Dolly Parton Died. It's Okay To Not Be Okay.

Dolly’s death is breaking hearts, pushing on other griefs inside of us, needing to join in. Many of us are drawn to grief’s invitation to take part in this communal loss of such a feisty, sparkly, warm-hearted being in these unwieldy times.

I broke the news to my 9-year-old, Jules, after her first day of school. She was already grieving not being in the same class with some of her friends. I hesitated to add another layer to her grief, yet I chose to share anyway. Because this feels big. Because Dolly was the best of us and a rare kind of magic: a strong woman, a champion of others, talented, fierce and funny, and all the while, deeply grounded.

I shared because grieving for Dolly is demonstrating, yet again, what grief is so much about – a shared connection of our humanity, about the relationships that fuel and inspire us, and about communities coming together to share in hard things, even if the feelings vary for each of us as we take in the news of Dolly’s death.

I watched my kiddo’s current grief related to her school situation merge with her reaction to Dolly’s death. The two griefs did not complicate one another; they complemented one another. They connected her to something larger–something to reflect on–two griefs became one and then became something we could touch and navigate through the evening.

Dolly was a fixture in our home since Jules was 6 months old. Dolly sent us a book in the mail each month for years through one of her many foundations, Imagination Library. Jules would flip to the first page and ask about this smiling, bright gal in the blue blazer with platinum hair–she was so noticeable–fiercely sparkling off the page. Dolly gifted us countless hours of connection time, along with some of our favorite shared books, including The Little Excavator and Baking Day at Grandma’s. These books are rhythmic and soothing, sing-songy and playful, and ones that we returned to over and over again. What a gift in our home, that I can only imagine to be exponential for so many children.

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When a cultural constant like Dolly leaves us, the heaviness we can feel is profound, AND it is real. Often, when people grieve a public figure, an unspoken hesitation follows: a sense of not having earned the right to be this sad over someone we may have never met and the whole world claims. It's one of the quietest and most common sources of suffering we hear from clients, from friends, from people in our community. Where does my grief fit when the world is suffering too?

Grief doesn't care about physical proximity. When a light this bright goes out, it acts as a lightning rod, striking and illuminating our own losses–grief welcomes others' grief forward. Today, we aren't just grieving a magnificent woman. We are grieving the passage of time. We are mourning the eras of our own lives that her music was tethered to, and the shared, steady comfort she brought to a chaotic and sometimes unkind world.

Dolly seemed to understand this instinctively...that loss doesn't move in a straight line, and there's no schedule for when it's supposed to let up. Her advice on grieving was as generous as the way she lived: to take the energy someone gave you, recycle it, and let it become a part of you. There is no formula for moving through this, but here are a few things I’ve been sharing with my kiddo that might help:

What might help right now

• Let it be disproportionate. You don't need to justify the size of the feeling by the size of the relationship. If it's big, it's big.

  
  

• Move or do something with your hands, not just your feet. Dance to the songs. Get goosebumps watching old interview clips. Write down a memory of when her music showed up in your life. Ritual gives grief somewhere to go besides your chest.

  
  

• Talk to someone who won't rush you. Whether that's a friend, a partner, or a therapist, saying the feeling out loud tends to loosen its grip a little.

  
  

• Watch for the undertow. If this loss is stirring up something heavier-an anniversary, other losses-that's worth paying attention to, not pushing past. AND, it’s normal for grief to welcome other grief forward.

  
  

• You don't have to earn your grief. If anything, that might be the most Dolly Parton lesson available to us right now: she made a whole life out of taking people's feelings seriously, without judgment, without a velvet rope around who was allowed to feel what.

Your grief for Dolly is real. So is whatever else it's stirring up. And you deserve support in holding both.

If you need somewhere for your grief to land today, tell us your favorite Dolly song or memory in the comments. Let's celebrate her together.