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Through healing myself, I’ve been able to reach back through time to heal generational wounds for the women who cleared the way for me, too—much like how, despite Shelby’s death, her legacy continues through her son and all those who loved her and learned from her presence in their lives. I only hope I can carry on the legacy of strength, silliness and shit-talking I’ve learned from the women I love most and the women of Steel Magnolias for many more Easter Sundays to come.
When my Memaw died, she left behind an afterlife planning notebook that opened with the words “CRY LATER” in all caps on its first page… if that’s not the “Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion” spirit of Steel Magnolias transcending even death, I don’t know what is. This is a film that will always be a source of comfort for me, even on terrible days like the one that was my cousin’s last.
“Life is really hard. People leave, people hurt you, people die, people disappoint you, you disappoint you. Life is really hard. But if you find the right group of people… it gets a little easier. People to help you grieve, make you laugh, do your hair, make your food, love you,” Lindsay writes, and she’s correct—life is really hard, and it only gets harder as we age. This same sentiment was also shared by another poet laureate of the American South who left us too soon, Anna Nicole Smith: “You know those bumper stickers where it says ‘Shit Happens, And Then You Die?’ They should have them where ‘Shit Happens, And Then You Live,’ because that’s really the truth of it.”
Yet, we as women endure—just as my Kentucky ancestors endured the coal mines and my Irish ancestors endured famine, I’m enduring an ongoing global pandemic, the climate crisis, and tangible threats to equality for women everywhere. But, in spite of it all, we do not let our “own personal tragedies affect our ability to do good hair,” like Annelle says. We honor those we’ve loved and lost the best ways we know how, just as I’ve tried to honor the all-too-brief life of my cousin here. I endure to share stories that no one else remembers, like how Michele discovered the secret of nuclear-strength Seche Vite before anyone else I knew—and then shared that secret with me. I endure for many reasons, but one of them is because she can’t anymore.
We remember “there is no such thing as natural beauty.” We sit bedside when nobody else can. We get by with a little help from our friends.
And we endure.
