I was on my way home from New Hampshire, relaxed in the passenger seat after a very busy morning. My husband called me and said, Prince is dead. Don’t joke like that Honey, that’s not funny. He said, I’m not joking. Prince is dead. I had the rest of the car ride to go through email and to listen to the broadcasts that were starting to be aired. Wow. And then the mourning started…actually it is still going on. I grew up listening and dancing to Prince. I marveled at how this little man could be filled with so much talent. I never hoped to become his beloved–he only liked women who were far lighter in complexion than I. But I sure did enjoy watching and experiencing him…his sensuous dance… his mischievous smile…his coiffed hair…his fashion forward clothes…and his singing. He’d hit some notes and I wondered–am I still here on earth or have I been transported to heaven. So we lost Prince…and the world turned purple and mourned. The Zakim Bridge was bathed in purple lights. The Current, a radio station in Minnesota, played his entire library of songs, from A to Z, for 26 hours. And FaceBook wept…friends from all across the country and around the world shared their Prince stories. And a little tiny tiny bit of me died too. Was gently cremated and thrown into the wind.