taking on an odd glow in the evening light, as if they were lit by black lights. The sounds of the party around me dulled slightly and I floated there for a moment, struck by this unexpected reaction.

Bounce. There was something so final in those words. "Diana...just died." Dead. Gone. No longer here on earth. A human being that was here only hours ago is now permanently missing from the mortal ballet.

Bounce. I was sad about it. But why? I hadn't even known her. I hardly knew anything about her. She was just a face on the television. "Princess Diana." The name was familiar, but meant nothing to me personally.

Yet here I was, drifting through the humid air and surrounded by revelry - mourning someone I had never thought of for more than two seconds.

Dust we are...

It was the first time I remember feeling the permanence of death - the crushing, claustrophobic knowledge that someone is actually gone forever. It was terrifying and lonely and somehow inspiring. I had butterflies in my stomach - not from excitement or glee - but from the exhilaration of getting a glimpse of human mortality for the first time.

A flashlight swirled silently across the yard and tumbled to the ground, illuminating the grass beneath the trampoline with its yellow beam. From my suspended vantage point in the air above, it made the surface of the trampoline a cloudy transparent.

I looked down past my feet to the earth as I began my descent, for the first time keenly aware that I would one day become part of the dirt below. As the world rushed up at me and my feet connected with the smooth, cool nylon, the sounds of the birthday party returned to my ears - laughing, giggling, singing, conversing, life.

One day - but not today.

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