Relationships
“That was her big lesson for me: that after loss, I could find happiness again. She wanted me to avoid getting stuck in a miserable moment that had passed.”
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My friend Margo Howard died last month. She was 86.
Margo was the daughter of Eppie Lederer, better known as famous advice columnist Ann Landers.
Margo was also an advice columnist; she began writing Dear Prudence for Slate when she was in her late 50s. She also wrote Dear Margo, which was published by The Boston Globe.
Over the years, people have asked me about the personalities of advice columnists and how we differ. I usually say that some of us are forceful with our counsel, while others are soft. Some are hilarious – and a few are too hilarious… at the expense of the letter writer, who’s asked a real question.
I am a softie. I usually go the route of, “You’re doing OK! Give yourself space and time to heal! It’s OK to be sad! Feel hurt for as long as you want!” Rarely have I said to a question asker, “Get over it already.”
Margo gave tougher love to her letter writers, but not too tough. She was empathetic but didn’t hold back. Her writing was a reflection of who she was in person – opinionated, practical, confident, and, on occasion, splendidly sarcastic with an implied eye-roll for the ages.
She lived in Cambridge when I met her through a friend at the Globe. I had just started the Love Letters column, not fully knowing what I had gotten myself into. Margo, who was writing Dear Margo at the time, was living in an apartment at the Charles Hotel in Cambridge.
Over 15 or so years after that first meeting, she gave me advice about my advice. Sometimes she agreed with what I had to say; sometimes she had other opinions.
She also gave me advice about my life, all of which I loved, even when it didn’t help – because it was always clever.
Once she said to me, as we wandered through the Charles Hotel, passing its high-end restaurant and in-house spa, “You should live in a hotel when you’re older and ready. It makes life a lot easier.”
I explained that I did not have the kind of money that would allow me to buy a condo in a hotel. Then she gave me one of her Margo looks, which was her way of telling me: “Oh dear, you should really figure out how to get more money.”
Good advice, of course. I’m still working on it.
It always felt like I’d won a golden ticket when I was in her company. She’d known celebrities, everyone from literary giants to famous actors. Sometimes she’d tell me something about a celebrity I wasn’t even old enough to have heard of, but the way Margo told the tale was so good I was riveted. I wanted to hear her version of everything.
“You are my darling protégé to offer to send gossip.”
— Margo to me, in a 2025 email
Sometimes our advice columnist brains didn’t align, which made sense – because we were opposites in so many ways. She’d been married four times and could make jokes about it. I’d been monumentally single for the better part of a decade when I met her, and was still crying over past breakups that no longer should have mattered.
I was an anxious ruminator, but she would tell me to look ahead – and beyond. If she was at a bad party – or in a bad marriage – she was happy to get to the next, better one.
That was her big lesson for me: that after loss, I could find happiness again. She wanted me to avoid getting stuck in a miserable moment that had passed.
When my mom died, in 2013, Margo gave me a necklace that belonged to her own mother. Wearing Ann Landers’s jewelry made me feel like a superhero – like it gave me the power to stop feelings from consuming me.
Margo handed me the necklace with a directive. She said I was allowed to grieve – that I’d be grieving over my mother forever – but I couldn’t do it “full-time” for more than a few months.
She said that nonstop grief wasn’t healthy . . . and would make me kind of a drag.
I took that seriously – her belief that I should find new sources of joy, to continue to make jokes, and, to some extent, get over it.
It’s helped me become a happier person, to know that you can feel loss while making room for new and better moments.
I will miss her, but I promise, in honor of her, not too much.
I will think of her when I hear good stories and when I laugh. I will not dwell, only remember.
Thank you, Margo, for giving me permission.
If you want to hear Margo talking in a very Margo way about how to let go, please enjoy her appearance on the Love Letters podcast episode, “For Coffee, In Paris.” She is fantastic in an interview about what objects/property she kept after relationships, and what she has given away, quite willingly.
You can also watch this WBUR conversation we had in 2022 with fellow advice columnist Jenée Desmond-Harris.
A new story…
We have a new podcast episode about a 79-year-old woman who’s about to get a divorce. She explains why it feels necessary to end a marriage as she turns 80. It is a sweet and wonderful story that involves lots of gardening.
An event…
In 2024, the Love Letters podcast had an episode called “My Clown Era,” a story about a New York woman who took clown classes at the Brooklyn Comedy Collective, and then realized she had become better at dating. Basically, by turning into a clown, she became more relaxed, more present, and was giving herself permission to walk away from experiences that weren’t fun. It led her straight into a relationship.
I mention this because her expert clown instructor – Tallie Medel – is leading a workshop in Boston on Saturday (Aug. 8).. Perhaps if you sign up, you’ll leave the experience with a new kind of clarity about your relationships. Medel, by the way, is an Emerson College grad who played Becky in “Everything Everywhere All At Once.”
Tallie Medel, a clown, at the Brooklyn Comedy Collective in 2024. (Olivia Falcigno for The Boston Globe)
And my favorite letter in recent days…
I’ve been doing this column for almost two decades and finally I had my first foot fetish question.
What’s your love and relationship problem?
Ask Meredith at Love Letters. Yes, it’s anonymous.
Famous lines…
I’ll leave you with a picture I took of a bumper sticker that caught my eye. It took me a few seconds to register where the quote comes from. Points to you if you can figure it out in under a minute. For those who don’t know these lines, google and then watch.
— Meredith
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