Prince

Two days ago, I went to my local library to pick up a book. As I walked through the door, the librarian gasped, throwing her hands up to her face as she stared at her computer.

“Oh my God! Prince is dead!”

“What?!” I and a patron said.

“He just died. Prince is dead. He’s dead.”

Now you have to understand me to get my reaction. I said,

“That’s unbelievable,” in a flat unemotional voice. The librarian was in shock, eyes wide with distress and sorrow. I kept going through the motions of getting my book checked out. I did not know how to react because I did not know how I was feeling.

“This is a real loss,” I said. This I knew to be true, intellectually.

“Were you a fan?” a man asked the librarian, as he busily punched his cell phone.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.”

My book checked out, I headed to the door.

“I’m so sorry to give you such bad news,” the librarian said.

“No. No,” I answered in a meaningless way. I drove the four miles to my house, parked in my garage, unloaded my groceries and book. I went directly to my Facebook page. Here is what I was thinking:

What if this isn’t real? What if this is one of those Internet hoaxes? What if he is really alive? Even as I write this I keep thinking that he is still alive.

He isn’t.

I have only felt this devastated about the death of an entertainer on two occasions: when Otis Redding died in a plane crash and when Marvin Gaye was shot by his father. I was very young when Redding died and quickly got over it. However, to this day whenever I hear one of his songs, I wish Marvin Gaye was still alive. This is not because I think he would have continued to produce brilliant music (though he probably would have), but because his death left a hole in the fabric of the world, one that has never mended. I suspect the same will be said of Prince.

After posting on Facebook an experience I had seeing Prince perform in person, I went on YouTube and found a video of Prince performing “Purple Rain.” That is when my sorrow broke. I sobbed and sobbed. As I thought about this brilliant performer, I kept wondering where he was now at the moment. At times like these when a person’s essence still remains in the atmosphere, death seems an impossibility. There cannot be a time when a person no longer exists. They must go … somewhere.

I have felt this way about my mother for years. It doesn’t seem possible that she could no longer exist. I think about her, dream about her, quite often. I hear her talking to me. Though she has been gone for over 20 years, I have only recently stopped feeling depressed in October, the month of her birth. Oddly, I never dreamed of my father until last night. In my dream, I was lying in my bed crying. He came into the room, put his hand on my back and asked me,

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m lonely,” I said. He patted my back in a tentative way and I felt comforted because he tried. He tried in that moment to make me feel better. It was a vivid dream, so vivid that I was crying as I woke up. And I felt loved as I emerged from sleep. I felt loved and peaceful.

Was this dream somehow connected to Prince’s death? I don’t know. Understand: I was not a huge fan. I had lost sight of his recent career accomplishments. From what I have gleaned, he continued to produce music with exuberant skill. It is clear to me that his music is a valuable gift to the world. He was a role model for artists: keep innovating, keep practicing your art, no matter what.

Looked at from this perspective, my sorrow shifts into appreciation for life and the ability to greet yet another day with joy and the music of being alive. I am smiling as I write this.