His call came at 1:00. I was sitting at my desk, revising a manuscript when I answered. I still get little shockwaves of panic whenever one of the kids call my cell. A million and one scenarios cross my mind in the split second it takes to answer,
“Did you hear?” my son asked. “Prince died.”
Again a million and one thoughts—Prince Harry? Prince William? Since when was my son interested in the royal family?
“Your Prince,” he said.
“That’s not true,” I shouted into the phone. “Prince isn’t dead.” He couldn’t be. I did a quick search online. No. My son offered his condolences and we hung up.
My daughter called next.
“Mom, are you okay?” she asked concerned.
My other daughter called on her way home from work. “I’m sorry mom.” she offered.
Prince wasn’t a friend or a relative. Outside of my fantasies, we had no romantic entanglements, but he was part of my kids’ legacy.
Years before they could even utter the words Prince or sing the lyrics to When the Doves Cry, or Purple Rain, I sat in an apartment in Malden, Massachusetts with my best friend Kim, listening again and again to the Dirty Mind album while staring longingly at his cover. I grew to love purple because of Prince, dated a Prince fanatic who only wrote in Prince shorthand-this is 4 u. But it was at age nineteen while a sophomore at Pratt Institute, that their connection to Prince began. It was Saturday night, and mourning a recent break up, I planned to spend the night in bed crying. My roommate insisted I go with her to the Prince Purple Rain party on campus. Sure, I loved Prince, but could I really spend the night dancing to his songs with a broken heart?
Apparently so, because when a handsome illustration major asked me to dance, I did. And then we danced some more. And talked a little too. And the next day he stopped by to say hello. And then I stopped by his room to say hello. And the rest, as they say is history.
I loved Prince, but he loved the spin off group The Time. We had epic arguments over who was the better artist Prince or Michael Jackson (you know my vote.) And I worried I couldn’t move forward with someone who didn’t fully understand the greatness of His Royal Purpleness.
But we did move forward. Past college into marriage. A dog, a house, one kid, then three more in rapid succession. On family trips, our six CD changer was filled with Prince and the songs that were once mine, became ours. My oldest says she still counts Kiss as one of her all-time greats. I remember my frustration with having to skip past International Lover. I liked to sing solo on How Come U Don’t Call Me Anymore. This six of us bobbed and danced and sang his entire repertoire over bridges, to family reunions in North Carolina, sightseeing in Williamsburg, Virginia, summer vacations in Massachusetts.
“You guys wouldn’t be here without Prince,” we once told them.
Their condolences meant he was an integral part of my past, our family, and their legacy.