09/02/2026
WHY WE CRIED WHEN DOLLY DIED
When Dolly died, I cried. And I’m generally not prone to tears.
In fact, my husband of nearly 25 years calls me stoic. Some colleagues describe me as unflappable. Even my mom, when she was alive, would remind me that my first name, rooted in Gaelic, means rock. But in an instant, the news of Dolly Parton’s departure from planet Earth broke through my sometimes-poker-faced persona and a stream of liquid sorrow flowed from my core and onto my cheeks.
It was a powerful reaction over the death of someone I never met, and whose music never made it onto my favorite playlist. I have not been to Dollywood and still have little interest in going. Yet, the sense of loss is real. It feels oddly profound.
At first, because I work in a field that deals with death every day, I thought it was cumulative grief. That occurs when a current loss or event triggers previous pain. It can happen to people who have lived through an intense series of losses. A new, and sometimes random, death can make old wounds feel fresh. So, I wondered if my spontaneous reaction was somehow connected to the death of my godmother, Lulu, who died shortly after we moved to California.
From the time I was a child, Aunt Lulu was my own personal version of Dolly Parton. She was a beautician who owned the Stadium Beauty Nook near the Wisconsin State Fairgrounds. Her claim to fame was cutting Willie Nelson’s hair when he was in town for a concert. Apparently, after his crew finished preparing his stage for opening night at the State Fair, he went for a walk and noticed my aunt’s humble salon. He walked up to the entrance, casually poked his head in the door, and asked if she had time for a quick trim. She responded with her typical warm welcoming energy, “Do I have time? Of course I do. I always have time for you. Come on in.” He quickly learned that she and my uncle were enormous fans who regularly played his music on their 8-track tape player just a few blocks away on West Adler. I would have loved to hear their whole conversation.
Lulu’s own blonde hair was permanently piled in a sky-high bouffant or sometimes a French twist. Hair height was attained with a can of Aqua Net and an occasional hairpiece or wig. Her holiday hairdos featured tiny multi-colored twinkling Christmas lights evenly placed throughout her updo. It sounds tacky but she made it look elegant. As a kid, I had never seen anything like it. I bragged about her to all my friends. I mean, who else has a gorgeous aunt with sparkling lights in her hair? Her makeup and flashy clothing selections were forever flawless. Lulu was stylish, but equally warm and approachable. She embodied laughter and sweetness and was defined by her quick wit and ability to tell a good story. A bright light within her shimmered naturally whenever and wherever she walked into a room. She was the definition of good-natured.
Still, I was not sure that my sadness was the result of accumulated loss or ignited by memories of Lulu. There is something more to this feeling. But what? Superstars and celebrities die all the time, so why does this death land so differently. Dolly was more than just another musician, she was an actor, philanthropist, and businesswoman. But most notable, she was a model human being. Who she was as a person transcended her own achievements. She was the best parts of America -- and what it means to be an American – wrapped in rhinestones, propped up on heels, and flaunted under a spotlight. Her wigs, costume jewelry, and makeup screamed, “Look at me!” But so did the way she lived her life. She represented and showcased our country’s most admirable qualities. The best of who we are as a nation and as a people. America incarnate.
Holding hands with both possibility and responsibility, she showed us how to live in the world when success comes our way. We learned from her that we are all the same, all connected . . . and that each one of us is responsible for creating the world we want. The essence of the American spirit is found in the things that unite us and bring out the best in us.
Though she possessed tremendous power -- in a hundred different ways -- she never used her platform to divide, blame, or grumble. Instead, she preferred to be a cheery champion for the underdog. In Dolly’s eyes everyone possesses goodness. Everyone holds value. Beyond the sparkling costumes, Dolly, much like Lulu, was consistently dolled up in authenticity, compassion, empathy and generosity. Characteristics that most parents try to instill in their children. Her words and music were tender and honest, but so was her heart.
Her death felt like an irreversible fading of the very things that make America a great nation, and Americans an extraordinary people. Dolly’s last breath symbolized a further dimming of a once brilliant American light during increasingly dark times, and in an era when we need all the light we can muster. For just a minute, it made me wonder if our country’s once steady flame had been lessened to a flicker. This rags-to-riches hillbilly demigod embodied the essence of, not just the Christian faith, but most faiths. Some churches pass out bumper stickers that ask, “What would Jesus do?” Well, I think America would be more united and perhaps more deeply connected to the better angels of our nature, if we challenged ourselves with a similar slogan: What would Dolly do?
