The Hero Dies in This One: Written in the Chords of Time

There are certain songs that feel like time machines—melodies that transport you to places and people that still live in the corners of your mind. The opening chords strike, and suddenly, I’m 16 again, tangled in a mess of emotions, self-discovery, and the raw intensity of growing up. The Hero Dies in This One by The Ataris is one of those songs. It carries me back to late-night car rides with friends who felt more like family, our voices hoarse from singing along to every word like they were written just for us. The feeling of being caught between wanting to escape and not knowing where to run… it’s a flood of memories, an echo of teenage years spent navigating the highs and lows of growing up, the weight of loss, and the beauty of finding light in the darkest places. It reminds me of friendships forged in chaos and of the ache of loss that shaped me in ways I never could have predicted.

The song carries the weight of so much loss—a father figure gone way before his time who showed me what unconditional love really meant. The loss of a brother in spirit who left this world far too soon. Losing Trey in our youth crushed us, an entire town shattered by his absence. It felt like a script I hadn’t read ahead of time, like the hero of our story had been written out before the final act. In the wake of his passing, I found an unexpected refuge in new friends—people who had lost just as deeply but carried on with grace. Tiffany became a beautiful angel floating in the background of my memories, someone I barely knew in life but came to love through the stories of those who did.

Tiffany was Clint and Danny’s sister, and Stephanie’s closest friend long before Stephanie ever became mine. I had seen Tiffany in passing at school—always surrounded by people who loved her, always carrying that effortless brightness that certain girls seem born with. She was kind, beautiful, one of those sweet popular girls who seemed just a little ahead of me in life. We never had the chance to truly know each other while she was here, but after Trey died and Stephanie and I met, our grief braided itself together. She had lost Tiffany; I had lost Trey. And somewhere in that shared ache, Tiffany became part of my story too—a light I learned to love through the people who carried her.

Somehow, our grief connected us, binding us in an unspoken understanding of what it meant to lose and to keep moving forward anyway.

There’s something about this song—the way it builds, the way it aches, the way it just gets it—that makes me feel everything at once. It’s the heartbreak of growing up, the gut punch of realizing that not every story has a happy ending, but also the quiet realization that the people we’ve lost never really leave us. They’re there, in the songs, in the laughter, in the way the seasons change but still feel the same.

Maybe that’s what Searching for Stars is all about—holding onto the echoes of those who shaped us, finding beauty in the disaster, and knowing that even when the hero dies in this one, their story never really ends.

< Older Post

Newer Post >

Searching For Stars

So Far Away: The Things That Still Hold Us Together

By Lauren Nixon-Matney • December 12, 2025

Television Series: Reba Carole King : So Far Away Reba : I'm a Survivor

Thank You, Danny Go!: A Letter From Our Living Room

By Lauren Nixon-Matney • December 12, 2025

Dear Danny Go (and Mindy Mango), We weren’t looking for you—but somehow, you found us. It was in the recommended section on Happy Kids TV. Jaxon clicked on it for his sister Maggie, and just like that, something lit up in our living room. The colors, the energy, the fun costumes, the absolute joy of it all—we were hooked. Not just the kids. Jamie and I too. It didn’t take long before Danny Go! wasn’t just something our kids watched—it became something we danced to, sang along with, laughed through. Something that made us all feel lighter. There’s something rare and magical about a show that doesn’t just entertain your kids, but actually pulls you in too. For us, Danny Go! is that magic. Whether it’s “ The Floor is Lava ” or any of the countless jams we’ve rewatched again and again, it’s more than background noise—it’s an invitation. To move, to play, to be present. We’ve turned living rooms into obstacle courses, let loose in the kitchen, and found ourselves grinning and dancing when we thought we were too tired to do anything at all. It’s a way to reset a rough day, a cranky morning, or a bedtime full of wiggles . It’s become a happy place. At first, Danny Go! was just this bright, silly, joyful thing we all loved. But then I started learning more—about you, Daniel and Mindy, about your son Isaac, about the love and resilience at the heart of it all. And suddenly, it wasn’t just fun anymore. It was inspiring. The kind of inspiring that sinks in deep because you recognize something in it. I too know what it means to be moved by your children to do something that matters. In its essence Searching for Stars was born from that same place—wanting to create light because of the light our kids bring us every day. Knowing what Danny Go! came from—knowing the beauty and bravery behind it—just makes every song, every dance, every goofy costume feel even more meaningful. It’s not just a show. It’s a gift. Thank you so very much. For the joy. For the music and movement. For the way you’ve turned your story into something so bright and full of life. Thank you for making something that brings my kids happiness, and for letting that happiness spill over to the rest of us too. You’ve given us more than a show. You’ve given us a reason to dance when we’re tired, to laugh when we need it most, and to remember that play matters—maybe even more than we think. You remind us that joy is a kind of medicine, and that silly, colorful, creative love can be a force for good in the world. From one parent trying to build something inspired by their children to another: thank you for the light you’ve made. You’ve brightened our living room—and our hearts. With love and gratitude, Lauren