Nobody puts baillee in the corner

Three months ago, I lost my superhero. My grandfather was kind, smart, and compassionate. He valued humor above almost everything, and as I said at his funeral, he never failed to make you feel like the most special person in the entire room.

A week before my grandfather died, one of my pop idols died. Prince taught me how to throw out convention and look fabulous doing it. I sang “Kiss” during my first stint at karaoke, and I know almost every word to every song on the Purple Rain soundtrack.

Now, these two men never knew each other, and honestly, I would love to hear my grandfather’s opinion on Prince, but they both had profound impacts on my life, and I’ve been missing them both tremendously.

(I shouldn’t even have to say this, but to clarify, my grandfather obviously meant A LOT more to me, but Prince did have a weirdly profound impact on my life).

There’s a customer at work who reminds me so much of my grandfather that I am equal parts happy and sad to serve him. I’ve been especially missing my grandfather lately because I’m stuck in a delightfully awkward period in my life, and I feel like he’d know exactly what to say.  He was good about that. He’d probably make some wise cracks about living in Austin before telling me how proud he was of me. He’d clasp my hand and tell me everything would be okay and that he loved me. That little piece of reassurance was all I ever needed. Even when his memory started to go, he never forgot a single accomplishment. I’m missing that more than anything.

On the flip side, I never met Prince. We were never in the same room at the same time, and I was only in the same city as him once during SXSW. But Prince’s music smooths my soul to its very core. I still cry every single time I listen to the song “Purple Rain.” My sister and I have never failed to miss an opportunity for a good “Raspberry Beret” reference or parody song. He was a legend, and he was a weirdly powerful force in my life that I’ve only truly started to appreciate over the past few months. 

For someone who relies on nostalgia for most of their social media presence, jokes, and all-around identity, loss can be especially hard. Adulthood already makes you question a lot of things (like how to make a perfect baked potato), so the idea of death is intensified by 1000 percent. (I never learned how to properly deal with emotions, so per usual, I’ll implore pop culture references and humor to address a serious issue.)

In situations like this, I can’t help but always think of the episode of Daria where Jake has a heart attack, and Daria discusses the realization of her own parents’ mortality. The older I get, the more clout this holds. Life is delicate balance of gain and loss, and when you lose, you can lose big. Every little moment becomes more and more precious, and everything is a little more fragile. (I avoided using a cliche, and now I have “Bored to Death” stuck in my head. By the way, I hope Tom DeLonge is having fun hunting aliens, and I’m going to have to go ahead and end this sidebar before I have a “monkey, monkey, underpants” moment.) There are going to be a lot of really shitty moments you don’t think you can get over, and there are going to be a lot of moments where you bite your nails, cry so hard your eyes hurt, and challenge everything you know. You’re going to beg and plead and pray and scream. You’re not going to write blog posts truly about death until over three months later because it’s going to take you that long to process everything. But you have to let it happen.

You have to bite your nails to the quick and remember why you haven’t had a cigarette in a really, really, really long time. You’ll buy eye drops. You’ll begin to make sense out of everything. You’ll start accepting and understanding and rationalizing and quieting. You’ll start to understand why the simple things are better and how every little thing has some bizarre and greater purpose. I miss my grandfather like crazy, but all of the things he has done for me have molded me into the person I am. He’s prepared me for this moment in my life; I don’t know why he left when he did, but I know that he taught me everything he was meant to.

Prince’s music still speaks to me, and a lot of my fondest memories are based around it. Prince has provided the soundtrack to many a’ karaoke night, road trip, late night, and even schedule writing. His voice has helped me through some amazing days and awful nights. I realized while writing this how he was like this omnipresent musical being who didn’t make his way to the forefront until I truly learned to appreciate him during my adolescence and beyond. Party on like it’s 1999, you crazy diamond. (I was going to use another word, but I’m going home this weekend, and I don’t want to make my mother or doves cry).

If you can take anything away from this, remember that everything matters. Always choose your loved ones over going to bed earlier. Don’t take anything for granted. Most importantly, be excellent to one another, and party on, dudes.

(P.S. If I don’t write for a couple of days, know it’s because I’ve started making plans to have KP cryogenically frozen because having a ghost mom is a little too overdone.)