I'm Grieving Prince, and That's OK

Prince died yesterday and I woke up this morning thinking maybe that didn't really happen, that couldn't of happened...that maybe it was a rotten dream.

No such luck.

There are certain artists who mean just a little bit more and Prince was one of them, so when I heard the news yesterday at work it felt like a punch to the gut, as it obviously did for so many people around the world.

From across the office I overheard a co-worker say "Oh my God, Prince died."

I got online and I saw the news. I stood up from my desk and yelled (truly yelled) what?/no!/what?/it can't be true/various other things loudly, kind of forgetting for the moment where exactly I was.

Then, not really caring where I am, I begin to sob at my desk.

Did I mention I work at an investment firm?

When I had kind of collected myself I said to my coworker who sits next to me (who is much younger than me) "Jeez, sorry about that." I don't know why I felt the need to apologize but I did, I was a mess.

She was sweet and said that it was OK; we were chatting and she also mentioned that she couldn't think of any musician of her generation whose death could possibly have that kind of impact on her.

We finished up and as I sat back in my chair, I thought about how sad that was. I wondered is there truly no music artist today who makes an impact? Who is important? Is everything today so fast and furious, with people always looking for the next great thing that no one is pausing to latch on to anything and realize how great it is? Or maybe nothing today is great? I don't know...right now I'm just grateful I grew up surrounded by greatness. Like David Bowie. Like Prince.

I am a proud, card carrying member of the MTV Generation and the video for Little Red Corvette was my introduction to The Purple One. Purple Rain is the soundtrack to my life in 1984, I got the cassette tape for Christmas that year and played it until it eventually died and I had to buy another one. I would play that tape in the car, in the house and in the little boom box that I kept in the bathroom as I showered. I could not be away from Prince.

We all know Prince was so talented and so, so sexy. As a 13 year old girl I just knew that I thought he was extremely hot and never questioned the fact that he was wearing a blouse and heels. Thank you Prince, for that.

Today I'm still upset. I'm still in shock. As I hugged another coworker who stopped to comfort me (my work is pretty great) I thanked her and let her know that while some may see it as weird or silly to cry over a musician's death...a strangers death, that he was no stranger to me.

He was my mid-eighties. He was my youth. He was my me time (see above shower reference.) He was my time with friends. (You had a Purple Rain themed birthday slumber party too, right?) He was my fashion influence, my guitar god, and my fantasy petite motorcycle man.

Last night I watched Purple Rain on a loop and I was 13 again. I giggled at Morris and Jerome, admired Wendy and Lisa and cried again during The Beautiful Ones.

And I'll cry more today. And next week. And that's OK. I'll always have the music and he'll always be here.

And thank God I grew up during a magic time -- when musicians were more than their songs that played on the radio. They were a part of who we were, and are now a part of who we have become today.

Lori's website, Drawn to the '80s, is where her 5-year-old drew the hit songs of the 1980s including many a Prince song like Raspberry Beret, When Doves Cry, Let's Go Crazy and of course, Purple Rain.