I was 10 when Prince first came through my speakers; Controversy didn't just play; it supernaturally reached inward and touched my soul. From that moment, it wasn't just music, Prince somehow knew me, the songs became an escape from everything around me — the trauma, violence and fear. They became my safe place. There's the memorabilia I've collected, the countless times I saw Purple Rain or how much money spent on concerts. The tweet he replied to. Meeting Prince and sharing what his music meant, telling him about my little boy who so inspired after witnessing his first Prince concert perched on daddy's shoulders, spent days singing into a broomstick performing for the neighborhood, I'm certain that joyful image inspired the Musicology video. His music held me through cancer, hubbies near fatal car accident, health scares, stress of running a business, the beautiful chaos of raising kids, losses, tears and laughter. When Prince died, the music that carried me fell quiet. It hurt too much to listen, to face that it would be no more. In sadness, I found Paisley. A tiny black and white Toy Cavoodle in a pet shop window, pressing his paw to the glass as if he already knew my heart. That puppy was my joy, my love, my healing. Then the unthinkable happened. At doggy day care, a man took his life, and the law reduced my baby to damaged property. The tiny heartbeat that had sewn me back together was gone, and I broke all over again. God made me stronger than I believed and I leaned into Him and my family's love. I am slowly healing and forever grateful for the two souls who lifted me when I needed it most. I still see them in dreams, peaceful and whole, woven into the same melody. Beautiful Paisley and the GOAT himself, serenading my fur baby with his guitar and the most angelic version of Paisley Park. They will always be, forever in my life.
