Be like Dolly

There are moments in life that split you cleanly into before and after. Today feels like one of those moments. This afternoon, in the middle of back‑to‑back meetings, my sister texted me: “Dolly Parton died what the fuck.” I stared at the message, stunned, unable to process it. Then my phone started blowing up — friends, coworkers, even my ex‑husband — all reaching out because they know how deeply Dolly is woven into my life.

I opened Instagram and saw the video posted on her page, and that’s when it truly hit. Dolly Parton — the woman who shaped so much of my life, my identity, my joy — was gone at 80.

Just last night, ABC News aired a short segment about how Dolly had been caring for her husband, Carl Dean, who passed away last year after a long period of poor health. They talked about how devoted she had been to him, how much she poured into taking care of him, and how she had let her own health slip in the process. Hearing that, and then the news of her passing today, made the shock even heavier.

My love for Dolly goes all the way back to childhood in Wisconsin. Dolly was always part of the soundtrack of my early life — her voice floating through the house, her face on TV, her songs playing in the car. My dad liked Dolly too, though… let’s just say his reasons were a little different than mine.

One of the earliest Dolly stories in our family was when she played at Wausau West High School and my mom actually snuck onto Dolly’s tour bus to get her autograph. I wasn’t at that show, but that story became family folklore — proof that Dolly had a kind of magnetism that made people bold.

But my own Dolly moment came in 5th grade, when I performed as Dolly in The Midnight Special. I lip‑synced to 9 to 5, wore a blonde wig borrowed from my mom’s work from Prange’s display team, and — in true Dolly fashion — cut a Nerf football in half to create my “boobs.” I have pictures to prove it. Even at that age, Dolly represented confidence, humor, and the freedom to be exactly who you are… with a little extra sparkle.

Years later, my sister and I took one of our sister weekend trips to Nashville — something that’s become one of the sweetest parts of our relationship — and we saw Dolly for her 50th anniversary induction into the Grand Ole Opry. We went with friends from Minnesota, and it was one of those nights that stays suspended in your memory forever. Seeing her live, in person, in the Opry house… it felt like witnessing a piece of American history wrapped in rhinestones and kindness.

Dolly is one of the reasons I moved to Nashville. She has a quote that shaped me more than almost anything else: “Figure out who you are, then do it on purpose.” I took that to heart. I took it literally. I decided to figure out who I am — and I did it on purpose. Dolly gave me permission to be myself, fully and unapologetically.

When my sister turned 40, we went to Dollywood and stayed at her HeartSong property. We were completely immersed in Dolly — the music, the colors, the warmth, the joy. It was one of those trips that stitched us even closer together. We’re 14 years apart, but music has always been our bridge: Dolly, Taylor Swift, Tears for Fears, Kacey Musgraves, Priscilla Block. These artists have become part of our sisterhood, part of our story.

And Dolly is at the center of that.

My home reflects it too. I have Dolly everywhere — photos, memorabilia, dish towels, mugs, measuring cups, a spatula, butterflies (because Dolly loved butterflies and so do I). When I first moved to Tennessee, I even had a Dolly Parton license plate. It felt iconic, like a badge of honor for my first year in the place she inspired me to call home. Now it sits in my office, displayed proudly. A reminder of the courage it took to start over, and the woman who helped me believe I could.

Dolly wasn’t just a singer. She wasn’t just an icon. She was a unifier. She brought people together from every background, every lifestyle, every corner of the world. She made people feel seen. She made people feel welcome. She made people feel like they mattered.

And she did it with humor, with sass, with sparkle, with humility, with heart. She loved being “a little trashy,” as she’d say, and she loved being herself — fully, loudly, joyfully. She taught us that authenticity is a superpower.

I’m heartbroken for her family. I’m heartbroken for her fans — millions of us — who loved her deeply and felt connected to her in ways that are hard to explain. Dolly wasn’t just famous. She was beloved. She was woven into people’s lives the way a grandmother, a sister, a friend might be.

Today, the world feels a little dimmer.

But here’s what I know: We all need Dolly.
We need her kindness.
We need her humor.
We need her generosity.
We need her courage.
We need her sparkle.
We need her wisdom.
We need her reminder to figure out who we are — and do it on purpose.

I will always love you, Dolly.
Thank you for shaping my childhood, my sisterhood, my home, my heart, and my life.
Thank you for inspiring me to move to Nashville.
Thank you for giving me the courage to become myself.
Thank you for every song, every quote, every laugh, every moment of joy.

The world will remember you forever.
And so will I.