This is a slightly modified version of a postI wrote as I processed Prince’s sudden death in 2016. There is still a hole in my heart. I miss sharing the planet with him. Reposting is a part of how I honor him today.
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I'm a writer. There has always been something cathartic in telling a story. So in the midst of incredible sadness I am sharing my story with you.
My partner says that she went to the movies with a friend one day to see whatever show happened to be playing and ended up seeing Purple Rain, a movie that changed her forever. From that moment on she was obsessed--still is--and thanks Prince for much of the joy she's had in her life.
My path was not as direct. He had to touch my life three times before I paid attention.
1979
Thank you for a funky time, call me up...
On my way to high school driving the first of two cars given to me by my father, the song I Wanna Be Your Lover came on. The music was okay, but the lyrics made my head spin. Chock full of double entendres (I wanna be the only one to make you come...running), I couldn't get it out of my head for days. But trying to balance my perfectionist compulsion with wanting to fit in with my peers had turned high school into a three year long hurricane for me. I had a hard enough time holding on to my shit--I couldn't add one more thing to my burden.
1984
Somebody please tell me what the hell is wrong
The second time I became aware of Prince was when Purple Rain came out. I was newly married and in an unfamiliar place with no friends. I don't have memory of going to or being in the theater (my memory often fails me when it comes to very emotional moments), but I remember buying a beta max copy of the movie as soon as it came out. I coveted that short, fat rectangular box (I still have it), but for reasons I can't explain, I never watched it. Not once.
The third time, as they say, was the charm.
1987
In my darkest hour, you can be my bliss
Given an opportunity I couldn’t refuse, I took a job two hours away from my home and my husband. My mom’s home was closer, and she graciously let me stay with her. I had a great time. I loved my job, had some cool adventures with my mom (like driving 45 minutes to buy a pizza that boasted cheese UNDER the sauce, not over it), and spent time with my sister and brother and their families. Moreover, every other weekend I honeymooned with my husband. Life moved along pretty smoothly.
Except at night. I started having nightmares. At first they came infrequently, and I barely remembered them. As time went on they grew more frequent and more horrifying. Eventually I had bad dreams every night. There seemed to be two themes--black roses and elevators. Black rose dreams woke me up crying. Elevator dreams were worse.
I know now that I was reliving sexual abuse I'd experienced as a child. I was in the same room, largely unchanged--the purple walls I'd begged for, music and my academic awards (evidence of my hypervigilent perfection), and the bed. The bed.
Any time I was alone with my thoughts they drifted to dying. What death would feel like. All the years of my nephews and nieces lives that I'd miss. Pieces of my nightmares started to come to me during the day. I searched continually for distractions, trying to save myself. One day I saw an ad in the newspaper about an upcoming Prince concert. Suddenly, I remembered his movie and that song, and how they made me feel. I needed to feel that again, to go to his show, but I was afraid to go alone. My sister told me her husband was a big fan (her, not so much) and that he'd probably go with me if I had my heart set. I did. He did.
October 1988
Do you want him, or do you want me?
We had tickets in the Nosebleed Section because we'd gotten them so late, but it didn't matter. The entire arena was filled by the presence of the little, ethereally beautiful man on the stage. I was captivated--couldn't take my eyes off him. But the music transformed me. He sang of love and sensuality and peace and God and sex. His voice resonated, reverberated throughout my body. I sometimes make a joke, saying if he'd asked me that night for all of my worldly possessions I would have given them to him.
Except it was the truth.
The next day I went to every record store I could find and bought every tape Prince had ever released. I drove around for hours listening to his music. He didn't become "the soundtrack of my life". He became my reason to keep living.
1991
I want to jump for joy and thank him I'm not alone
I'd gotten a bigger and better job and moved back upstate with my husband. While stalking a record store (my new hobby), I came across Prince's official fan magazine, Controversy. Not only was it heaven on the page with big, color, never before seen pictures of him, but it had a pen pal section. Suddenly, I wasn't alone. I'd found my tribe--men and women who experienced Prince the way I did. Many of them are still my good friends. People who understand me and love me anyway. Miraculously, I also connected with the person who would become my partner. I like to say Prince gave her to me.
Present day
Can't begin to understand how I feel about you, everything I want to do I can't do without you
I've seen Prince in concert over one hundred times. I have every song he's released, and sometimes multiple versions thereof. My partner and I celebrate his milestones--birthday, album releases, awards, performances. Our annual Super Bowl parties celebrate his 2007 award-winning appearance. Many of these dates are commemorated with concerts that hold special meaning. There is not one room in our home in which he's not evident, either in fact or by influence.
My life is filled with good friends who I connect with over songs and youtube clips, through marriages and divorce, through children and grandchildren, over the mountains that life put in front of our best efforts and under the bridges that we fell from. When we're happy, we listen to his music and watch his movies. When we're sad, we do the same. Since his passing, we cling to each other and assure ourselves we'll get through this, and that we'll find joy again. To a point, we all have.
My friends and I asked questions of ourselves and each other. Where would we go from here? Who would we be, if not Prince Fans? How would it feel to not look forward to his next album, the next concert, the next TV appearance?
Over the past long years, some of those questions have been answered. We’re still fans, and still mourning our loss of a man who remains so important to us. His estate has begun to release his music, some that we already have and some new to even us. We’re also seeing previously unseen concert performances. Bittersweet gifts. But nothing compares to having him here.
His music is an indelible part of me. It's in my very core, infused in my cells. His songs remain in the background of everything. My experiences with him and because of him live on.
Getting his autograph in NYC and almost fainting because I thought he'd levitated, a tiny angel dressed in white.
Nearly being "rear-ended" by him in MPLS because he was driving too fast and we were going too slow.
Hearing gunshot and fearing for our lives as we left Glam Slam, his former nightclub.
Flying to England for concerts and spending a sleepless night at the only after show I ever attended.
Going to his store in MPLS so many times the manager told his staff "Play whatever videos they want to see".
Grieving with him, from a distance, when he lost his child.
Meeting pen pals. (I LOVE AND AM GRATEFUL FOR EACH OF YOU.)
Standing outside at 2am in line for a show, with some of the craziest and friendliest people I've ever met.
Feeling time stand still when he died, and then watching the world turn purple.
Even as I think about it now, my eyes well with tears. City monuments, bridges, buildings were illuminated in purple lights. The Weather Channel App showed an illustrated picture of the sky with purple raindrops. All in tribute to him. I’d never seen anything like it before or since.
Never say the words "They're gone"
The world is off of its axis. I miss him every day. My heart aches, and in quiet moments it's hard to breathe. I still can’t watch the tributes. I can't even listen to more than a couple of his songs or watch a whole video at one time without sinking into overwhelming sadness.
I wish I could tell him a few things:
Dearest Prince,
I am ever grateful for the beautiful ways you've touched my life and the many ways you saved me. Thank you for the people that are in my Purple Tribe because of you, supporting each other to get through this thing called life.
I hope you find, in this part of your journey, the peace that eluded you in your time on earth. I am ever blessed to have shared the planet with you.
I know to some this is insanity, but it is my Truth:
It was always love.
Music effects us on a physical level as well as emotional. Our breath quickens, heart rate increases in response to some types of music. Music can calm those same functions. It's logical that listening to music which enhances emotional responses in writers helps them express those feelings in their writing.
We may not ever be lucky enough to find a song that inspires us to write a blockbuster movie, as Bon Jovi's Slippery When Wet did for Young Guns II, but we can hope that it spices up what we do write. There is so much music available that it would be impossible to NOT find a song that elicits the feeling we're trying to put on the page.
