Today was the first time I’ve ever cried over a death of a singer. I wasn’t family, I wasn’t a die hard fan. I didn’t even own any of her albums. But I cried when I found out Dolly Parton passed away. I’m not a tear jerker, sob story of a person either.

As I sat in my family room watching my kids play, my eyes started running glossy and tears streamed down my face. Shocked my husband asked why I was crying.

“I’m actually sad she’s gone. It wasn’t her specifically, but the season she was tied too…it’s a reminder of a time that is no longer present.”

I went on to explain how when I was growing up I’d hear her songs in my grandmother’s Alabama house in the summer. I heard her sing in the 9-5 movie I watched as a tradition with my mom when I was a teenager. Now in my thirties with my own family and those nostalgic memories even more seen as the good, old times.

I even remember watching her on Hannah Montana with my sister after school.

She was in every season of my childhood— and even into my motherhood for my children’s first books.

When Dolly was alive and I heard her speak, every memory was a positive one that tied her to the giddy warmth of a good day.

So when finding out I’d never hear a new word out of her mouth— it was the reminder that we grow up, the people we love pass away.

We learn we took for granted those home cooked meals and chocolate cake.

We forget the warmth and the hug clean sheets made us feel…light and airy.

The giggles and warmth of a mom’s hug.

We didn’t know yet that those nostalgic memories even carry heartbreak when we realize there’s no possible way to relive them. We used to think nostalgia was just sugary sweet…but now we have tied loss to them. Sadness that the people I loved will never meet the new people I made on this side of Heaven. Dolly lived in my old life and my new one as an adult. But with her gone, now all that’s left is an unknown one.

I’m so thankful for the times Dolly Parton entered in my own life— and she never knew this side of my name or what happiness was brought to my home. But I intend to carry it on with my own daughters one day.

We will watch the movies.

We will hear that song again in the Walmart while shopping for our groceries.

It’ll just feel different this time.

Because now I won’t just be remembering a childhood that is no longer; rather I’ll be waiting to thank Dolly when it’s my turn to cross over one day. Thanking her for serving me a cup of happiness in those mundane moments that made life hold a better smile.

She loved Jesus.

She loved singing.

…and she made a difference doing both in her own unique way.

I’m happy she’s with Jesus, but I’m also sad for what felt like decades of holding onto a childhood memory is now officially closing.

Those meals we make our children today will be tied to their memories in thirty years. So much of what is done in the unseen places of my grandmother and my mom are finally being dug up like a buried treasure by myself in my own motherhood story. How much more do I understand the sacrifices the hidden work and the unconditional love of family and Christ now? Endless.

Dolly Parton was just the tune that played those moving picture memories in my head.

That’s why I cried today— and it’s why I remind myself that what I do in those unseen places with my own children today will mean even more in their futures. Clean sheets, grocery shopping…it all makes a difference even when no one sees you do i

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Rachel Redlin is a columnist, author, journalist, and former award-winning radio host. She lives in Northwest Kansas with her husband and six children, where she writes about faith, food, and the simple everyday life. Want to read more or contact us? You can subscribe to the FREE newsletter at www.simplybloominggrace.com

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