The angel of healing has come into my life in different ways. For me, looking up to different figures has been a help for me. There is one figure that stands out. She stands out with a halo of light because she, the Princess, always liked hats and they went well with her golden hair.
She died of massive heart injuries. Like mine seems to be, her heart was always broken. Midnight struck, the glass carriage crashed and it seemed that the man in the moon looked down upon the woman he loved.
Weeks after they had to collect the dead flowers that had been strewn in her honour. There were antique tears made in England.
I keep a little picture of her in a round brass frame.
Healing is about feeling. Through her fame, the world was stealing the Princess’ feelings. Now in Narcotics Anonymous when I say the serenity prayer I say it to a God of my own understanding. Let there be no misunderstanding. For me, the princess is an image of truth, God’s square root.
For 18 years she has been gone and the world has declined, but I keep her picture by my bedside. If it weren’t for her I would have committed suicide.
My debt to her is expressed in following in her footsteps. Love in charity.
My favourite passage of the bible is 1 Corinthians 13:4-8, love is patient, love is kind. It was read at her funeral. Love is her legacy, but this century of decadency, has forgotten such excellency.
She could have been the girl next door, the checkout chick, but you’d still want to kiss her on the cheek.
She was moody, she was bulimic, she was needy, she was shy, she cried a lot, and she was jealous and possessive. She was imperfect. I am an addict, I suffer from madness, and I am compulsive and obsessive. I am imperfect. Yet we still bring out the best in each other. True love is eternal, maternal, fraternal and paternal.
Now to live my life well I have to believe in a power greater than myself, a book on a very high shelf.
Even the bible could be a fairy tale. You want to believe it’s a story told to children that ends happily, but it often hides a grim and scary reality.
The Princess has blessed me with her reality and her royalty, she knows what a mess life can be. She has counselled and caressed me.
Sometimes with the Princess I wonder how such a pretty face could hide such a troubled heart.
In a book I have at home called Diana Style there’s a picture of the Princess holding the hand of an intellectually-disabled woman and both their smiles are so gorgeous.
It’s my favourite picture of her.
She turned compassion into fashion. I had a dream last night that she hadn’t left me. Sometimes at night I wake up and feel like someone is holding my hand.
With the Princess I never had grief, I only had belief.
Peta Edmonds is a writer living in Melbourne.