The year was 1997, the year I was to marry. My soon-to-be husband had taken a job in New England, and on the weekends I would travel by Amtrak from Baltimore to Stamford, Connecticut, where my fiancé (now husband) would pick me up at the station. After eating dinner, we stopped at a convenience store to pick up some items for the morning. In the parking lot, the car radio gave us the news. “Princess Diana has been injured in a car crash.” At that time, we didn’t know the severity of the situation, but we went back to my husband’s place and put the television on. I felt ill,…