Generally speaking, I don't much care what goes on "across the pond." But it happens that Queen Elizabeth II died today. That, too, in itself, isn't of much moment to me or to most Americans. The glaring thing is that it means Charles will now be King. And I'm not sure who thinks particularly highly of Charles.
But Elizabeth II was 96 years old when she died. She was born in 1926. (She's the longest reigning British -- or any? -- monarch ever. Seventy years.) She seemed like a nice, kindly, charming woman. People who interacted with her spoke well of her. And Philip always seemed like a lovely gent, too. Both of them were encumbered by the rules and expectations of their station, but they seemed to do well enough with it.
Of course, there were those messes about her offspring, Charles most certainly included. And Andrew. And Elizabeth II's sort of botched response to Diana's death. But generally speaking, she seemed like someone you might wish you knew.
The problem for me is that my mother was born in 1926, too. And she was the most loved woman almost anyone who knew her ever knew. But my mother's life fell apart in 2012, when she had her first stroke. The second was in 2013. My mother, as I knew her, was mostly gone after that. And she didn't die until last year in July. It was awful to watch her without any chance for the liveliness she always had.
So, I grieved the loss of my mother a long time ago, and I just watched her be extremely limited and unable to derive from her life the joy she always had.
I wouldn't have had much feeling about the death of Elizabeth II today, except it just reminded me of my mother. I had to grieve the loss of her all over again today. So it turned out to be a very sad day. Over the death of...Queen Elizabeth II of Britain.
No comments:
Post a Comment