“I’d Like to See My Platinum Jubilee”: Inside the Late Queen’s Cancer Battle, Her Final Days, and the Rift That Shadowed Her Farewell

Paul Burrell, once the loyal butler to both Queen Elizabeth II and Princess Diana, has opened a window into the final chapter of the late Queen’s life. His words paint a portrait both tender and heartbreaking: a monarch who carried the burden of the Crown until her last breath, yet who, in private, was simply an elderly woman facing mortality with quiet courage.

A Private Plea

Burrell recalls one moment that crystallized the Queen’s humanity. Sitting in the stillness of her private chambers at Windsor, she looked at him with fragile resolve. “I’d like to see my Platinum Jubilee. Can you keep me alive for that?”

It was not a command, nor even a plea to doctors, but a whisper of hope. The Queen, who had dedicated seventy years to service, wanted to mark that milestone with her people. For her, the Jubilee was not about parades and pageantry—it was about saying one final thank you.

“She knew time was short,” Burrell explains. “She could feel her body failing. But she was determined. She wanted that celebration, not for herself, but for her subjects. That was her farewell.”

Indeed, Elizabeth II lived to see her Platinum Jubilee in June 2022, waving from the Buckingham Palace balcony with a smile that belied her hidden battle. Behind the curtains, however, the struggle with cancer was exacting a quiet toll.

A Queen in Pain, Yet Unyielding

Burrell describes those final months as a mixture of endurance and grace. Though frailty bent her frame, she refused to let the public see weakness. The Queen insisted on walking, greeting, smiling—knowing that for millions, she remained the embodiment of stability.

“She bore the pain with a kind of stoicism that can only come from a lifetime of duty,” Burrell reflects. “Even when she was exhausted, she would ask, ‘What do my people need of me today?’”

Her faith, too, sustained her. Each night, prayers echoed through Windsor’s quiet halls. For her, death was not to be feared but embraced when the time came. What she feared, Burrell says, was leaving her duty unfinished.

The Day the Nation Fell Silent

On 8 September 2022, the inevitable came. Balmoral, the Scottish retreat that had always been her sanctuary, became the place of her final breath. Those close to her described the moment as peaceful: the Queen surrounded by the stillness of the Highlands, slipping away as gently as the setting sun.

But if her passing was serene, the hours that followed were anything but. The family gathered, and with them came the tensions that had long fractured the House of Windsor.

When Harry Arrived

Prince Harry, flying in from California, did not reach Balmoral before his grandmother’s passing. By the time he arrived, the great oak doors of the castle had already closed upon the Queen’s earthly life.

Burrell recalls the poignancy of Harry entering a household heavy with grief, yet also strained by old wounds. “He was devastated, of course. She was his beloved grandmother, the one who had often shielded him from the storm. But there was also distance—years of it—that no tears could immediately heal.”

Why Meghan Was Not Welcome

Conspicuously absent was Meghan Markle. According to Burrell, her presence was deemed unwelcome at that fragile moment. The Queen’s final hours, he says, were to be free from conflict, free from the shadows of controversy.

“This was not a time for division,” Burrell insists. “The family needed to be with her as Elizabeth, their mother and grandmother—not as a monarch overshadowed by disputes.”

The decision was painful, yet it reflected the deep fractures that still run through the royal family. For many, Meghan’s absence underscored just how much trust had been lost.

A Legacy Larger Than Death

In the days that followed, Britain entered a period of mourning unmatched in modern memory. Crowds stretched for miles to glimpse her coffin, flowers carpeted palace gates, and silence fell across London streets.

And yet, amid all the ceremony, Burrell reminds us of the woman behind the Crown—the one who whispered to him about her Jubilee, the one who bore her illness in silence, the one who thought always of her people.

“Elizabeth II was more than a monarch,” he says softly. “She was the nation’s grandmother. She wanted to leave not with grandeur, but with love.”

The Final Lesson

Perhaps her greatest gift was this: a reminder that even the mightiest symbols of tradition are, at their core, profoundly human. A Queen who ruled through wars, scandals, and shifting centuries ended her reign not with a command, but with a request: to be allowed a little more time with her people.

She was granted that wish. Her Platinum Jubilee became her last triumph, a moment of joy before the curtain fell. And when the end came, she faced it as she had faced every challenge before—with dignity, resolve, and love.

The Crown may pass from one head to another, but the memory of that quiet plea will remain forever.