I have to say something about Prince’s death yesterday because, honestly, he was probably my first PoA. I remember when Michael Jackson died and everyone went crazy. People were crying. I thought, “Are you kidding me? You act like you knew the guy…” Well, now I understand.

I think I cried all day yesterday. No, I mean, I sobbed. I had devoted so much fantasy time to that man for a good ten years–I had every single solitary one of his albums, his 45s, his cassettes and his CDs; I knew every song, I could tell you which album each song came from; in high school, my walls were painted purple with the big EYES from the Purple Rain album; I even lost my virginity to Purple Rain with a kid who I believed was the closest thing I could get to Prince–I devoted so much emotional time to that man that when I heard the news, I felt I had lost an old love. I lost a part of my identity that took years to build.

Aside from my father, Prince was probably the man who influenced me most, good and bad, and fueled my love addiction. Everything I was running away from, everything I wanted to be, everything I couldn’t attain was wrapped up in that man. He held all the answers for a girl who was clueless and afraid of love and life. What’s more, I think he changed the chemistry of who I was the night I first saw him in concert. As he sat at his piano, screaming the lyrics to The Beautiful Ones, “I gotta know…Is it him or is it me…” Prince reconfigured my DNA that night, and there was no going back. Without him, I couldn’t tell you what I would look like today, what I might have become.

Ironically, or coincidentally, both my father and Prince died at age 57. And ironically, or coincidentally, they both died on the same exact date–April 21. This is significant. There has always been a mystique about the world for me–an innocent belief that the universe aligns certain major events in your life–as if someone behind a curtain is trying to tell you something–I may be invisible but there’s a purpose and a plan, and I’m going to drop little clues to keep you guessing. I may or may not have picked that belief up by stitching together a myriad of the lyrics Prince wrote–but, his spirituality imbued with sexuality was the perfect message of inspiration and validation I needed to ultimately know that it was OK to be me.

Thank you, Prince.

Reports are trickling in. They think the “flu” scenario was a hoax. They think, instead, that he overdosed. And that when his plane made an immediate landing last week, it was not because of dehydration, but rather, to be rushed to the hospital to receive the “second shot” (Narcan) because of opiate overdose. If that is the case, then both my father and Prince died in a similar fashion. My father’s addiction to prescription opiates was well-known. We just didn’t think it would kill him at 57. Like Prince, my father was iconic to me. Immortal. It’s a little shocking to lose someone when you’re belief in them is so unrealistic. Yes, that’s a direct message to the love addict in us who believes the guy we’re with, the one who emotionally ignores us, treats us poorly or even abuses us is not who we think he is. He’s no prince of perfection. He’s no god.  That is to say, it’s time to get real with your perceptions.

A girlfriend of mine sent me a poignant quote. I leave you with this:

Prince was so utterly, effortlessly enshrouded in mystique that he seemed other-than-human, to the point where mortality never figured into our calculations.

Amen. I’ll leave it at that.