Good Riddance: In Memory of the Family Matriarch, Sally

A family reunion, a Wurlitzer, and honoring my grandmother.

Aug 02, 2025

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Sally Tamblyn stands outside on grass. She smiles at the camera. She is playing what appears to be a tiny banjo. She wears a headband in her hair and is dressed in a sleeveless, knee-length dress and high heels. — My grandmother, Sally Tamblyn, dancing and performing on the Orpheum Circuit, circa 1930.

Hi everyone, and welcome to our weekly series, Good Riddance, where every Saturday we meet up in the comments below to share something we’re letting go of—or working to let go of—no matter how big or small it is: an interaction at work that left a bad taste in your mouth, a discouraging voice in your head, or an item that it’s finally time to part ways with.

This week, Tamblyns from all over the country flew into Los Angeles for our long-awaited family reunion. After my uncle, Larry Tamblyn, died in March of this year, we decided it was time to finally make the much-talked-about gathering a reality. My dad, Russ, is now the only member of the elder Tamblyns left, and everyone has felt the urgency to spend time with the last remaining patriarch of the family.

One of our plans for the reunion was to finally scatter my grandmother Sally’s ashes, which, until this past weekend, had been sitting on a shelf in my parents’ home for thirty years, since Sally’s death in 1995. What better time to celebrate her legacy than when we’re all surrounded by the huge family she helped to create—thirty-five grand- and great-grandchildren in all.

My grandmother, Sally Tamblyn, surrounded by her boys. From left, my grandfather Eddie Tamblyn, my dad Russ, and my uncles, Larry and Warren Tamblyn.

I only knew Grandma Sally for the first twelve years of my life. She was an amazing woman who toured the Orpheum Circuit as a showgirl and dancer back in the 1930s with my grandfather, actor and vaudeville star, Eddie Tamblyn. Decades later, I would often visit my grandma at her apartment in Santa Monica where she would give me piano lessons and let me play with her beloved Siamese cat, Kim Sue. Grandma taught me piano for several years before I eventually gave up on playing an instrument, but I still loved playing that cream-colored Wurlitzer nonetheless. I deeply regret not sticking with piano, but to this day, I can still play most of Grandma’s favorite song by heart.

After my grandma passed away, the piano was kept in a storage unit until I bought my first house in my early twenties. I couldn’t wait to bring the beloved piano into my very own home. On warm Los Angeles nights after poetry shows, poets would come over to my place in Venice and my father would play a melodic hymn on the keys of his mother’s piano in my living room while some poet, whiskey-sparked and adrenaline-soaked, would read their work alongside him. These are memories I will forever cherish. Andrea was often there too.

On Friday this past week, I helped my mom get my grandmother’s ashes down from the shelf with the help of my Aunt Glenda (my late Uncle Larry’s wife of more than thirty years). We carried the box out to the porch where we were planning to make keepsake urns for the whole family—a little bit of Sally’s ashes for everyone, plus a few sage leaves grown and nurtured by my mom, and dried flowers from her garden. At sunset, my mom and my aunt and I sat in a circle around a table and ceremoniously began to fill the small glass jars Mom had purchased for the occasion. Glenda put a few sage leaves in the jar then passed it to me to add Sally’s ashes, followed by my mom adding the dried flowers.

Amber's mom, Bonnie, stands barefoot on a step stool. She is handing a red fabric bag to Amber's aunt, Glenda, who stands on the ground.

The contents of the red fabric bag. A framed photo of Sally Tamblyn and a small black box with her ashes. The label on the box reads: "Cremation number 107320. Cremated remains of Sally Aileen Tamblyn. Date of Cremation: September 15, 1995. Funeral home: Aftercare. Chapel of the Pines Crematorium, 1605 S. Catalina Street, Los Angeles, CA 90006"

Along the way, we burned some incense and shared stories about all who were no longer with us: Grandma, Uncle Larry, Uncle Warren, and Grandpa Eddie. We laughed about what stubborn pains-in-the-asses my uncles were (and my father still is), and what it must have been like for Sally to put up with three rowdy boys all those years. We talked about how Eddie died of brain cancer at the far too early age of forty-nine and how that impacted everyone he left behind, including my dad, who was only twenty-three-years-old at the time, and Sally, widowed so young. We were humbled in the presence of her ashes, how almost-alive they felt being poured into the jars, as if the memories of an entire lifetime were still in there with them, just waiting to be sifted through and shared.

Two photos. Left: Bonnie and Glenda stand outside over a wooden table, setting up the glass jars, plants, and all they will need to make the keepsake urns. Right: Aunt Glenda sits at a wooden table outside. She is picking leaves off a plant and putting them into a glass bowl. The bag of Sally's ashes, small glass jars, and spoons can also be seen on the table.

Two photos. Left: Amber's mom, Bonnie, smiles as she adds some flowers to the small glass jars. Right: The background is out of focus. In the foreground are a line of some of the small, finished keepsake urns.

This week for Good Riddance, I’m letting go of my grandma Sally’s ashes, thirty years after she left this earth. I’m letting them go by giving them away to beloved family members, and to the hills of Los Angeles, the city where she was born, raised, and died, and where we spread the remainder of her ashes. Here’s to you, Grandma Sally, and to all that you gave to this world.

What are you letting go of or saying goodbye to this week? Let me know in the comments.

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The Short and Sweet, Sunday, August 17 at 1pm ET: Short and Sweet, our monthly get together live over Zoom will take place on Sunday, August 17. This month, we'll explore how to write through griefs of all kinds—personal losses and global political pain—and how to use it as a catalyst for bigger, braver writing. The Zoom link will be emailed to paid subscribers about thirty minutes before the start of the Zoom.

A Dark Sparkler special: In May, I shared the very exciting news that my book, Dark Sparkler, was celebrating the tenth anniversary of its publication with a beautiful reprint, thanks to HarperCollins. With that news I also shared a sweat-inducing, very direct ask for people to buy the book. (It always feels weird as a writer to hustle your own work!) To sweeten the deal, I’m sending anyone who buys a paperback copy of the book a little limited edition something as a thank you. Just send the receipt of your purchase, along with your name and mailing address to LITDSubstack@gmail.com.