DECEMBER 30, 2019: “Speaking Of Faith And Crowns” …

In keeping with my promise to myself and all of you, I’ve been working like a madwoman since Christmas morning uploading as many entries as possible before leaving for Ireland on Friday, starting with the day I was born. After being glued to my chair for 96 straight hours straight, with only four real breaks in between, I’d made it all the way to the entry where I revealed what really happened that Sunday in April of 2009 that finally pushed me over the edge to that lovely placed called “The Meadows”. It was the day of my nervous breakdown. It had been a long time since I’d read it, and transferring the words from the desktop “diary” I’d been keeping for years to this published blog version was jarring:

They literally had to peel my son from my body so that I could get into the car. He too was sobbing and I’d never seen him cry so much or so hard. And Gia? She looked so lost, like a little puppy that just wanted someone to pick her up and hold her.

(“Circadian“)

As I flashed back to that day and remembered everything that happened, it broke my heart into pieces all over again knowing how it broke their hearts into pieces having to live through such trauma, at which point I became so emotional that I had to call it a night and cry myself to sleep.

If you know me well, you know that I have long been fascinated with English history, the monarchy, and most specifically Prince Phillip, “The Duke Of Edinburgh“. If you know anything about him, his truly tragic childhood, or the lifetime of personal sacrifice and struggle upon becoming The Queen’s consort, you know that, like me, he is a true and living phoenix. I could wax poetic about the man. Actually, now that I think of it, when recently asked, “If you could meet anyone and have conversation with them, who would it be?”, he was immediately one of the only two people who came to mind. Of course, that is unrealistic, but the sentiment remains, because although “who he is” puts him so far out of my reach, I would have truly love to be able to just talk to him for a couple of hours during my lifetime. As and aside, one thing I can also tell you is that my husband’s life story and heart were so much like Prince Phillip’s that I often addressed him as “The Duke” in our home.

With that, there’s a show I’ve been watching called “The Crown” on Netflix that loosely depicts the life and reign of Queen Elizabeth. With everything that’s been consuming me lately I’ve missed quite a bit of it, so I decided to just binge for the night and pick up where I’d left off, at Season 3, Episode 4, “Bubbikins”.

Throughout the series, the viewers are led to an understanding of Prince Philip’s lifelong perception of abandonment by his mother, Princess Alice Of Battenburg. “Bubbikins”, however, reveals that the real reason she’d been absent from his childhood was that she’d been diagnosed with schizophrenia, committed to an array of psychiatric asylums, and subjected to a series of inhumane “treatments” for her mental illness, the worst of which was by Sigmund Freud, including a flashback of her being ripped away from him while being hauled off to one of those asylums.

Ultimately, however, we find Prince Phillip visiting his mother’s room at the palace after having read what he referred to as “a love letter” about her in the paper and having come to a shockingly different perspective about not only her past but “their past as well. He wanted to apologize to her:

(PRINCE PHILIP READING FROM THE PAPER TO HIS MOTHER): Princess Alice is that rarest of creatures – a member of the royal family that has suffered more than the rest of us, worked harder than the rest of us and created more good than the rest of us … she was consistently misunderstood, marginalized and underestimated … but instead of bitterness Princess Alice dedicated her life to charity work, public service and campaigning for social justice often at great personal risk. I owe you an apology. 

(PRINCESS ALICE): Whatever for?

My faithlessness.

If anyone owes anyone an apology, we both know it’s the other way around … when we were forced to leave Greece I couldn’t cope. I needed care. I needed help.

That wasn’t help that they gave you, it was torture.

They tried their best.

No, the treatment they gave you was barbaric and your courage in rising above it was remarkable.

I didn’t do it alone. I couldn’t have. I had help every step of the way. Now, Bubbikins, you mentioned faithlessness. How is your faith?

Dormant.

That’s not good. Let this be a mother’s gift to her child. That one piece of advice: Find yourself a faith. It helps. No – not just helps. It’s everything.

Oh, my Father, how can I ever repay You? You called in my Angels again, didn’t You? You love me. I know You do! What are the chances that the very next thing You needed me to see, hear, and absorb last night after falling apart at this keyboard with reinstated guilt over everything I’ve put my kids through was EXACTLY what I needed to yet again remind me that in everything You have a purpose? While I’m certainly not insinuating that either I or my life are anything like Princess Alice’s, I know You had that entire series of events lined up just for me! Right on cue, You were sending me a message:

HAVE FAITH MY CHILD. You’re going to be okay. They’re going to be okay. Someday they will understand.

To which my reply and the only way I can repay You is: No, I’m NOT doing this alone. I have help every step of the way. So, I’ll keep standing strong in my faith. It doesn’t just “help” – IT’S EVERYTHING! I love You.