My grandmother, an 82 year-old spitfire went to be with the Lord, as they call it in the South, on May 24, 2007. We received the call from my Aunt Vicky from Ohio, that grandma Smith had passed away. She had lived her adult life in Dayton, Ohio. She and my grandpa relocated to Ohio in the 1950s, when work was scarce in the South. They raised six children; my mother was second to the youngest.

The funeral services were to be held in Crossville, Tennessee, a small farming community where my grandmother grew up and where my mom was born. My mom spoke of many summers she had enjoyed visiting family and playing with cousins. She loved going to the small theatre in town with her cousins and hanging out at the local A&W root beer stand. They still had carhops and delivered your order to the car. She often spoke of how kind the people were, and how you were never known as a stranger.

My grandma was the oldest of thirteen children. She was responsible for many chores on the farm and in the home. She also helped tend to her younger brothers and sisters. My grandma was legally blind from birth, and was not able to attend school. The nearest school for the blind was in Knoxville, TN, about 40 miles away. Her family did not have the money to send her.

My family has always loved to cook and eat. My grandma was an excellent cook, and passed down many recipes to my mom. She always kept treats on-hand, just in case company dropped by. She always taught my mom that southern hospitality is something that never goes out of style. Many family members were talented musicians and singers. They entertained the family with music as they enjoyed good food.

My family would visit my grandparents in Ohio. We would always stay at my grandma’s house. She prepared a big Sunday dinner for the entire family. My mom and I would help her make pies and baked goods. I can still remember the smell of them in my mind.

My grandma raised six children while my grandpa worked for a small construction company. My grandma was very active in the community, in which my mom grew up. She was a member of her local community council. The kids in the neighborhood played ball in a vacant lot. My grandma was afraid a child would get hurt. She was instrumental in getting a park built in the neighborhood for all the kids to enjoy.

We often talked about planning a family reunion in Tennessee, but unfortunately it never happened. My grandma always said that when she passed away she wanted to be buried in Tennessee. My mom saw that her request was honored. She spoke to her siblings the night we received the news and starting making the arrangements for the funeral to take place in Tennessee.

My family and I ate at a local restaurant the evening before the funeral services in Tennessee. People asked if we were visiting, as they could tell we didn’t have a southern accent. We told them we were in town for a funeral. Total strangers offered their condolences, prayers and even some hugs. It was amazing the comfort it brought to our grieving family. I thought this odd at first, since I had not experienced such genuine compassion from total strangers before, but I quickly realized I liked and appreciated it.

The next day the funeral service was held at Bilbray’s funeral home. This was a place my mom had been to many times. It was the only funeral home in the small town. The staff all new my mom’s family and were distant relatives. Many people came to pay their respects to my grandma and her family.

The funeral service was solemn, but not necessarily sad. We had a preacher gave the eulogy who had been my mom’s pastor when she was a teen. He told funny stories about the trouble she and her sisters liked to get into while flirting with boys at the local drugstore. He talked about how she liked to sign in church and always cried when anyone sang the song “When the roll is called up yonder”, “I’ll be there.” This was the song she requested at her funeral.

It was after the service, I realized the small town values my mom had talked about many times. A construction crew was working on a house next door to the funeral home. The worker’s began turning off their equipment. They kneeled with heads bowed and removed their hats. It was a way to pay their respects to our family, and the situation we were dealing with.

As the funeral procession began, I witnessed something you only read about in books. The procession began to wind its way through town. Traffic in all directions, came to a standstill allowing us to pass by on our way to the cemetery. Drivers, young and old alike, removed ball caps and placed them over their heart or sat quietly in their vehicle with their heads bowed.

We made our way to the cemetery. A neighbor, who lived nearby the cemetery, was taking his garbage to the curb. In mid-stride he immediately stopped, placed his hand over his heart, came to attention and waited for the procession to pass. My sister and I peered through the back window for as long as we could see. He stood at attention until all the cars had passed.

In disbelief of what I had just observed I realized that what my family and I had just witnessed would be something I would never forget. It opened my eyes to see how compassionate and caring people from the south are. They were so polite and had that southern hospitality. The funeral was a sad time in my life but also a very meaningful one.

After the funeral we were invited to go to an Aunt’s home for dinner. My Aunt had prepared so much food. Neighbors from the town brought food by for everyone. We sat around and shared stories of when my grandma was young growing up in Crossville. My grandma loved to catch fireflies in the summer and release them. My grandma always said to remember that we were like the firefly we couldn’t keep our light in a jar. We had to let it out and share it with others.

Since my grandma passed away I have been trying to research our family’s history. It has been somewhat difficult, as the records from the county courthouse were burned in a fire. We have records in the family bible and information that is now available on genealogical websites on the internet. My mom’s maiden name was Davis .and she married a man with the last name Smith. They are both very common names. I have found out that we do have native American Indian in our family and that some of my relatives migrated from Cherokee, NC.

The cemetery where my grandma is laid to rest has a family plot. She and my grandpa Smith are buried next to a baby they lost at six months of age. His name was Timothy Harold, named after my grandpa Smith. My mom often wondered if that is why it was so important for my grandma to be buried in her hometown of Crossville, TN. I think that she wanted to be reunited with the son she had lost and somehow find closure.

My grandma was such a nice person. She would do anything for anyone. She was friendly to people that she didn’t know. I like to think that my grandma’s spirit has been passed on to me. She always saw the good in others and lived her life as a godly woman.