The NHL knows what history looks like.
They see it. Every shift. Every game. Every day. Every weekend. Every Playoff. Every Final.
They recognize the importance of game-seven- game-winning-goals and the moments that surround them.
But even the NHL can probably admit that this weekend, history was made. And it wasn’t on the ice.
This weekend was never meant to be normal. It was a fairy-tale from the get-go.
A prince married a commoner.
The villian was eliminated.
Though I did not wake at the ungodly hour of 3a, I did tune in for some re-caps and re-broadcasts of the wedding cermony of Prince William and Kate Middleton. A cermony that will forever be compared to the highly photographed wedding of Lady Di and Prince Charles 30 years ago.
As Will stood before God and man (billions) exchanging vows, in the same church his parents once stood in, I thought of Diana. Because I wondered if he was thinking of her. Of her love and devotion to her sons. Of her charity work. Of her beauty and fashion. Of her un-Royal-like approach to motherhood. Of her heartache and happiness. Of the woman he called “mum” who left him before he was grown.
Images of her life scrolled through my head – red-carpet appearances, holding orphans and outcasts, riding rides and Riviera rompings, hugging her boys, and warming hearts across the Pond and beyond.
And I couldn’t remember all of that without remembering that summer night of Diana’s tunnel crash. Lunchables and lean meat surrounded me (and my mom), as we stood in the grocery store, glued to the TVs, watching the events of her tragic death play out for the world to see.
And I thought about how her royal life began and ended in the same Abbey where her son was just wed. The same Abbey where she wed Prince Charles. The same Abbey where her life was memorialized and honored.
And I hope William has learned from the love and loss of his mother.
And I hope for William and Kate that when we close the book on their fairy tale, we can all say, “they lived happily ever after.”
The other news from this weekend was not scripted and planned, praticed or rehearsed.
But it brings up memories, nonetheless. Memories of that beautifully-tragic September day that forever marked our calendars and lives as post-9/11. A day when I was more concerned with my baby blue Amercian Eagle pants, Doc Martens, and white GAP sweater than the safety of our nation. Until I got in the car and turned on the radio. Until I heard of towers tumbling and planes plummeting. Of lives lived, loved, and lost.
A day we came together as a nation. A day that sent many to war – a war where some never returned. A day that sparked unity and politcal partisanship. A day that introduced a new vocabulary word: terrorism. A day we learned what it means to fear and fight a ruthless enemy – the mastermind to that entire day.
And now, that day, can be put into perspective. Not on the back-burner. But front and center. That day can be rememebred in light of this weekend’s news.
We can praise and pray for what happens next. And we can hope for a happy ending to a tragic beginning.
This weekend has taught us one thing.
Fairy tales do exist.
Dreams do come true.
History. It was made.
History. It will be made.
Regardless of the score.