Yesterday marked a year. One whole stinking year. I never thought myself one to grieve over a celebrity, but yet, here I am, a year later, still grieving. To some, it doesn’t make sense. To others, they’re right here with me. But how do you explain the loss and pain over someone you didn’t really know, never really shared anything directly personal, but yet their loss feels like someone ripped out your side.
Since last April, from the day I heard the news that Prince died, I’ve had this weird haze over me at times. The news of his death shook me hard. Almost as hard as the death of family members and friends. Because as irrational and illogical and unrealistic as it was and is, Prince was somewhat like family to me. That distant cousin that you never met but somehow, felt a close bond.
The music now is bittersweet. The things I previously thought were brilliant seem moreso, and the songs that I disliked are a little less annoying. The songs that moved me before resonate even more. I get wistful when I hear certain songs, or watch certain videos.
This has been a year of remembering.
I remember how I got into “that skinny motherfucker with the high voice.” I remember how I used to study the lyrics, writing them down over and over, then later becoming a part of an online group who dissected the lyrics even further.
I remember the first of his movies I saw. I remember trying to find a way to say that the bad movies weren’t that bad.
I remember rushing to the record store, being eager to be the first one to buy one of the albums. I remember my first argument with someone who would become a brother to me over buying an album instead of spending the money elsewhere.
I remember how I felt the first time I saw him in concert and I was in awe. I remember meeting him in person and being thrilled and scared at the same time. I remember the looks I got the 3 times I used his songs as the basis for sermons.
I remember laughing when my son was born and having the time he was born correspond to one of the songs. I remember playing his music to my son when he was a month old and how he smiled.
I remember the joy I felt when I first discovered an online community of people who loved the music as much, and sometimes more, than I did. I remember the friends I made because of him, and in many cases, the friends I still have, because of him.
I remember rushing out of church right after preaching to attend a concert, still in my ministerial garb.
I remember creating my personal website and how important it was to have a page dedicated to his music.
I remember becoming engaged to someone who I met purely because of our connection to him and how I quoted his lyrics when I proposed.
I remember how I felt when I got the title of one of his songs tattooed on my arm.
I remember using the music as comfort and inspiration. I remember finding solace in the melodies and the lyrics. I remember how sometimes I felt he was singing to me.
I also remember almost being sued by him. I remember being disgusted when he went around with “slave” written on his face. I remember being turned off when he became a Jehovah’s Witness and I stopped buying his music. I remember when he turned on the fans. I remember the hypocrisy. I remember the condescension. I remember the disrespect. I remember being angry with him. I also remember still loving the music.
And I remember, last year, getting that first text. Then tagged in comments on Facebook. Watching CNN. Then the phone calls. The e-mails. And I felt devastated, empty, numb. I remember not being able to stop the tears. He was gone. I remember being in denial. Then I remember finally accepting it.
I remember. I remember the man who thrilled and infuriated me. I remember the man who gave a lot and in reality, demanded a lot in return.
Most of all, I remember the genius. I remember the passion. I remember wanting to be a part of that. To be like that. To share in that.
I remember. Not only will I not forget, but I won’t allow others to forget.
I will remember that in my lifetime, I got to witness what genius looked like. I got to be in the presence of that genius, both in person and at a distance. I will remember that music can break your heart and mend it. Because my heart is still broken.
Most of all, I am thankful. I am thankful for the music. For being inspired to love music and be a person that can embrace music, in all its forms. I am thankful that I still have the music and I am hopeful of the music that is to come.
I remember Prince. I will remember Prince. For those who love music, I hope you will remember who and what caused you to love music. For me, it’s Prince. I was given a gift.
I think what I regret is that I never really got to say thank you.
So, Prince, thank you.
I hope you finally got to see The Dawn.
Peace and Be Wild
Musings of a Visionary Rebel 