Everybody’s Favorite Grandma

Dear Friend,

Dolly Parton died today. And that’s a strange sentence to write about a woman I never met, because somehow it feels like somebody we knew is gone.

When we were talking about it today, Bee said something that pretty much summed up what I think so many of us are feeling. She said, “Dolly is everybody’s favorite grandma.”

And I thought... well, damn. That’s exactly it.

Dolly has just always been there.

I grew up with her music playing. I grew up watching her movies. 9 to 5... what a way to make a living. 😂 And Lord, Steel Magnolias. We all fell in love with Truvy and that beauty shop.

Dolly could walk onto a screen with that big hair and those nails and those boobs and that unmistakable voice, and somehow you didn’t feel like you were watching some big Hollywood star. She felt like somebody you knew.

Maybe that’s what was so special about her.

She was one of the biggest stars in the world, but she never seemed too big for the people who loved her.

And Lord knows that woman knew how to be girly. 😂

The hair. The rhinestones. The nails. The heels. The makeup. The clothes.

Dolly never apologized for any of it.

She could be as feminine and over-the-top as she damn well pleased, and then turn around and hold her own with every man in an industry that wasn’t exactly built to make room for women like her.

She could be soft without being weak.

She could be funny without making somebody else the joke.

She could laugh at herself without ever making herself smaller.

She knew exactly who she was, where she came from, and what she brought to the table.

And she brought her own damn chair too. 😂

I think that’s one of the things I’ve always loved most about her.

Dolly never seemed ashamed of being Southern. She didn’t have to lose her accent, tone down her hair, change where she came from, or become some polished version of what somebody else thought a successful woman ought to look like.

She was just... Dolly.

And somehow being completely herself was more than enough.

Her music followed me right on out of childhood and into adulthood, and somewhere along the way she became part of my own family’s memories too.

Dolly is a favorite in our house.

My kids know her music. They know her movies. They know that laugh.

And then there’s Pigeon Forge.

Squatch and I honeymooned there, and all these years later it’s still our favorite place to take the family. We’ve been back several times now, and Dollywood is one of those places we never seem to get tired of. There are memories scattered all over those mountains for us.

So Dolly isn’t just connected to songs I remember hearing when I was little.

She’s tangled up in my grown-up memories too.

She’s road trips to Tennessee.

She’s looking out at those Smoky Mountains.

She’s walking through Dollywood with my family.

She’s music playing in the house.

She’s movie quotes.

She’s singing along to songs I’ve somehow known the words to for most of my life.

She’s one of those people who managed to become part of the background of several generations of our lives without any of us really noticing it happening.

And maybe that’s why today feels a little heavier than you’d expect it to.

We didn’t know her.

But somehow, we did.

Or at least it felt like we did.

Maybe it was because she seemed genuinely kind. Not the kind of nice somebody turns on when the cameras are rolling, but the kind that seemed to show up over and over in the stories people told about her.

She gave back. She helped people. She put books in the hands of little kids. She loved where she came from, and when she became successful enough to do something with it, she reached back instead of running away from it.

There was just something good about her.

And in a world where famous people can sometimes seem so far removed from regular folks, Dolly somehow always felt like she could sit down beside you, call you honey, laugh that big ol’ Dolly laugh, and make you feel like she’d known you forever.

Everybody’s favorite grandma.

Bee really did nail it.

I think there are some people we don’t realize we’ve counted on being in the world until suddenly they’re not anymore.

They were there when we were children.

They were there when we became adults.

Then our children knew them too, and without anybody ever saying it out loud, we just sort of expected them to keep being there.

Dolly was one of those people.

And I know there will still be Dolly songs playing in this house. We’ll still watch the movies. We’ll still go back to Pigeon Forge, and we’ll absolutely walk through the gates of Dollywood again.

But I imagine the next time we do, it’ll feel just a little different.

Because the woman who built so much joy into a place our family loves won’t be somewhere out there in the world anymore.

And that’s sad.

But goodness... what a life.

What a legacy.

And what a wonderful reminder to the rest of us that you don’t have to become less of yourself to make something of yourself.

Wear the rhinestones.

Fix your hair as big as you want it.

Laugh loud.

Love people.

Remember where you came from.

Be kind when you have absolutely nothing to gain from it.

And if somebody tells you you’re too much...

Well, I reckon Dolly Parton proved there’s no such damn thing. 😂

Rest easy, Dolly.

Thank you for the music, the movies, the memories, the laughter, the books, the mountains, and for showing generations of little Southern girls that there was more than one way to be a strong woman.

The world feels a little less sparkly tonight.