She wouldn't remember me, but I will always remember her
In Bangkok this week, thousands gathered in silence and black clothing to accompany Princess Bajrakitiyabha on her final journey through the city she had served — not merely as royalty, but as a lawyer, a disaster responder, and a champion of the forgotten. She was 47, and had spent nearly four years in a coma after collapsing in December 2022, leaving a nation suspended between hope and grief. Her death closes a long vigil, but the mourning it has released speaks to something rarer than ceremony: a public figure whose care for ordinary lives was felt as genuinely personal by those who received it.
- After nearly four years of collective prayer and quiet waiting, Thailand's hope for the princess's recovery finally gave way to loss on a Thursday evening in June.
- Thousands lined Bangkok's streets in the heat, some arriving hours early, dressed in black and seated in silence as the slow procession carried her past — a city holding its breath together.
- Her death is not only the loss of a royal title but of a hands-on humanitarian: a woman who waded into flood waters, cooked meals for the stranded, and fought for women behind prison walls.
- The procession drew people whose lives she had directly touched — a woman whose aunt benefited from a northern relief project, a stranger who met her once in college and never forgot.
- Formal mourning will last fifteen days, with public access to her remains at the Grand Palace beginning June 27, while the nation waits for a cremation date that may be months or more away.
The gates of Bangkok's Grand Palace waited in the evening light as Thailand said goodbye to Princess Bajrakitiyabha, who died on Thursday at 47 after spending nearly four years in a coma following her collapse in December 2022 while training her dogs. The nation had watched and prayed through those years. When the end came, it came quietly.
On Saturday, her body traveled through the city in a slow procession — a silver van moving through streets lined for kilometers with mourners in black. Nurses from her hospital knelt with their foreheads to the ground. Thousands sat along the sidewalks, many weeping silently, hands pressed to their foreheads in a gesture of deep respect. Behind the van came the king, her father.
People had gathered since morning, some arriving at ten with umbrellas against the heat, because Princess Bajrakitiyabha had been something more than a ceremonial figure. Trained as a lawyer, she had served as ambassador to Austria and in the royal security command — but it was her work among ordinary Thais that brought crowds to the streets. She campaigned for women in prison. She built projects for the underprivileged in Chiang Mai. When floods devastated Bangkok in 1995, she and her mother cooked meals, packed medicine, and waded into cut-off neighborhoods to deliver aid by hand. That same year she founded the Friends in Need project under the Thai Red Cross, teaching communities to prepare for disaster and respond when it struck.
Among the mourners was Wanida Lainun, wearing a brooch bearing the princess's image — her aunt had benefited from one of those northern relief projects. Anchalee, who had waited on the street since morning, was the same age as the princess and had met her once as a college student. 'She wouldn't remember me,' Anchalee said, 'but I will always remember her.' She had hoped, like everyone, that the coma would break. 'We waited for years and we all prayed for her to get better.'
Earlier that morning, Anchalee had stood in line at the Grand Palace for the Buddhist funeral bathing ceremony, joining the prime minister and cabinet members in pouring holy water before the princess's portrait. Fifteen days of formal mourning now follow, with public access to her remains at the Grand Palace's throne hall beginning June 27. A cremation date has not yet been set — when King Bhumibol Adulyadej died in 2016, his body lay in state for more than a year. Thailand is still learning when it will say its final farewell.
The gates of Bangkok's Grand Palace stood open as evening light caught the gold leaf of its spires, waiting for a princess who would not walk through them again. Princess Bajrakitiyabha had been gone from public life since December 2022, when she collapsed while training her dogs. Nearly four years passed in a hospital bed, in a coma that the nation watched and prayed would break. On Thursday evening, it ended. She was 47.
On Saturday afternoon, her body made its final journey through the city in a silver van, part of a procession that moved slowly through streets emptied of traffic but lined for kilometers with people who had come to say goodbye. Nurses from the hospital where she had spent those four years stood bowed low to the ground. Thousands of Thai citizens in black clothing sat along the sidewalks, heads bowed, many crying silently. Behind the van carrying the princess came a cream-colored car with her father, the king. Officials in white suits with black armbands saluted as the procession passed. The crowd did not rise to meet it. They remained seated, their hands pressed to their foreheads in the gesture of profound respect.
Since morning, mourners had gathered in the heat and humidity, some arriving as early as ten in the morning with umbrellas and fans to shield themselves from the sun. They came because Princess Bajrakitiyabha had been more than a ceremonial figure. She held a law degree and had served as ambassador to Austria and in the royal security command, but it was her work among ordinary Thais that drew people to the streets. She had campaigned for the rights of women in prison. She had founded projects to help the underprivileged in Chiang Mai. She had responded to disasters not with statements but with her own hands.
When catastrophic floods swept through Bangkok in 1995, the princess and her mother cooked meals themselves, packed medicine, and waded into neighborhoods cut off by water to deliver aid directly to families stranded in their homes. That same year, she established the Friends in Need project under the Thai Red Cross Society, an organization that taught people how to evacuate before disaster struck and provided immediate help when it did. The work continued for decades, pulling families out of poverty one project at a time.
Wanida Lainun wore a brooch bearing the princess's image to the funeral procession. Her aunt had benefited from one of those projects in the north. Anchalee, who asked that her last name not be published, had waited on the streets since ten in the morning. She was the same age as the princess, 47, and had met her once as a college student, though she doubted the princess would remember. "She wouldn't remember me, but I will always remember her," Anchalee said. When the princess first fell ill, Anchalee had held onto hope like everyone else. "We all hoped she could get better from the coma. We waited for years and we all prayed for her to get better."
Earlier that morning, Anchalee had already stood in line at the Grand Palace to participate in the funeral bathing ceremony, a Buddhist ritual in which mourners pour holy water into a ceremonial bowl placed before a portrait of the deceased. The prime minister and members of the cabinet performed the rite alongside ordinary citizens. "We pray for the princess to go to a beautiful place in heaven," Anchalee said.
The formal period of mourning will last fifteen days, marked by Buddhist monastic chanting and merit-making ceremonies. From June 27, the public will be allowed to pay their respects to the princess's remains at the Grand Palace's throne hall. A cremation ceremony has not yet been scheduled. When King Bhumibol Adulyadej died in 2016, his body lay in state for more than a year before the elaborate royal cremation took place. The nation is still waiting to know when it will say its final goodbye.
Citas Notables
The work she's done in Thailand has touched my heart. Herself and her team go there right away to help them.— Anchalee, mourner at the funeral procession
We all hoped she could get better from the coma. We waited for years and we all prayed for her to get better.— Anchalee, reflecting on the four years of the princess's hospitalization
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
What made her different from other members of the royal family in the eyes of ordinary Thais?
She didn't stay in the palace. When floods came, she went to the water. She cooked. She waded in. People remember that kind of presence in a way they don't forget.
Four years in a coma is a long time to hold hope. Did people really believe she might wake up?
They prayed for it. For nearly four years. That's not the same as believing, maybe, but it's what you do when someone matters to you and the alternative is unbearable.
The woman Anchalee said the princess wouldn't remember her. Why does that matter?
Because it shows what the princess meant wasn't about personal connection or being known back. It was about the work itself reaching people. Anchalee's aunt was helped. That's the whole story.
Why did so many people wait in the heat for hours just to see a procession?
To witness. To say: I saw you go. I was here. You mattered. It's a way of making sure the work doesn't disappear with the person.
What happens now, practically speaking?
Fifteen days of ceremonies. Then the public can come to the palace to pay respects. Eventually a cremation, though no one knows when. The waiting continues, just in a different form.