Dear Dolly,

We’ve all been dreading this day, dreading how much poorer the country would feel without you in it. We’re no good at aging and dying in America, but as hard as we stick our fingers in our ears and go la-la-la, deep down, we know we’ll have to say goodbye someday.

For a long time, we looked at you askance: the fakery, the platinum wigs—hair on steroids, a freestanding structure untethered from the realities of gravity and natural collagen. We made mean jokes before we eventually realized that not only was the joke on us, but the joke included us. And instead of being mean, the joke was big-hearted, permissive, and abundant. It dawned on us that we were all invited to laugh at you and ourselves—our ridiculous selves, our fakery, our fronts we cobble together to face the world.

But if every punchline to every joke is the surprising pleasure of the known-all-along, then the punchline of you was that the fakery didn't even matter. That all of us, all of us, felt warmly embraced by your love. That loving each other is what this whole thing is all about.

Thank you for staying long enough for us to catch up. Thank you for the reminder that angels are among us—that indeed, each of us has the capacity to be an angel to others. To go easy on each other through this crazy, mysterious existence.

We will miss you. We will always love you.

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This post is part of The American 250, a series featuring 250 objects made by Americans, located in America, in honor of the country's 250th anniversary. 250 words on 250 works, from January 1 to December 31, 2026.

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