Goodbye Dolly

Live your life in a way that, when you pass, hundreds of millions of people feel like they have lost a loved one. That is the sentiment I felt while scrolling social media after the death of music icon and humanitarian icon Dolly Parton at age 80 this week.

Her music touched generations, but her contributions to society touched so many more. She made life better for countless people whom she never met. I have been reading dozens of stories from celebrities and ordinary people about their interactions and connections to Dolly.

Anything I could write about her life and career could easily be found by doing a quick Google search. I won’t waste time telling you things you could easily find yourselves. I never met her. I don’t have any stories of interacting with her. However, one thing I can do is explain why she had meaning to me in my life.

At the root, it’s actually quite simple. Dolly Parton reminded me of my Nina, and vice versa. They both were tiny, smart, beautiful, full of fire, and owners of a lot of blonde hair that may or may not have been theirs.

When I was a kid in the 1980s, my Nina felt to me like she was a mix of a whole lot of Dolly and a large dash of Tina Turner. No, she wasn’t a celebrity. She did run the first all-women’s fitness center on Cape Cod, and she was a great jazz singer, along with my Grampa, but not famous. Above all else, she was a genuinely loving and caring person who made you feel like you mattered when you were around her. That, I believe, is how Dolly made people feel.

There were times throughout my life when I felt like in some alternate timeline Dolly Parton was my Nina and my Nina was a world-famous entertainer. My Nina definitely could command a room, and Dolly had said that because she couldn't have children, she was 'everybody's mother.' So maybe I wasn't too far off.

It’s interesting. I have never shared that story or those thoughts ever. I’m not sure why. Maybe it sounded weird to compare my grandmother, who I knew, to celebrities I likely would never meet. Maybe I was afraid of being mocked or ridiculed. Not by my family, mind you; I am sure my Nina would have found it flattering. I mean, after all, I was comparing her to two titans of the entertainment world. Still, I kept that little anecdote locked away until now.

To sum it up, in a small way, losing Dolly Parton felt like losing my Nina again.

My Nina and Dolly Parton at roughly the same age, around 40.

My introduction to Dolly was through her seminal film 9 to 5. It was released in 1980, when I was three years old. I didn’t see it then, but it was on rotation on cable during the mid 1980s. Having a young mother and three sisters meant that I was dealt a heavy dose of female-led movies. 9 to 5 was one among many, including Dirty Dancing and Mannequin.

I can remember seeing Dolly in 9 to 5 and being amazed at how much she reminded me of my Nina. Granted, I was probably seven or eight, but that young perception became reality.

As I grew up, I learned of how important and accomplished she was almost by accident. When I heard Whitney Houston sing ‘I Will Always Love You,’ I learned that Dolly Parton wrote it. When I heard this really great Hawaiian jam called ‘Islands In the Stream’ by a group called Ten Feet, I learned that Dolly Parton sang the original with Kenny Rogers.

Later on in adulthood, I learned of her enormous impact outside of music. I was battling depression and questions of self-esteem and self-worth throughout my twenties. This is where I began to seek out inspirational quotes and just general quotes about life and healing.

When you feel lost, confused, maybe a bit worthless, you look for something, anything, to provide a little clarity. I didn’t look to just anybody. I looked for words of wisdom from people who not only succeeded, but did it as genuinely good people.

This is where Dolly Parton played her second important role in my life. She provided comfort and familiarity since I saw her in some ways as a stand-in for my Nina as a child. Then, as an adult, her words provided light in dark times.

Sure, there were other people whose quotes helped to part the dark clouds around my mind, but Dolly was as important as any of them. I am certain that there are so many others like me who were shown care without her even realizing it.

Dolly left such a wide range of gifts to the world that I think it would be hard not to be moved or inspired by something she did. Her skill as a musician, a lyricist, a singer, and an overall presence likely was enough. Her philanthropy, at the very least, equaled her musical prowess.

For me, there are a few of Dolly’s quotes that remain important in my life. I mentioned earlier battling depression off and on throughout my adulthood. I also have been on a creative journey for decades.

I wanted to be a writer from the time I was eight. I wanted to be a filmmaker starting in high school, even purchasing a big, bulky Sears camcorder in 1994. I always felt my path didn’t involve a (no pun intended) nine-to-five job. I always wanted, no needed, to be something more than that.

Maybe that goes back to the self-worth and confidence issues stemming from childhood. Maybe I felt that if I wasn’t greater than expected, I would be seen as far less than. But how do you chase your dreams and still stay true to who you are inside? Ask Dolly Parton.

The quotes that feed my soul have to do with each of those things I mentioned.





Those both speak to me. One, in terms of dealing with the hard times, for me, the bouts of depression and self-doubt. Secondly, the feeling that walking the same path as most others just didn’t fit who I wanted to be.

Many of you reading this likely have other Dolly quotes that speak to you. That’s the idea. We might all enter this orbit of grief and admiration from different roads, but they all end up connecting in the end.

That might be Dolly’s greatest gift. She unified so many people. Her death felt like losing a loved one to likely hundreds of millions of people. There are very few celebrities who are as universally loved and admired as Dolly Parton.

I have seen many people I admired in the entertainment industry pass away; very few have I felt the urge to write my own thoughts about. Even as I write this, I periodically stop and scroll social media to read stories of Dolly from fans and other celebrities.

She might have left this world, but there are still gifts from her to come in the years ahead. I have read things about a musical of her life, dolls, dog treats, coffee, and best of all, an unreleased song. That last one we have to wait until her 100th birthday in 2046, though.

Dolly Parton might be gone, but the stories told of her will keep her alive. Just as my Nina might be gone, but I do my best to keep her memory alive. This includes sharing a very private, if not a little embarrassing, story of how she reminded me of Dolly and vice versa. 

Goodbye Dolly. You left an impact on this world far greater than most people could ever dream. Thank you for reminding me of my Nina. Thank you for your words to remind me that “if you tell yourself enough nice things, eventually, you’ll believe them too.”

If you happen to bump into my Nina, maybe you could sing a duet, lead a fitness class, or exchange hair tips? We will always love you, Dolly. And I will always love you, Nina.

Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog #133: Fresh Grief, Extreme Turtles, Very Long Walk, etc.

1. People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. That Maya Angelou quote is what comes to mind when I think about my Nana Serpa. She was my stepfather’s mother, and she passed away this week after a long bout of failing health. The thing is, I could try to spin it and say ‘at least she’s no longer suffering,’ but that won’t make anyone truly feel better. When a loved one, whether blood or not, dies, they immediately leave a vacuum where all of these unfiltered emotions get sucked into. There is no longer a chance to say things, at least not to them. Nana Serpa was always sweet and kind, and made me feel like family even though we didn’t share a drop of blood. I am heartbroken for my stepfather as he has now lost both of his parents. The one thing I don’t like about being an empath is that when you feel an emotion, it can be a signal to open the floodgates of similar ones. It brings forth in me all of the unprocessed grief I have for several family members and friends who have died in recent years. I then feel bad about feeling bad about others who have long since passed, but it is not something done maliciously. It feels at times like I have a closet packed to the gills with grief. Then when a new batch comes, I try to gently crack open the door and stuff the new grief in without everything spilling out. It never happens. So my sadness over Nana Serpa has invariably led to the sadness returning over my Nina and Grampa, Uncle Eric, Brenda, Matt, and Pete. I guess it is better to feel too much than nothing at all. It shows these people really mattered to you. Rest in peace, Nana Serpa.


2. On most work days, it is pretty straightforward. I come in, train some people, do some paperwork, probably have a few laughs, and go home. It’s not too often that odd things happen. This week we had one such day. I was sitting doing some paperwork after my last client left. To my right, inside the gym, the lights flickered. That happens all the time. There is something faulty with the wiring for the lights in the gym. But then the lights in the therapy room flickered. Within seconds, all the power went out. In the past, the power might have dipped out for a few seconds and quickly come back on. This time it went out and stayed out. The problem was that I had a series of clients all in a row, all on their way. There was no way to let them know, and also no way to know how long the power would stay out. It turned out that a tree had come down on the wires, knocking out power to the surrounding neighborhood. I ended up training three different clients in a dark gym. There was barely any light from windows, but somehow we made it work with nobody getting hurt. I actually found it a fun challenge to do my job with little light and almost total silence. We could actually hear the people who work upstairs talking; it was so quiet. In all, the power was out for just over 2 ½ hours. As fun as the challenge was, I do not wish for any more long power outages at work anytime soon.


3. Sometimes you have to scratch and claw to get opportunities. Sometimes they just fall out of the sky. This week I was lucky enough to have an event get dropped into my lap. The Cape Cod Maritime Museum in Hyannis has biweekly lectures, and one coming up next week saw both of their speakers pull out. As they looked for a suitable replacement, I was recommended to them. I am very humbled and flattered that I was seen as the one to potentially save the day, for lack of a better term. Of course I said yes. The program needed to be in some way connected to the Roaring Twenties on Cape Cod. Lucky for me, I created a video a few years ago about what it would be like to summer vacation on Cape Cod a century ago. Revamping it for 1926 instead of 1923 wasn’t too difficult. The hard part was creating from scratch a new presentation. This meant finding all of the images I needed and creating a few dozen slides to make the presentation worthwhile. I am excited about the possibilities of a totally unexpected event. Maybe I’ll sell some books? Maybe I’ll get booked for more events? Stepping up like this can only do good for my reputation. We’ll see the results next week. This is the video I am basing the presentation on.




4. The latest show that I binged on Netflix was the seven-episode Midnight Mass. This ended up jumping up near the top of my favorites so far. It is a neat mix of two different shows mashed into one in the best way. On a small island located 30 miles offshore, two people arrive on the same day. A man fresh out of jail after serving time for a DUI fatality, and an intriguing priest both arrive and set the tone for the show. It is one part religious beliefs and miracles. Then suddenly you get smacked with supernatural elements that throw you off. It’s really well shot and acted. It’s heartwarming, thought-provoking, and also has its fair share of blood and gore. I highly recommend it. Oh, Netflix, you always seem to suggest things I’ll like.

5. In a true example of what’s old is new again, the rumor going around is that Myspace may be getting set to make a big comeback soon. The owners of the site are possibly working on bringing the original social media giant back to give us what social media used to be. No more algorithm junk. I remember only joining Facebook in 2007 because Myspace was changing in ways that made it less fun. If the owners can bring it back like it used to be, I’d probably turn Facebook into a dead mall. Maybe I’d visit every now and then to see what stores were still there, but my main shopping would be at Myspace. Bring on the Top 8, songs that start playing when you click a profile, and a site not dominated by the algorithm and scummy tech bro billionaires. I’m ready to party like it’s 2005 again.

6. Nothing is done until it is done. That is the lesson I have learned many times. Nothing tends to surprise me anymore. When getting the exhaust work done on my car this week, I was told a certain amount of time was needed. My plan was to go walk the nearby Cape Cod Rail Trail until I was called and told my car was ready. Well, once two hours of walking turned to three, and my phone’s battery was nearly dead, I figured I might want to go back to the mechanic and just check in. In reality, I had walked over 10 miles, and my body was just not going to do anymore. It quit. I spotted my car still on the lift and ended up sitting near the mechanic’s in the shade for a while, hoping it would soon be done. Nope. Now this wasn’t them being lazy; they just found more that was wrong, which I was told could have been possible. It turns out my exhaust is worse than anticipated, but luckily my mechanic is highly reputable and trustworthy. They have built up credibility over the years with me and countless others, which is why they are always busy. I ended up standing in the lobby for an hour chatting with the service tech, who is a super nice guy. I didn’t want to sit since I had been soaked in sweat and didn’t want to ruin their chairs and make the lobby smell like a locker room. In the end, it was nearly six hours until I left with my car. The best part is I need to bring it back next week to have the job finished. The actual best part is the mechanic is going to do some magic to save me hundreds of dollars, so I don’t mind the wait. Tune in next week for Part 3 of my car exhaust repair saga.


7. It was a sweltering, soupy mess of a walk while waiting for my car. I had anticipated 7-8 miles in total. I ended up with just over 10, more than 1,300 calories burned, and clothes that felt like I had showered in them. This was the first time I had done over 10 miles since January 2024. Not ironically, this was the last time I had major work done on my car at the same mechanic. I was smart and packed PowerAde and sunscreen in my backpack so I didn’t worry that much about sunburns or dehydration. Still, more than 10 miles on a day with the heat index over 100 degrees will sap your energy fast. By the time I decided I couldn’t walk anymore, I wished I could call an Uber to bring me to the mechanic. Unfortunately, my phone’s battery was a whopping 5%. The walk overall was fun, all things considered. I had a small lunch due to the time I got my car back. This led to me having over 3,600 calories allotted for my dinner after inputting things into MyFitnessPal. I could have had a medium 3-topping pizza and still been 1,000 calories under my daily goal. Yay, thanks to the long walk and horrible heat!

Looking through a tunnel on the Rail Trail 

8. An unexpected occurrence on my walk was the appearance of a high school class on a trip. No, it wasn’t any Cape Cod school, but students from the Providence Day School. I felt bad that the kids came down to ride the bike trail on a super hot and humid day, but what are you gonna do? I was walking around a rotary on the trail, about 3 miles in, when I noticed arrow signs. They said ‘PDS route to Coast Guard Beach.’ At first I thought they misspelled PMC for Pan-Mass Challenge. Then they started passing me. Dozens and dozens of high school kids on bikes. They were all well-behaved; some said ‘on your left’ as they passed. A few even waved. Here I was expecting a drink to be thrown on me or to get shoved or slapped. I guess that’s what I would have thought if I was a kid again. In the end, there had to have been over one hundred kids that rode by on the way to Coast Guard Beach in Eastham. I don’t know where they started from. I think they parked in Harwich at Brooks Park; sorry to those not from Cape Cod for a lot of specific Cape places. Shoutout to those kids and their teachers at Providence Day School. They were very respectful on their trip, and I hope they had a great time seeing the scenery on Cape Cod.


9. There is a section of the Cape Cod Rail Trail in Harwich that is a haven for turtle crossings. It is about 2.5 miles in from the trailhead on Rt. 134 in Dennis for those curious. I don’t always see them, but the odds are higher there than just about anywhere else on the bike trail. There is a spot where the Herring River goes under the trail and empties into the West Reservoir of Bell’s Neck Conservation area. I don’t know if the waterway under the trail is too small, but turtles end up climbing up the embankment, crossing the trail, and going down the other side into the water. I was nearing 10 miles into my walk when I was going past that spot again. There it was. A juvenile box turtle was attempting to cross the trail. It was maybe 3 inches across at the shell. Not needing an excuse to stop walking, I guided it across the trail, basically shielding it from oncoming bikes. Then I got my video. The turtle crawled to the edge of the stone embankment. I had no sooner made the joke that it was going to jump when there it went, diving over the side. I scrambled to find it. Granted, it was only 3 feet down to the ground from the top of the stone wall, but for a tiny turtle that’s pretty far. I got video of it continuing down the steep hill. It fell and rolled at times, which made it feel more like a Three Stooges episode. Obviously the video will show things better. Don’t worry, it was ok, so you can laugh.




10. Sometimes things just come up Milhouse. That’s a Simpsons reference that some of you might not get. What it’s referring to is a particularly lucky event this week. After having to spend much of one day waiting for my car to get fixed, I had to push some other errands off. This included doing laundry. I wasn’t looking forward to driving on a hot summer weekend to the laundromat. The first bit of luck was realizing that I could throw my laundry in and, while it was going, head across the street to the library and get some work done. It was some abstract multitasking. I got to sit in the a/c and relative quiet and start working on a project. One of the librarians came up to where I was sitting and asked me if I had received the check for my event there last month. I had not even thought about it. In fact, I just assumed that I had done the event for free, except for the books I sold. This was the peak of the luck. Not only was I multitasking while my laundry was going, but now I was essentially getting paid to do work in the library. Sadly, I know if I go to write at any other libraries locally, they won’t be handing me checks, but I can always dream, right?


11. We have reached the halfway point of summer. No, summer doesn’t end Labor Day Weekend, sorry. It ends on September 21st. As of this writing, we are in another hot stretch on Cape Cod and the Northeastern United States in general. Don’t get me wrong, I am lucky and blessed to have access to air conditioning so as not to slowly cook myself in August. That being said, this is also the time of year that I start counting down the days to my favorite time of year. Fall is my favorite season. In fact, as some of you might already know, my favorite time of year is Labor Day through New Year’s. The weather is still good through most of October. There are several birthdays of loved ones, including my own. There are also several amazing holidays to celebrate. Sure, we could get a freak snowstorm before Thanksgiving, but that’s a fair trade for the good vibes I feel during the last third of the year. I don’t hate summer, but it is my third favorite season behind fall and spring. Once the sweltering, humid days break, which is typically later in August, then summer becomes alright. That just happens to coincide with Labor Day, so lucky me.

The Final Classic Story From My Nana's Life

Social media has been a part of my life since 2003, when I created my profile on Friendster. It has been mostly a blessing as it allows me to keep in touch with family and friends while also sharing my work, thoughts, and random moments from life.

In one major way, it has been a blessing because it serves as a makeshift journal chronicling my life. Anything on Friendster has long since been lost. Anything on Myspace, at least from its heyday, has also been lost. The biggest storage container of the memories of my life on social media is Facebook.

Since the spring of 2007, my life and the events of it have been shared on Facebook. Every day I look at the ‘Memories’ page, and it brings me back to different chapters of my life. It’s amazing to think that I started on Facebook at 29, and later this year, I will turn 49. It’s getting very close to half of my life.

A recent post from the memories page is what spurred this article on. When it comes to my grandparents, the three who were alive during my lifetime at least, my final memories of them are different. Not so much the very end. They were all sad, but in a small way, also a relief because they were all old and suffering to a different degree. I am looking at the final full years of their lives.

My Grampa’s final year, May 2018 through May 2019, is burned into my mind. He was trending downward from the effects of dementia. The older memories still remained, but ask him about present-day, and it was a lot of stammering and blank stares.

My last truly wonderful moment with my Grampa was sharing a photo of his childhood home in Fitchburg, Massachusetts, with him in November 2018. From then on out, it was a rapid decline and an end that was sad, but a relief because, as I said, he was suffering.

My Grampa's childhood home in Fitchburg, MA

My Nina’s final year, March 2020 through March 2021, was awful. I am sure most of you see the timeline there and know what was going on. My Nina’s final year was spent in lockdown at the assisted living facility she had been at.

The sad irony was that I had been working at that same place and had access to her every day I worked. I would visit every day, bring the foods she liked, including raising toast and bacon. If anybody questioned it, I said I was family, and I was giving her what she wanted, and basically, they couldn’t stop me.

Mere weeks before the COVID pandemic shut the world down, I left that job. I was looking for part-time so that I could start getting back into personal training. It was a huge mistake. The new job was a terrible step down, with or without the pandemic. Leaving my Nina on her own when I had been there has left me with guilt that I might never live down.

When it comes to my Nana, things are a bit blurry. Her last year was December 2008 through December 2009. With my Nina and Grampa having lived until much more recently, I have found that their lives remain fresh in my mind. Having been nearly 17 years since my Nana died, it can be hard to form a clear picture of her last year.

My last real memory of my Nana in a normal sense was around my birthday in early November 2009. I would always visit her even as I grew older into my 30s. It wasn’t until after she had ended up in an assisted living facility at the end that a few things became clearer.

Her memory was slipping, but at 85, that was to be expected. Physically, she had much more trouble walking. It became more of a shuffle. This actually led to a funny story during those final months.

I was sitting at the dining room table as I had done hundreds of times in my life. I believe that I had my laptop open and I wanted to show her something. Sitting on the floor next to me was Nana’s cat Mittens. She was a black and white striped cat who, by that time, had to have been 15 years old.

Nana came over to look, but in doing so stepped on Mittens’ tail. She screamed out and tried to run away. My Nana, with her legs weak and heavy now, couldn’t lift her foot fast enough. It ended up looking like a cartoon with Mittens jumping into the air with all four feet elevated, but stuck by her tail under Nana’s foot. Eventually, she lifted her foot, and Mittens ran off. Her anger only lasted until Nana opened a fresh can of cat food for her. This video is from October 2009, just over two months before my Nana died.

The social media aspect of this post comes through when I had a memory pop up from May 2009. A story I had totally forgotten about. I will share it, but it also made me want to take a trip back in time and see what other sorts of stories I might have shared during my Nana’s final year.

The final hurrah in terms of classic memories with my Nana actually has little to do with her. She was more of a background player in what turned out to be a typical event in my life.

It all began with a car accident. I was at a pretty rural intersection in Yarmouth. I had never before, or since, had anything remotely odd happen at that meeting of the roads. On this date, August 27, 2008, I stopped, looked both ways, and started through the intersection. Then I saw it.

A car came barreling around a bit of a blind corner. It flew through the intersection. I had a moment to cut my wheel and turn away before the car t-boned me. It hit me on the driver’s side just in front of the tire, spinning me around. My airbag didn’t deploy, which was great. If I hadn’t cut the wheel, who knows what types of injuries I would have had?

My totaled Saturn

I was fine and stepped out of my car only to see the other vehicle slowly, very slowly, driving away. I chased after it, yelling and swearing because this jerk had slammed into me and was trying to sneak away like they were a naughty child. It turned out I wasn’t too far off.

A neighbor ran out and chased the car down while another man came out to check on me. It ended up being the same man who was our school police officer at my high school back in the day. He’s asking me if I’m okay, and I’m getting excited to see him because it has been 20 years.

The man who hit me ended up being 95 years old. Insurance took care of everything, but unfortunately, my Saturn Ion was considered totaled. I ended up having to get a rental car for a few days while beginning the search for a new car. The tie to my Nana was that I was heading to her house after work on that day. So I ended up not making it due to my car being totaled.

This time, instead of choosing a smaller sedan that was good on gas, I went with a Jeep Liberty SUV. 4X4, heated leather seats, moon roof, terrible gas mileage, but whatever. I loved it.

The winter was great. I didn’t have to worry about getting stuck in the snow or sliding on ice with my Jeep. I figured that the accident with my previous vehicle was an anomaly and a story I’d be telling for years. It turned out that there was a sequel on its way.

Flash forward to May 25, 2009, and the reason for this entire post. Thanks for making it this far.

I was at my Nana’s house. It was getting dark, so it must have been closing in on 8pm. I was probably watching a rerun of The Simpsons with my father while Nana was sitting at the dining room table.

From outside, I heard a crash. Thinking there had been a collision, I jumped up from the chair and looked outside. I spotted a sedan to the right side just at the edge of my Nana's yard. Its front end was smoking, but it was still trying to drive off. There was no other vehicle until I realized what had collided with that car: my parked Jeep.

This vehicle had slammed into the rear end of my Jeep while doing a U-turn in the middle of the road. Then they tried to sneak off, much like the old man the previous August. I knew that my rear axle had to be trashed from the collision.

I ran outside yelling at the other car. This scrawny guy steps out. He was probably around my age, then early 30s. I could tell he must have been on something by the way he was speaking in stuttering phrases while being very jittery.

Flashbacks of my Saturn popped into my head, and I started going off on the guy. How could he be so reckless as to slam into my parked car? I wasn’t in the middle of the street. I asked him if he was drunk, and suddenly his demeanor changed.

He started begging me not to call anybody. He begged to be able to go inside and talk to the people in there. So this tweaking weirdo wanted to go inside and talk to my 85-year-old grandmother? No way.

By this point, my Nana had come to the door to see what was up. This bag of bones sees her and starts calling out to her. He’s begging to be allowed to go in and talk to her. Why? Honestly, what did he need to speak to my Nana? To plead his case? You hit my car, pal. Plead your case to me.

I stood between him and the front door, telling him explicitly that there was no way I was letting him near my Nana. I demanded his insurance info. Now my father had come out, and the other guy finally relented. Granted, he was still pleading his case, but what could he say? He hit a parked car like a moron.

I remember being so mad. Part of me was mad that I had stayed a little longer at my Nana’s. The whole situation could have been avoided if I hadn’t been there. That was just misguided anger. It was a random coincidence that nobody could have predicted.

I believe I drove my Jeep home, but then I didn’t dare to drive it. The sketchy other driver continued to bat 1,000 by ducking his insurance company for days. I had to think seriously about going to the police to get this guy to cooperate. I was also shopping around for a good, reliable mechanic to fix the Jeep.

A few days were spent chasing the guy down and getting his insurance company to handle the claim. I did a lot of walking until I got a rental car, which ironically ended up being the same model as a friend at work. That should be where the story ended, but it wasn’t.

A rare photo of that rental car.

You’d think that it would be as easy as bringing the Jeep to the mechanic and getting the rear axle fixed. Nope. Come on, why would it be that easy? From the day that the accident happened to the day that the Jeep was 100% again was two months.

Not only did it need a new rear axle, but a new fuel tank as well. There was also confusion from both insurance companies as to the actual place where my vehicle was. I had to deal with the idiot who hit my car, calling me angrily, asking about where my Jeep was. In reality, the guy was pissed that he had caused way more damage than he thought. It’s like, hey dude, don’t drive like a moron, and things like this won’t happen.

After five weeks of rental cars, walking, and even riding bikes, I got my Jeep back. Almost immediately, my battery died. It was a comedy show, as anytime I wanted to go somewhere, I had to pop the hood and jump my battery. I believe I had borrowed a portable battery charger. This was every single time I needed to start it. So back to the mechanic it went.

As I mentioned, it was two full months before the Jeep was purring like a kitten again. I loved that vehicle, but an issue would rear its ugly head. Gas prices. Shortly after my Nana died in the last week of 2009, I started doing road trips to cope. I took photos and wrote articles about the places I saw. Those articles are actually way, way back in the archives of this blog.

Gas prices were nearly as high as they are in 2026. Each trip I took got further from home and cost more. I knew I had to make a choice. It was either the road trips that were soothing my soul after my Nana’s death, or the Jeep that up to that point had been my favorite vehicle I had.

In the end, I chose the road trips. I sold the Jeep and got a Ford Focus. Great gas mileage, average looking, but it allowed me to keep logging loads of miles. It worked out for the best.

Me parking my new Ford in some odd places.

Only when going through my Facebook archives did I come upon this story of the Jeep accident. It makes me glad that I have shared as much as I have on social media. I have a great memory, but some things slip through the cracks.

Besides that accident and her standing on Mittens’ tail, there aren’t many memories I have from my Nana’s final year. Luckily, in her case, and the case of all of my grandparents, I have more than enough memories to keep them alive inside my mind for as long as I live.

That is a big reason why I choose to share stories like this. Sure, it’s kind of funny, but it’s also a way to keep my Nana’s memory alive. She might have been gone for going on 17 years, but she created a legacy, and I am a part of that. It is partially my duty to her that I keep the legacy going. I take great pride in that duty.

In My Footsteps Podcast Episode 217: Children's Halloween TV Specials, Rod Serling's Night Gallery, Most Absurd Ways People Have Died(10-22-2025)

 

The history of beloved children's Halloween TV specials. The story behind Rod Serling's other hit TV show after The Twilight Zone. Some of the weirdest, stupidest, and funniest ways to have died.

Episode 217 is a wild and wacky Gen-X trip through Spooky Season.

The show begins with a look back at some of the beloved children's Halloween television specials. From Charlie Brown to Garfield and beyond, kids have been enjoying laughs and scares on TV for sixty years. We will look at some of the favorites as well as some lesser-known classics.

Everyone knows the Twilight Zone. It is one of the most influential television shows of all time. However, not as many know that creator Rod Serling tried his hand at another supernatural-themed series. We will look back at that show, Night Gallery, as well as the legacy of Rod Serling himself.

This week's Top 5 combines death and laughter. We will look at some of the most unusual true stories of ways people have died. Alarm clocks, facial hair, practical jokes, and more make this a list not to be missed.

There is, as always, a brand new This Week In History and Time Capsule looking at the first ever wedding held inside a hot air balloon.

You can support my work by becoming a member on Patreon. Or you can Buy Me A Coffee!

Helpful Links from this Episode

• Buy My New Book, In Their Footsteps!
• Searching For the Lady of the Dunes True Crime Book
• Hooked By Kiwi - Etsy.com
• DJ Williams Music
• KeeKee's Cape Cod Kitchen
• Christopher Setterlund.com
• Cape Cod Living - Zazzle Store
• Subscribe on YouTube!
• Initial Impressions 2.0 Blog
• Webcam Weekly Wrapup Podcast
• CJSetterlundPhotos on Etsy

Listen to Episode 216 here

6 Years and What Have I Learned? Dear Grampa

 

Dear Grampa,

It’s been 6 years now since you left this world. I still remember it like it was yesterday. I remember every excruciating detail of those last few months as you slowly deteriorated due to Alzheimer's. I told myself that if I truly thought of you as my hero and role model that I needed to be there as much as I could through those dark times.

The truth is, it scarred me. It scarred and traumatized me more than anyone knows. It’s a trauma I don’t speak of much because I don’t know who’d listen or care.

That first time in the room with you, where you got stuck in a loop of getting dressed and undressed for work was a cold slap of reality, I think I didn’t want to believe. I made my choice though to be there until the end.

Some times felt almost normal. We’d talk about the 1950s, jazz music, old friends, and you remembered my name. That might have been the biggest blessing and curse. You remembered my name almost to the end. It also meant that when you begged me to help you escape the nursing facility, it was my name you used. All I could do was wait it out until the thought floated from your mind like dandelion spores.

Then there were the bad times. Me sitting at your bedside while Nina begged me to help you. There was nothing I could do but apologize and say I didn’t know what to do. Few things are more heartbreaking than your grandparents who had been married over 70 years begging their grandson to do anything to help the situation and knowing there was not a damn thing I could do but be there.

I would hold it together for the sake of my mother and siblings until I was by myself. That was when my alcohol issues took center stage. I would drink until I couldn’t feel and then hate myself for wanting to scrub the final memories of my supposed hero from my mind.

In those final weeks, I had many times that I was torn between hoping you passed so you wouldn’t suffer anymore and wanting desperately for one more memory of you, even a traumatizing one. Then the end came.

They say even when you’re unresponsive, a person can still hear you, which is why it is good to speak to someone even if they show no signs. I remember that last night, that last time I saw you. I left work to say my goodbyes. Sitting at your bedside as you lay with your eyes closed, looking peaceful, I knew it was the last time I’d ever see you.

It hurt. It was a new kind of hurt, though. When my dear old friend Matt died 18 months earlier, I got the news but never saw him. This time with you I was staring you in the face, knowing that it was my choice how long I stayed, what I said, and how I reacted to what was coming.

I’ll keep my final words to you between us because I know you heard them. I could have stayed longer as my coworkers told me to just go home after I saw you but I needed to not be alone, at least not right away. I knew alone time was drinking time and I needed to feel for a little longer.

I stood in that doorway looking at you trying to imprint everything permanently into my memory. It worked. It’s still there. Even now I get that familiar pang of emotion knowing that my next move was turning and walking away leaving you forever only a memory. I’m sorry.

The photo I took after leaving the nursing facility that final night.

It’s been 6 years now. So what have I learned?

I learned that you cast a big shadow. It feels even bigger when it’s been taken away. I learned a lot from your life and death, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve done anything with what I’ve learned.

I learned what real love was from you and Nina being married for over 70 years. I learned how important real love was by how she slowly faded away once you were gone. Me, I am more afraid to love and be loved so I have chosen to bury myself in chasing my dreams since you’ve been gone.

I learned about what a real man is and what having a real male role model means, especially when one is taken away. I’ve had so many ‘second fathers’ in my life, because my ‘first father’ didn’t want to be a father at all. I tried to soak up all of your wisdom while I could. Now I find myself wishing I could ask you a question or share a problem with you, usually a few times a week.

I have sunk deep into personal development over the last few years, desperately trying to find the road that I was paving while you were still here. Through this journey, I have learned one sad truth. I don’t feel like I am honoring your legacy the way I wish I could.

There was a great question on a self-help podcast a few months ago that hit me like a ton of bricks. A man asked how best to honor his brother, who had recently passed away. The podcast host said the best way to honor someone you’ve lost is by living the life they would have wanted for you. I don’t feel I am doing that.

There are times that I think about all of the advice, words of wisdom, and lessons I got from you. Then I think to myself, ‘Did I even pay attention?’ I swear I did.

I said to you that if I grew up to be half the man that you were, I would consider my life to be a success. I don’t consider myself a success. This is where I’d ask you for advice on what to do next, but all I can do is comb my memories of you to see if I can find a stone I’ve left unturned.

I could sit here and tell you I feel like I’ve failed you in terms of the lofty praise and expectations you would heap on me. Maybe it was just what good grandparents do. I don’t know.

There are two things I will leave you with, Grampa. One you said to me and one I’ve learned through the years, and all of the losses of loved ones.

One is the words you scratched down on the piece of paper I still have to this day. It’s never too late to be what you might have been. Yes, I know that George Eliot said that quote, but I had never heard of it until you gave me those words. Until I am dead and gone, I will continue the search for whatever I might be. Not giving up my dreams is the best way I can honor you. Well, except for one other way.

It is said that a person dies twice. They die once when they take their last breath, and again when their name is spoken for the last time. As long as I am alive, you will be as well.

I will celebrate. I will mourn. I will share stories. I will pursue my dreams in your honor. It’s all I can do to stay warm in the chill of your giant shadow. It is why I am writing a letter you will never receive.

How I picture my grandparents.

In closing Grampa, I love you and miss you everyday. Please take Nina out for a fun night dancing and singing at the best jazz club heaven has. Save a big table for Nana, Uncle Eric, Auntie Chris, Brenda, and Marylou. Matt probably won’t go to a jazz club, but you can always send him a box of donuts.

Until we meet again, thank you for everything.

Love,

 Chris