I am not the prolific writer that I'd like to be. That, however, is my own fault. I just don't take the time to sit down and write. There are authors that I follow that post two, three or more times per day. I seem to have difficulty with more than once or twice a week.
That being said, Gammy and I went to south Georgia this past Saturday. We had gotten word that my stepmother had passed away. We'd been wanting to go for a visit but not under these circumstances.
We live about 700 miles (1125 km) away and the trip is somewhat arduous with having to cross two mountain ridges and drive through Atlanta. The trip through Atlanta is worthy of its own article.
We made the trip in about 12 hours - the only difficult part being - you guessed it. Atlanta.
We went to my dad's house Sunday morning. The refrigerator was crammed with food. The counter was filled with desserts. There were paper plates, cups and napkins neatly stacked in the corner. The community had come to offer condolences.
In the deep south people bring food to the homes of the bereaved: fried chicken, pork butts, macaroni and cheese, peas, beans, corn - things that a lot of people would consider comfort food. We just consider them staples.
But the bringing of food is something that I think is unique to the south. I was in the Army for several years and had the opportunity to live in various communities and never witnessed this tradition anywhere else. The churches elsewhere when holding the rites often fed the families before or after the procession, but people didn't take food to the homes.
Maybe we southerners are just strange. I know our sense of humor is different. So is the subtlety and hyperbole of our speech.
Even though deaths are emotional times, there are some happy times: fond remembrances and humorous stories. And when standing in the receiving line before the service, I was reunited with friends and family that I had not seen in decades. The joy that the reunions brought was in somewhat of a conflict with the loss with which we were dealing.
I know that some have difficulty sorting through emotions of a familial death. I understand that healing takes longer for some than it does others. Some wear a stoic mask. Some wear their heart on their sleeve. Everyone has to deal in their own way and time with the events of their lives.
Perhaps when there is a death in the community that I now reside I will remember what I just went through and take something over. Maybe I can start a southern tradition here.
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