A Goodbye to Donut Dolly and a Thank You I’ll Never Forget

Some stories hit differently when the name on the door belongs to someone you know.
This weekend, Doughnut Dolly in Eastdale Village will close.
And for me, this one is deeply personal.
Because Jen isn’t just “the owner.”
She’s my friend.
I’ve watched her build this from scratch — not from a franchise blueprint or corporate backing — but from grit, instinct, and heart. I’ve seen the early mornings, the flour-dusted exhaustion, the pride when a batch came out just right.
People see the pink boxes and the pastry case.
They don’t see the 3 a.m. alarms.
They don’t see the cost of ingredients climbing. The labor math. The rent that never pauses. The quiet stress that small business owners carry so the rest of us can enjoy something sweet.
Jen opened Doughnut Dolly because she believed Eastdale deserved something handmade. Something joyful. Something that felt like a Saturday morning ritual in a world that moves too fast.
And it became exactly that.
But here’s where this becomes more than a business story.
A good friend of mine was going through one of the hardest chapters a family can face. Her father was in hospice. He was losing weight because he wasn’t eating. Anyone who has lived through that knows the helplessness — the way you try everything just to get a few bites into someone you love.
And somehow — Jen’s Boston Cremes did the trick.
For reasons only the soul understands, he would eat those.
In a season filled with decline and quiet sorrow, those donuts brought comfort. Calories. A small spark of pleasure in a body that was letting go.
You can’t put that on a balance sheet.
You can’t measure that in monthly revenue.
But I can measure it in gratitude.
I will always be grateful to Jen for that. Not just for the donut — but for the dignity and sweetness it carried into a very hard moment for someone I care about.
That’s what small businesses do when they’re rooted in heart.
They show up in unexpected places.
Now, the doors will close. And yes, Eastdale will move on. Spaces get filled. New signs go up. That’s the rhythm of commerce.
But for those of us who know the backstory — who know the woman behind the counter — this isn’t just turnover.
It’s the closing of a chapter written with courage.
Jen took a risk. She created something beautiful. She served this community with care. And in at least one family’s final chapter, she made a difference that mattered.
This weekend, if you stop by, don’t just grab a donut.
Tell her thank you.
Because sometimes, a Boston Creme is more than dessert.
Sometimes, it’s grace.