Diana's Tears and Courage in the Night

Frances Spencer:

I kiss my darling daughter good-night as she heads to bed early. Such a lovely woman my youngest daughter has become. I'm so glad she's separated from that jackass who never deserved her.

I'm glad I'd advised her to secure at least joint custody of my grandsons because I knew that those Royal Toads could have taken those boys away from Diana and even denied her visitation.

How well I recall when my ex-husband tried to do this to me…it took a long year, but I fought back and had liberal visitation restored. And Diana did spent most of her teen years with me during school breaks.

I place my own teacup in the dishwasher and read for an hour or so in the living room, then go upstairs to bed. As I head down the hall, the wind outside rises. But another noise seeps over the wind…a high keening.

I pause in the hallway. The keening continues, then breaks into the most heart wrenching, poignant sobbing. Diana! I realize. Oh, she's in pain!

I rush to her guest room and slowly open the door, then enter softly. My daughter is on her side, her back to the door, but I hear her sobs, then she emits such a sad wail that I feel a lump in my own throat rising.

I come closer and place a hand on her shoulder and feel her trembling. It breaks my heart to see the wetness on her cheek.

"Darling, oh, my darling Diana…" I whisper. Ohhh…dear, I think when her eyes squeeze shut and a long heavy wailing keen escapes her, tightening her entire body. She's really in agony! I realize in alarm.

The wailing keen finally breaks with another sob. "Diana…dear…" I say softly. "It's your mum…I'm here…"

Diana slowly, shakily sits up, swiping a hand over her eyes, but her tears keep falling.

"Another bad dream?" I ask.

Diana shrugs, then nods. In the dim light, I can see clear torture etched into her face…mouth drooping like the awnings in the rain outside, her brows taut with lines between them.

As she wipes her face and eyes again, those thick brows shoot up briefly and I can see tense lines on her forehead beneath her feathery gold fringe, which is now hanging in damp strings.

I sit on the bed beside her and place what I hope is a consoling arm around her thin body, a body that needs at least twenty to thirty more pounds on it.

Diana leans on me and another fresh round of keening and sobbing overtakes her. Her trembling continues punctuated by an occasional jerk of her shoulders as her breath catches in sobs.

I don't know how long she cries. Maybe it's a few minutes, perhaps an hour. I know she needs to cry. She had been feeling better in the past year or so, but she still had periods of deep depression and still needed to gain weight.

I try not to tense myself as I think about that toad, Charles and his miserable excuses of his parents who has caused my daughter, my precious daughter all this pain. My daughter, who, despite all her pain, has reached out to millions of others who are suffering.

My daughter, who can see inside of other people and who can ease their hurts. My dear daughter, who struggled to give my grandsons as normal a childhood as possible, despite the Palace fighting her on it and despite her problems with that toad.

"Would you like some tea?" I ask her once her crying slows.

She's sniffling, so I know she also needs more tissues. The two boxes she had beside the bed are empty and wet tissues litter the bed and floor.

"Mhmmm…" she mumbles. Her nose is running, so I tell her I will be right back. She needs tissues, tea, food, weight, a chance to really cry, and lots of love.

As I go into the kitchen and make the tea for both of us and load up a tray with tea, scones, and three boxes of tissues, I reflect and how much Diana unselfishly gives and just gives to others, but lets herself have so little.

I re-enter the bedroom, relived to see that although Diana is still very sad and tears are still streaming down her face, the worst of her agony seems to have blown over for now.

I sit again, hold a tissue to her long nose and direct her to blow. She does, brows slanting.

"Thanks, Mummy…" she sighs, taking more tissues and wiping her face.

Her tears have slowed, but sporadically, some still streak down her face. Her fringe is damp and has clumped a bit to one side of her forehead, which is still lined.

Diana:

I don't know what I'd do if Mum wasn't here. I am glad I have this chance to stay with her for this short, unexpected holiday that's come this September.

I really had this terrible nightmare…in it…it's hard to describe and I don't know if I can really describe it properly…I am…or was out in this field. Charles and Philip were in the distance, shooting birds.

I was feeling ill and feared that I would vomit. A camera shot out of a bush into my face. I'd yelped a little and drawn back, but the camera…this sounds odd, I know.

The camera was laughing at me. I didn't see the photographer, but the camera looked like an ordinary camera, but it was laughing.

Please…stop, I'd begged it. But it crept closer to me, snapping, then laughing harder. The light flashed, blinding me for a moment and I had to squeeze my eyes shut and turn away.

More laughter sounded above me and more snapping ensued. I started to run away from the laughter, but collapsed with weakness and nausea onto the ground. I tried to reach up, to get back up, but couldn't.

The laughter grew louder and more raucous. I turned over and was horrified to hear Camilla's shrill titter, then Charles' laugh.

Philip joined in and I opened my eyes to see a dozen cameras hovering over me with Charles, Philip, and Camilla peering between them, sneering down at me.

What a ridiculous creature… Philip snarled.

She was always damaged, Camilla added. Didn't I tell you…damaged…I told you there was something wrong with her…

Yes, I know that now, Charles added coolly. What a shame…she was so fashionable and slim…looked good on my arm…even her little acts of charity and her two boys made us look good…brought us fame…but I never realized how impaired she truly is…it came out and brought the Palace more trouble than she's worth…

Charles had loaded his rifle and aimed it at me.

Please! I pleaded. Just let me go! Please, Charles! Pleeeease!

But he just fired and shot me. I started to cry as pain spread all over me.

Oh, I will be so glad to hear to last of that dreadful whimpering, Philip snarled. Finish her off, Charles.

Diana, Diana, Charles sighed. What a pity…and her fired again…thank God I'd awakened then…and was crying so hard I'd worried Mum.

"Do you want to talk?" Mum's gentle voice soothes me as she stroked my back and sips her tea. "I think there are things you need to clear the air with…please…you always were adept at getting others to unload their pain…let me do this for you…I know you still often hurt deeply."

I have to wipe my eyes again. "Where can I start, Mum. It's just too much…" my nose runs again and I have to grab what must be my millionth tissue to blow my nose.

It's odd because my nose doesn't run easily. It only runs when my crying is really hard. But my eyes…they really water at the drop of a feather from a hat and soaks my face.

"Just…anyplace you feel comfortable," Mum says.

I am so touched by her love. Daddy tried to break that between Mum and us kids. I did love Dad, but what he tried to do to Mum was truly not very forgivable.

Slowly and fighting a great deal of pain, I do tell her much of what went on…starting with right after my wedding…the honeymoon…Will's birth and my problem with nausea, then later what I know now is post-partum depression.

I'm embarrassed that I have several more crying spells telling Mum all this…but Mum holds me and lets me cry.

It's really humiliating remembering how I'd pleaded with the Queen to let me bring Wills to Australia with us, to please don't force me to abandon my son for six weeks right after his birth. I'd needed my baby with me and I knew he needed me.

I have to close my eyes as I tell Mum about how I'd just crouched right on the floor before the Queen, begging, begging her, wailing and crying. I still can't believe how much I lowered myself right in front of everyone during an after-dinner tea.

My face turns deep red as I recall being down on the floor on my stomach, my tear-streaked face nearly brushing the carpet, wailing, Pleeeease, your Majesty…I'm begging you…just this one thing…let me as Wills' mother…please…your Royal Majesty…I'd been ready to kiss the Queen's foot that evening just to continue bonding with my own son.

Charles had heaved a sigh just then and had impatiently pulled me to my feet. Just stop this sniveling! he'd told me.

They'd finally consented the next morning. I'd burst into tears of relief and to my embarrassment now, I'd dropped once again to the floor and actually kissed Queen Elizabeth's foot.

Charles and Philip had snorted and a couple of the servants had laughed at me, but at the time I'd been so grateful. Pitifully grateful for the mere chance to have my own son with me.

Pathetically grateful to have what most other mothers take for granted…to be a real mummy for their children.

I really had to fight with the Palace to allow me to mother my own boys…isn't that just sad? That's how badly out of touch the Royals have been with real life.

Mum strokes me, nodding, her own eyes sad. I tell her quite a lot…not everything, but a lot

I tell her about my struggle with bulimia, how I'd cried even more than ever once things between Charles and me soured, about his affair with Tiggy Bourke, several other women, then Camilla.

I cry in shame again as I tell Mummy about how much I'd feared Camilla…how nervous she made me. And how much it hurt that Charles lied to me.

It had actually been one of Camilla's sisters who'd confirmed that affair and held me as I cried. Her sisters and her granddaughter are nice, thank God.

Camilla's granddaughter has even been over to my place a few times. None of them make excuses for either Camilla or Charles.

I shake again as I remember how I'd been so afraid for my boys…I'd been afraid that Charles or his parents would hurt me through the boys, which was a large part of why I was so afraid to end this marriage and even to separate.

I go thru that visit back in nineteen eighty-five to the then President Reagan and his wife, Nancy. How nervous I'd been and couldn't stop blushing around them.

How frightened, absolutely terrified I'd been of the President. At the time, I didn't understand why he'd frightened me so much when most other people had been enamored of the President.

Charles spent most of the time buttering up the Reagans, although later he commented to me that they were "low-class commoners" and that Nancy was a "skinny pig" and called the President a "troll."

Nancy and her husband, I guess impressed with our Royal titles, kept gushing over how "classy" we were, which made me blush all the more.

Once Nancy saw what a timid mouse I was, how inhibited, she mostly then acted as if I weren't there and kissed up to Charles, who was flattered by her.

I wasn't too upset by this since I was really never comfortable with the Reagans and I had found a few other people I could be comfortable with, mainly John Travolta and Mary Lou Retton.

Mom laughs a bit at the show with Charles and the Reagans and I'm able to smile shakily myself. I blush again when I tell Mum about the last night in Washington when Nancy was giving this speech and had put her arm around my waist, making me very uncomfortable.

I hadn't known what to do…should I have pulled away, taken her arm off me…but I'd been too scared of creating a scene and embarrassing others.

So I'd just stayed under the pressure of Nancy's thin, but strong arm gripped around my waist, her intrusive hand even clasping my stomach and just blushed so helplessly.

It's when I reach the hardest part…when my marriage to Charles really began to unravel and my bulimia was at its worst that I fall apart in tears again and Mum holds me as I sob once more.

Tears drip into my teacup as Mum strokes me once again. December tenth nineteen-ninety-two, I think was the saddest, saddest day of my life…Charles and I officially separated.

I'd been the one to tell the boys, making the sad trip up to their school before they read about it in the shit sheets or heard gossip about it on the radio.

Harry had nodded, then asked if I'd still be around. My eyes had filled with tears as I'd reassured him that of course I'd continue to be his mummy.

Wills had taken it harder and had cried, which made me cry. I don't really remember how long we'd held each other and just cried.

Wills had also been fearful that Charles and his parents would try to ban me from their lives. Oh, it had broken my heart. I'd told Wills I'd share custody with their dad.

Wills had a hard time letting go of me and we'd clung to each other for a long time there in the small anteroom that a teacher had let us use for privacy.

It could have been two hours with us crying on and off before we finally parted like melted chocolate, gulping simultaneously and wiping our eyes.

"Mum…" Wills had then pleaded. "What about Christmas?"

"Ohh…" my heart had contracted painfully again. "I'm…I'm going to try to work out an arrangement…so both your dad and I can…" I'd cleared my throat. "…spend the holiday with you and your brother."

Charles and I had split the holiday, but it really hadn't been happy for either one of us…I'd spent the week leading up to Christmas Day with the boys and took them the see Mum and my siblings.

Charlie and my sisters really had been angry with Charles and his parents and made threats to seek revenge on them, but I'd pleaded with them not to, and to please not badmouth the boys' father in front of them.

Late Christmas morning, I'd then had to take the boys to Charles' side of the family. I'd gone back home, feeling so bereft and alone. I'd swam a bit in the indoor pool, hoping to ease my pain, then decided I just had to get out of the area.

I'd packed, eating lunch basically standing and by myself, then had flown to the States to Vermont with Sarah Ferguson and her girls to visit a friend there.

"Oh, darling…" Mum wiped a few stray tears from my face. "I'm so glad you finally told me…got this off your chest…come, eat one of these scones…you need it…"

My stomach has loosened some, so I slowly eat a scone. It's quite good…chocolate mixed with a pecan sauce.

"Dear…" Mum seems to be thinking of how to phrase this. "I know…you don't like this suggestion…but I think you need to take up that Mr. Bashir up on his offer and give an interview."

This causes me to swallow the last bite of scone with a hard gulp as my brows shoot up. "Oh, Mum…I don't want to look like I'm begging for sympathy or attention. Lord knows the public doesn't need to hear more drama with Charles and me."

"You won't be, dear," Mum says. "And the way Charles and his cronies have been spreading lies about you…are you going to just wait and hope it goes away? Charles does have a way of charming the public…and I'm concerned he may sway more than a few people in his favor."

My face grows red as I think about the rumors that have been going around…rumors that I am "unstable" and "unbalanced."

Charles really did put on this show in one interview as being this long-suffering husband of his "unbalanced, mentally ill" wife.

I still worry about the effect this has had on the boys. I really don't want to get into a pissing contest in public display especially with the boys involved and hearing this.

"Think about this, Diana…I know you want to move on and not get into media spats with Charles…" Mum says. "But since you are so in touch with the people of England…of even the world, not to mention your sons, don't you owe it to all of them to hear the truth coming out of your mouth…instead of forcing them to rely on hearsay and tabloid gossip…and possibly read and hair things that are untrue about their princess?"

"I suppose…" I mutter, looking down at my cup.

"You are a hero to millions whether you believe it or not," Mum tells me, putting a warm arm around me. "Millions whose lives you've made better…and I'd think it would do them a world of good to see a strong woman making a comeback for their sake and your sons' sakes…one who is assertive and will not just shrink away in shame under the Palace's cruel slander."

"Think about it, my darling Diana," Mum continues. "You have a good head on your shoulders and people respect you and believe you since you have always been honest with the public. Think about the good you'd do the world to get the truth out…not to mention healing your own heart."

"I suppose…" I look up at Mum. "But I'm worried that the Palace will retaliate…say even worse things about me…the boys would see and hear it…oh, Mum, I want to tell the world everything, but I'm still so frightened."

"I know, it's frightening, dear," Mum stroked my hair, which is a rather matted mess by now and a bit damp with all my tears. "But once you get the truth out to the public, the vast majority of who love and respect you, anything the Palace says in retaliation will only serve make them appear petty and vindictive…you have the people behind you…that power, so don't be afraid to use it…for their good and the good of yourself and your boys…even our entire family…my brother and sisters and I will be behind you all the way, dear…give it thought before you say no."

"I will, Mum…" I nod and lean back, feeling sleepy at last again. Once glance at my watch tells me it is two-thirty-five in the morning.

Mum stands, we bid each other goodnight softly and she slowly leaves, leaving the door ajar. I am in the dark, but lately the dark isn't as frightening as it used to be. I still can't believe I was afraid of the dark for so long into my adult years. So afraid of too many things.

I guess it's time I overcame my fear of Palace politics and do take Martin Bashir up on the interview.