OPINION:
Death holds up a mirror to everything — moments of love, stretches of strife, memories that punish and exalt. This is true if your family is far removed from the public eye, and it's true if your family is ensconced in the world's spotlight.
Queen Elizabeth II was the matriarch both of a country and of the most famous family in the world — certainly the most scrutinised family in the world. That fame, that scrutiny, goes back generations. Children are born into the royal family with the instruction that their lives, with some notable exceptions, will be lived in public. In the past, Prince Harry spoke about how hard it was when his mother, Diana, Princess of Wales, died unexpectedly, needlessly — chased down by paparazzi in a tunnel late at night. He was 12, struggling to wrap his heart around the loss, yet he had to be in public accepting condolences from strangers. Hopefully this time, with the passing of his grandmother, he will feel buoyed and comforted by a country that is grieving along with him, that has watched their monarch age, knowing as he must have that time was growing short.
When my father, Ronald Reagan, died, the world moved in quickly. By the time I left my parents' house on the day of his death, having waited for the coroner to come for his body, the streets of Bel Air, California, were crowded. The police had set up barricades to keep the people back so vehicles could get through. I remember being vaguely aware that bystanders were taking my picture as I drove past, some of them wiping away tears. And I remember steeling myself for the public events commemorating my father's life, the cross-country flights with his coffin in the plane, and the world watching us.