This is one anniversary that's difficult to forget. Like millions of women of my generation, I was surprised and shocked at how much I grieved over the death of Diana, Princess of Wales.

In my life, this is one of those 'snapshot' moments where I know where I was and what I was doing when I heard the news.

I can also recall the space shuttle Challenger blowing up...in that case, I was sure they'd find the astronauts alive and well, even under the sea, because those silly shuttles are meant to be airtight for space travel and hence, would prove to be watertight as well. Right? Of course those astronauts would be alive. Of course.

The morning Diana's death was broadcast around the world, I was leaving an overnight stay at my boyfriend's place. NPR was doing a story about her as I turned on the radio and I thought, "How lucky I am to be in the car to hear this story!" since I admired Diana very much. I was so horrified when the story ended with "Diana, Princess of Wales, dead in a car crash in Paris today. She was 36." I nearly swerved off the road in shock.

Isn't it odd how people feel connections to celebrities they've never met? The closest I ever came physically to Diana was when she and Prince Charles were in Vancouver, BC for Expo '86. She went one weekend, my family and I went a month later. Obviously, it's not like I had any real interaction with her. I watched her on TV, read articles about her in People Magazine, glanced at all the tabloid headlines, the same as people did the world over.

My mom had joked that I was just like Diana. As a child, my mom called me "Princess" while Diana had been called "Duchess." I married an older man (though not nearly as much older as Charles was than she) and had two boys, my own heir and a spare. I had trouble with my in-laws, who thought rather poorly of me. Then I separated from my husband, at about the same time she was going through her separation. Seeing how she held up during her very public marital demise, I gained strength. I cheered whenever she had some little triumph as though it were my own personal victory.

But why? Was it just because she was so lovely? Because she had that 'fairy tale' courtship and wedding? I don't know, I don't understand the whole phenomenon...my own and everyone else's fascination with her. This happened while we were building the little game, and so I placed a private memorial to her in a room. It made me feel a little better, that I too could leave something permanent to mark her life and passing.

Earlier in 1997, I'd seen the People Magazine pictoral book on her life and bought it on a whim, thinking I'd send it to my girlfriend Cheryl who also had a thing for Diana -- in Cheryl's case, the connection was that they shared the same birthday.

I never did send Cheryl the book. It's now a sort of repository for the clippings and articles about Diana since her death. I'm not even sure why I saved all those pages; it's not like the world will forget her without my little scraps. I still don't understand it. I cried harder while watching the funeral on TV than I've ever cried at a funeral for people I know. Some nights in my lonely little apartment, I'd flip through that book and cry again thinking about it. And the irrational part of my brain, in the same mode as it was after the Challenger crash said, "It's okay; she just faked it to escape the press. She's alive and in hiding somewhere." Mmmhmmm. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt!

In the months afterward, I worked harder to be a better mother to my boys, thinking how death can come upon anyone unawares. So, maybe the result was good for me in some ways. Doesn't make it any easier though.