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At 7:50pm, an hour after I learned of the news, I dropped everything and headed to the palace. I knew I would regret not going, having the incredible opportunity living so close and being here for such an incredibly historic event. It was so strange to ride the tube, knowing life was still happening but with a seismic shift in power. It’s a strange numbness. She’s been a constant in our lives for so long, an unelected life-permanent placement in a world that’s changing rapidly every day. This change in leadership, with the monarchy and the PM, is unprecedented. I walked by copies of the London Standard Newspaper, headlined with some trivial topic, realizing it was old news already- and would be splashed with black and condolence in 24 hours. I’m in London for an insanely historic event- the last Queen of my lifetime, and I get to mourn and share in her life, and earlier in the year, her incredible Jubilee. So much change in one year. Exiting out of Green Park Station, I followed a line of black umbrellas marching down the walkway towards the palace. It was pouring rain. The tears of the world poured on London, in grief, in celebration of a wonderful life. The day was marked in the most British way possible. Dreary clouds and endless sporadic pitter-patter, welcoming after a summer of drought and distress. Surrounding the front gate were people from all walks of life and every country in the world. Flowers rested everywhere on the gates, mourners passed them up to police, where they were laid with honor. People wandered around, in shock, in disbelief, of the event we all knew would come but are still processing. Clapping started and stopped. God save the Queen was sung. Reporters interviewed the crowds for their feelings and thoughts. I’m so glad I experienced my prime in the Elizabethan Era. We lost her the day after the birthday of her namesake, Elizabeth I. Thank you, Ma’am.
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