08/26/2026
Grief in the Absence of Hope
The deaths of Dolly Parton and Tim Curry hit differently.
Yes, they were icons. They created music, characters, stories, and moments that became woven into people's lives. But for many people, what they represented extended far beyond their work.
They represented joy. Authenticity. Generosity. Individuality. The idea that you could make your corner of the world a little kinder, a little brighter, or simply a little more interesting because you were in it.
And right now, losing people who represented those things can feel particularly heavy.
We are living in a time when hope already feels difficult to hold onto. The political climate is exhausting. The societal landscape feels increasingly divided. Every time we turn around, there seems to be another tragedy, another injustice, another reason to worry about what comes next. For many people, it feels like we keep getting knocked down before we've even had the opportunity to stand back up.
So when someone dies who represented something good to us, we aren't necessarily grieving only that person.
Sometimes we're grieving what they represented.
We're grieving a little piece of hope.
We're grieving the belief that kindness still matters. That authenticity matters. That people can use their lives and their influence to leave the world better than they found it.
And maybe we're grieving because lately, that kind of faith—not religious faith, but faith in people, in community, in goodness, in the possibility that things can get better—has already felt fragile.
If you're feeling unusually sad right now, give yourself permission to feel it.
You don't have to justify grief because you didn't personally know someone. You don't have to immediately turn sadness into gratitude or find the silver lining. Sometimes self-care means allowing yourself to acknowledge:
This hurts. I'm tired. Things feel heavy right now.
Give yourself some grace. Give yourself some space. Feel what you need to feel.
Because processing grief isn't the same thing as surrendering to hopelessness.
Eventually, we get back up.
And perhaps one of the most meaningful ways we honor the people who gave us a little hope while they were here is by carrying some of it forward ourselves.
Be kind when it would be easier not to be. Create something. Help somebody. Be unapologetically yourself. Make someone laugh. Give someone a reason to believe that goodness still exists.
We may not get to choose every loss.
But we do get to choose what we carry forward from the people we've lost.
And maybe that's where we begin finding hope again.
