On Thursday morning, I saw the headline in my feed about Prince’s untimely death. My mouth opened, I gasped out loud and said the word, “no.” The sound of my voice stayed in my office space. The next thirty minutes were spent trying to corroborate if what I read on the internet was indeed true. After several sites confirmed his passing, I sat in my chair for a few minutes to let this information percolate and immediately thought of some of my favorite Prince songs like “Raspberry Beret, Purple Rain (of course) and When Doves Cry.” I am capable (even after all these years) of reciting every single word of a handful of Prince songs and the reality that I won’t be able to listen to any new music by him leaves me with a palpable sense of sadness.
I couldn’t sit on my grief. I texted my husband and sister to relay this news. Later in the day, my sister and I conversed about his passing and we both exchanged some of the same words – “Can you believe it? What a loss.” All day Thursday I listened to various reports about his demise and all of his sightings around town before his death. I saw a video of an acoustic version of Purple Rain a fan captured at one of his concerts in Atlanta. It brought me to tears.
I never met Prince. I didn’t have a chance to attend any of his concerts, but yet his death hit me hard. Why did I mourn the loss of someone who I had never met? I suspect Prince reminds me of my youth. I was eleven years old when Purple Rain debuted, on the cusp of my teen years, the thrum of awkwardness and introspection a theme in my life at the time. When I first heard “When Doves Cry” I loved the beat and natural rhythm of the music. Much later when I was old enough to drive, I remember sliding in a Prince CD and listening to his songs with my car windows down and stereo so loud I knew everyone on the street could hear his music.
Why feel sad for someone who only appeared in my life in fragments? We hold on to those who reveal a truth about ourselves. Prince taught me it was acceptable to be out-of-the box, bold and claim the truth you seek. His music was different— he was not like other mainstream artists and I appreciated this particular individuality especially in a time in my life where I struggled to determine how I fit in. His presence and the way he carried himself on stage taught me it was acceptable to embrace the periphery.
I mourn Prince, as I did Robin Williams because their work unearthed a personal truth. These artists helped me feel less alone, without enduring any of the grief or adversity which comes in a regular relationship. I saw the best sides of Prince, the ones that catapulted him to fame. He spent the last few days doing what he loved (if reports are believed) – he performed his music in Atlanta, rode his bike the day before and according to those in contact with him, appeared in good spirits. No one will ever completely understand the depth of his sadness or sorrow, but yet his passing also presents another truth I’ve long believed – there is the story we see and the story that is really happening.
Again a lesson – It’s time to claim kindness, be less hard on others, as well as our selves. Let’s try to make people feel more comfortable even if they are different. Let tolerance be a refrain we keep repeating to one another.
RIP Prince Rogers Nelson. Thank you.
Image: purple by marie romantica via Flickr.
Welcome! I am a lawyer turned freelance writer, essayist, and editor. On staff at Literary Mama and the co-founder and co-editor of the literary journal, The Sunlight Press, my essays and reported work have appeared in The Washington Post, The Lily, Saveur, Civil Eats, Brain, Child, ESPN and elsewhere. I am currently at work on a memoir on grief and culture and how it provides perspective on life’s ordinary graces. I invite you to appreciate the ordinary with me. I hope my daily practice of seeing the magic in the mundane helps you celebrate and find more of these moments in your life too.
I felt the loss as well, Rudri. Prince was a rare gem in this world. A true artist.
One of a kind. Maybe that’s why the loss feels so deep. We don’t see his kind of genius often.
I feel a deep sadness, it is a great loss.
He lived through his music and it resonated with many generations. This is a loss that contains multitudes.
I feel this one a lot myself. He was a childhood here, and still an adult one too. Like Alan Rickman and David Bowie, I felt changed by his work.
It’s a huge loss to our world.
Tamara,
You point out an important component of his loss – we’re forever changed personally because of his art. This is what makes the sadness linger.
He was a great artist, and his legacy will live on through the ages. I am saddened by any loss of life. When we are touched emotionally by someone we don’t know by their talents we collectively feel the loss.
His artistry and presence bring one word to mind – legend. He will be missed.
Very beautiful Rudri. Prince was a true artist, his music made us feel something more than a nice beat.
Thanks, Lisa. Yes, you are right. His music and art certainly helped people feel less alone.
Thank you Rudri. You have expressed my very thoughts. I cried for two days. Yes, my youth, yes, fun times with my now deceased best friend Joan, at a time in my life when I really felt alive! He had no wife, no children and no parents alive-only his music and a few close friends. Alone and lonely are two different things, however, as one gets older the latter is more prevalent, sometimes when the room is full.
Lauren,
I am so sorry that Prince’s loss caused you to mourn the passage of time and your best friend, Joan. I understand why you cried for days. I read that Prince passed up many opportunities to market himself – losing out on millions of dollars. He decided to dedicate himself to his music for the sheer pleasure of the craft. xo
I actually thought about this same question. I thought about the why quite a bit and I think it’s that a piece of my youth died with him. I have such clear, find, fun memories associated with some of his songs.
Cathy,
It’s the longing for youth, I think, that jarred me the most about his passing. It’s certainly a loss for the world in other ways – he appeared to love the process and craft of music, instead of the marketing of it – a rarity these days.
Thanks for adding your voice. xo
I came as a student to USA and had instant liking for Michael Jackson ( for his dance moves and music) and Prince ( for his music). I live 3 miles away from Paisley Park and have visited the place almost daily since Thursday! I’m trying to understand why I feel sad about Prince’s death more than when I heard death of MJ! Maybe something in Prince’s music touched my soul more?
Sunil,
I suspect Prince’s loss reminded you of the nostalgia of those early days and perhaps that is why his loss is so palpable. I am certain the outpouring of grief at his estate is one that is difficult to witness. Take care.
Lovely, Rudri. This is so true: “His presence and the way he carried himself on stage taught me it was acceptable to embrace the periphery.” His death hit me so hard–I still can’t get over it. He was Minnesota in so many ways. I’ve been kicking myself because I never went out to Paisley Park for one of his late-night concerts. Or even saw him in a bigger venue, though I listened to his music all the time. I always thought there would be time to do that. So when I heard about the gathering Thursday night in front of First Avenue, I knew I had to go. I had to act on my desire instead of waiting. And I’m so grateful that I went. His music and his spirit and our collective love for both of those things permeated the air as thousands of people came together to grieve.
Thanks for the beautiful post.