Goodbye, Dolly.

It feels a pointless exercise to write about one of your heroes, a feminist icon, a star… The very fact that they’ve done something worthy enough to be considered a hero already places them in a position of being either well-known, liked, talented, generous, kind, empathetic, funny, smart, or innovative. Dolly was all that and more. 

I found out that Dolly passed because a friend texted me, “You okay?” She knew my love of Dolly and was checking in on me after hearing the news of her passing. Of course, I hadn’t heard yet, and responded, “Yep, working, why? Seeing you tonight, whoohoo!” and she simply wrote back: “Dolly Parton” and my heart sank. I knew what that meant instantly. No need for an RIP. No need to link me to the article. I jumped online and the Dolly Instagram account popped up first on my feed. For once the algorithm knew what I needed to see, even if I didn’t want to see it. 

We all knew Dolly wasn’t doing well health-wise, but it was upsetting nonetheless. We’ve lost a great philanthropist, storyteller, entertainer, and American today. She embodies the America I want to live in - one of entrepreneurship, empathy, inclusion, love, curiosity, and fun. An America we’ve seemingly been driven far from lately, although, I insist if you talk to people across our country, we have more in common than we do apart and more love to share just no place to put it. 

I’m not sure the first Dolly Parton song I ever heard, but growing up in a family where my mother sang like Dolly and my Grandmother sounded like Dolly, it was easy to forget she wasn’t actually part of my bloodline even if she was part of my family. I remember liking her straight away, not because of the bling and blondness but because she defied that image by being super quick, funny, self-deprecating, a maestro with song lyrics, a genius with music, and sounded like a Southern angel while doing it. 

Not to mention, she kind of looked like my mom, Londie. OK, now, Mom is no doubt elbowing me saying, “I WISH I looked like Dolly Parton!” but like Mom, Dolly was blonde, sang country songs, played guitar (Gee-tar), was sweet, beloved by everyone, and had a southern accent. Mom would have probably liked to have some of Dolly’s other attributes, but I digress… 

I learned to sing thanks to listening to my grandmother, my mom (in the photo to the right), Dolly, Patsy Cline, Linda Ronstadt, Loretta Lynn, Liza Minelli, and a litany of other amazingly talented women. But the Mom/Dolly duo taught me the most about vocal technique and entertaining others. It took me ages to get the “twang” out of my voice, but as a natural mimic, it only takes a millisecond of listening to a Dolly Parton song to get me back to my Southern roots even though I grew up squarely in central Illinois. Certainly not western, or country-western, but about as mid-western as you can get. Blonde like Mom and Dolly, I was inspired to style my hair like her, but never attempted to pull off the bling and pageantry that both did as entertainers. Blue eyeshadow and red lipstick might have been the only forays into fashion and I certainly didn’t attempt cowboy hats or boots. Then I would have felt like a cosplayer when it came so naturally for Mom and Dolly. 

My favorite Dolly Parton song was from a movie I probably had no business watching at a young age, “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.” Of course, my parents knew I had no idea what “Whorehouse” meant but were delighted that I loved the songs and dance numbers. “Hard Candy Christmas” is my favorite song probably because it’s the only time I remember hearing Dolly a bit down on her luck. A bit uncertain after a breakup. “Maybe I’ll dye my hair.” “Maybe I’ll move somewhere.” Usually she was out the door and moving on, but here, she wasn’t so confident. Now, to be fair, Dolly didn’t write that song, Carol Hall was responsible for that masterpiece, so I guess it’s my favorite Dolly performance. 

When I first heard Dolly donated books to kids through her Imagination Library, I was in awe that she used her hard-earned money to help others with literacy. When she funded research for a Covid vaccine, I was grateful she used her money to help me, and others, survive. When she embraced gay culture at her shows and in her fanbase, I admired her Christianity as an outpouring of love, not hate. When she wrote hit song after hit song, I envied her seemingly easy ability to put complex emotions into pithy song lyrics that would stand the test of time. When she was bombarded with rude questions or disingenuous conversations questioning her intelligence, I reveled in her ability to disarm the person with her quick wit, charm, and good natured self-deprecation. When men approached her as a sexual plaything or something to be owned and controlled, I learned quickly that you can remove yourself from those situations gracefully and still find a supportive man to focus your undying love and companionship with. 

I never realized that in my admiration of all that she did and how she carried herself, she was instilling in me a way I wanted to live my life. OK, so I’ve yet to find my Carl, write my hit show, or fund a philanthropic endeavor, but I do small things everyday that help me live a Dolly life. We all do, whether we know it or not. Helping others, making someone laugh, being curious, being full of life and love instead of pessimism and hate are small steps toward meeting Dolly halfway. 

I know I’ve related Dolly to my mom and I usually hate when people pigeonhole women as mothers, but I like to think Dolly was an ideal caretaker for us as a nation. She never admonished us. She never belittled us. She never underestimated us. She never hated us. Even though I’m sure we, as a society, did a lot to challenge her everyday, she never let us know she was bothered by any of it. The slings and arrows shot at her were deflected by a force field of rhinestones and righteousness. Should any of us ever be so fortunate as to have a disposition that both allowed for such fun and fortitude.

I am sad Dolly is no longer with us, but she’s left behind a whirlwind of countless songs, movies, and things to keep us company and support us on our journey. Her picture on the wall above my desk inspires me everyday to try to live a beautiful life even if I don’t have her beauty. She encourages me to create and be curious even if I feel uninspired. She motivates me to help others and not be so quick to judge even when being threatened directly. She stimulates me to lean into my curiosity and not cut myself off from everyone and everything. And she reminds me that you can come from a family that has very little in terms of money or materialism but whose love and support means more than gold. Sometimes in the form of a coat of many colors. 

I hope we all take Dolly’s death not as her end, but as a beginning of our journey to live a life even a fraction like hers. “I will always love you” isn’t a sentimental afterthought, it’s an emotional statement of fact. It simply undoes the “facts aren’t feelings” mantra my therapist tries to remind me of every time I catastrophize. Dolly did love us until the end and I hope she left this mortal coil knowing that we did and humanity always will love her in return. We don’t do Queens or Saints much in America, but as a nation, we collectively agree that Dolly Parton would be first in line. I’m guessing the rest of the world would agree and gosh darn it, it feels like we should do something about that in reality. For now, we’ll donate to her Imagination Library as she requested. She started it as a tribute to her daddy and we’ll keep it going for both of them and all the children it benefits. Like Dolly in “Hard Candy Christmas”, I’m barely getting through tomorrow, but still I won’t let sorrow bring me way down. And neither should you.