The Royal Wedding - Why I will be getting up at 3:00 a.m. on Friday.

I was a sophomore in college when the beautiful young Lady Diana seemingly tamed the playboy who was Prince Charles.  She was one month older than me and I immediately felt a kinship with her. I was studying to be a teacher at the time. She was a teacher (sort of - as much as a Lady without a full education could be) herself. Charles was smitten. She was beautiful. It was a fairy tale to everyone of course, but, for some unexplainable reason, it all felt particularly important and relevant to me.

I was home for a short break that June in 1981.  It was the time between the quarter's end (we had quarters at Ball State, not semesters) and summer school's beginning. Although my parents gave me a lot of grief and didn't understand my obsession, I set my alarm for 3:00 a.m. and got up to watch the wedding live.  It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and, seeing them kiss and wave to the crowd from that balcony, I was sure they would live happily ever after.

I also remember well that day in 1982 when a beaming Diana held their precious newborn baby Prince William, showing the new heir to the throne to the world.  Next came red-headed Prince Harry.  The "heir and a spare" had been delivered.  Everything seemed perfect.

But then we all know what happened. It is a cautionary tale for sure. It wasn't perfect after all. Seems that Charles should have stood up to the Queen and held out to be able to marry the woman he loved instead of doing his duty and marrying the beautiful, suitable bride whose grace, even in her suffering, would eventually make her an icon.

Diana made some mistakes along the way as well, but she grew stronger and even more beautiful. Although the marriage dissolved in a barrage of ugliness, somehow she seemed to rise above it. Pulled by the strange connection that I continued to feel to her, I followed it all. Every bit of it. She was always there.

Then, she wasn't.

In a strange twist of fate, she died on my birthday in 1997. 

Maybe there was something to the connection after all.

Once again, I got up at 3:00 a.m., this time to pay homage to the woman with whom I felt I'd shared so much. I cried as her brother, her ex-husband, her ex-father-in-law, and her sons somberly followed behind her casket. That image of the flowers with Prince Harry's card addressed to "Mummy" that lay upon her casket is forever burned in my mind.

I admit that I've read all of the books, the unauthorized biographies, the behind-the-scenes accounts, the biography that was actually an autobiography because she was feeding the author the stories herself.

I'm not sure why. I don't know what it is.  But, for some reason, her life and death will always be with me.

So...call it what you will. Accuse me of being crazy. Tease me about it. To me, the connection is real. And this Friday, April 29, 2011, I will be taking a vacation day. I will set the alarm to 3:00 a.m. and I will watch the full, uninterrupted coverage of Diana's eldest son's marriage on BBC America.

It's not even a choice for me.  I feel like it's the least I can do.

From the outside looking in, it seems your son has chosen wisely and cautiously. I sincerely hope that they live the fairy tale that you could not. Rest in Peace, Diana.