The Dance

Back to the beginning

Kirk found her a few hours later, and called to her to wake her. 'Emma, T and the lawyer are here. They'd like to see the documents Prince left for you. Can you handle that right now?'

'Sure Kirk, give me a minute to put a face on.' Emma walked into the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and shuddered. She was a mess. Fixing her makeup, brushing her hair, she walked barefoot from the bedroom to the office, sitting down behind her husband's desk.

There was a brief conversation about memorial service details, and the documents Prince left for Emma. Looking on the computer, Emma found duplicates scanned into her folder, and printed copies for the lawyer and T. She thanked them for their help, and called her pastor, lining up a date and time for a small, private memorial service.

After they left, Kirk sat down across the desk from Emma. He gently asked, 'What do you want to do now?'

'Kirk, I want to make it through this week. I'm guessing by the end of the week we'll have Prince's body back. He wants to be cremated, and I want to get that done. We need to do a private memorial for us, his family, and all his band members, and I mean all, no matter how far back, who want to come. He specifically said in a letter he left for me that he didn't want a public memorial televised mess, as he put it, so we won't do one, though his fans won't like that.'

'Public memorial televised mess,' Kirk repeated, while chuckling to himself. 'Sounds just like him.'

'I know you can help me figure out who to invite,' Emma continued.

'Then, I'd like to go to Switzerland for a week. I'll contact the hotel and see if I can get the penthouse back. I have so many memories from those four days, I'd like to go back to where it all started.'

'Okay, Emma, just let me know a date, and I'll get the plane ready for you so you can get there.'

'Thanks, Kirk. Have you thought about what you want to do?'

'Like you, I want to get Prince's body taken care of. Then I would like to go down to the Caribbean house. Prince and I had several trips down there before he met you, and I think that will be the right place for me to say my goodbyes.'

'Sounds good. Kirk, thank you in advance for the help I know you are going to be. In the letter he left for me, he let me know he put a trust in place for you, for his siblings, and for me, the girls, and the grandchildren.

'I remember him coming to me on Tuesday after that awful night coming back from Atlanta, letting me know he had gotten everything put in place. It freaked me out at the time, and I asked if he had some sort of premonition, but he was very matter of fact about the whole thing, just said it was part of the wake up call he got that night.'

Kirk just shook his head.

'No, Emma, I don't think he did have a premonition or feeling something was inevitable. I think he thought this would keep something from happening. He didn't believe in luck, but he did believe in fate, and he was always pulled between following God's will and doing whatever he wanted.'

'I know you are going to miss him even more than I will, because he was part of your life for so long.'

'We are the lucky ones, Emma. We knew how deeply he could love.'

Getting the dimensions for the container they would be picking up at the funeral home, Emma took one of the throws Prince used in his dressing rooms all over the world, and created a beautiful bag to carry him home in. Things went as she had planned for the memorial, which was well attended by band members from all the eras of Prince's musical history. Then she told the girls, Randee and Bob, and Prince's family she was going to take a week to herself to mourn.

Two weeks after the day time stopped for Emma, she was back in the penthouse where she first fell in love with Prince. She spent a week sitting on the loveseat in the bedroom or the sofa in the living room, looking at the mountains, taking long baths, and mourning her dead husband, while echoes of their first conversations wandered around her head, bringing beautifully bittersweet memories to her. On the floor beside her, wherever she was in the penthouse, was a colorful silk bag holding Prince's remains.

Every day, after dressing in an outfit Prince had chosen for her on the trip that changed her life, before Emma sat down with her morning coffee, she would put another recording in the player. Then she would lean back on the sofa, looking at the view they had once shared, and let Prince's voice wash over her as he told her all the stories he'd recorded for her. She loved hearing him play his piano or guitar as well as the beautiful voice she cherished, while he described parts of his life she hadn't experienced, or told her once again how much he loved her, and why. Every recording began the same way-'Hello, love of my life. Here's what I'd like to tell you today...'

A/N-This is where my story ends. I hope you have enjoyed Emma's journey with Prince. Thanks for taking this journey with me!

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W. H. Auden