The only books I remember my grandmother giving me were 1) the Bible (at least twice) and 2) a book? or a magazine? whose sole subject was the life of Dolly Parton, circa 1979.

My grandma was born in El Paso, Texas in 1915. She and her family worked in the fields. She was one of at least ten siblings (I’d open ancestry dot com to confirm the exact number, but I have been getting easily lost there lately, so forgive me for the educated guess here). My grandma introduced me to country. I was too young to be critical about country, I just knew that it wasn’t what I was accustomed to listening to at home with my parents, my father’s Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison record notwithstanding.

My grandma loved Dolly Parton. I became more familiar with Dolly in elementary school music class, where we learned to sing “9 to 5.” In music class (and in rehearsals for any performances), constant repetition was what cemented lyrics into our brains, to the point that today, at 53, I can sing every word to “9 to 5,” and “Islands in the Stream” (as well as non-Dolly hits such as “Flashdance…What A Feeling,” which I would sing to my grandma on the phone by request).

I’ve been gazing at the childhood photo of Dolly Parton in 1955. That was the photo that I, as a kid reading the book my grandma gave me, most connected to. My sense was that my grandma saw something she understood in Dolly—a sister among many siblings, a girl who had known and hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be poor. My grandma and I met in the place where Dolly Parton’s music entered each of us.

I’ve been mostly away from social media, but popped on when I was ready to see people’s tributes, articles, photos. Reading about her contributions to the common good, which is pretty fucking rare from celebrities, made me cry some more. Her demeanor, her humor, —all of who she showed the public, aside from her extraordinary talents—make me wish there were more people like her (celebrity challenge!). In fact, I don’t want to hear anymore about celebrities for a long, long time. Let me just think about Dolly.

My grandma exited this plane in 2011, but the loss of her, and my father a few years later, and now my mother this year, has really gotten stirred up with the passing of Dolly Parton. So, you know, just some more swimming around in loss. Trying to emerge and take deep breaths.

🕯️ 🌹 Rest in peace, Dolly Parton 🕯️ 🌹

Things I’ve been doing lately to manage my sadness

• borrowed a ton of library books and returned them after a few days, especially if they had the word ‘grief’ in the title

• let my face get sunburned

• reorganized one big shelf in the hall closet

• cried, everywhere, everyday

• went bananas reading only poetry for about ten days then wanted distance from poetry

• watched a lecture by the writer Joseph Earl Thomas that was recorded from the McCormack Writing Center’s workshop this summer

• ate my favorite foods

• watched the lunar eclipse

• started watching the new tv series Lanterns

• sent a DM of gratitude to Joseph Earl Thomas, for his lecture and especially for his memoir Sink, which I read after the workshop, and which fucked me up in all the ways

• went to the pool and also flaked on going to the pool

• saw my nephew and walked around Los Feliz

• quit doing chores for a few days

• listened to my playlist titled Ecstatic

• submitted applications to two writing residencies in a fugue state then didn’t notate it anywhere and forgot where I applied

• recently figured out the two writing residencies I submitted applications to and checked on the notification dates (which are any day now)

• played a lot of Animal Crossing while Breaking Bad plays on a tv-scheduled loop in the background

• realized there is a part of me hoping for rejection because I don’t know what I’m capable of day to day with regard to all kinds of energy

• sent a curt email

• donated money in my mother’s name

• saw David Byrne in concert with my family (Thank you, Kevin!)

• spent more time in my backyard

• watched the documentary Toni Morrison: The Pieces I Am

• returned to reading the several tomes I have in circulation among the books I’m reading

• back in therapy

• saw a cranial sacral therapist for the first time

• holding close my therapist’s words: You could stare at a wall for the rest of the year. You could be in a fog the rest of the year.

• endlessly researching random classes I could take

• endlessly thinking of the words of Elmina Bell in a webinar I watched: Even if you don’t know your ancestors, they know you!

• reminding myself: There is no need to act normal. There. is. no. need. to. act. normal.

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