My grandfather, Richard Mashburn, was 96 when he died in 2014.
While it sounds like a cliche, his funeral was a celebration of a life well-lived. The gathering strengthened his family and friends as we prepare to move on without him.
He had been hospitalized with an infection shortly before his death. My aunt took the opportunity to tackle a few things she thought needed doing at his home.
She had new appliances and cabinets installed in the kitchen and a new shower stall in the bathroom. She called in painters to freshen inside and out. She replaced the porch furniture _ the sound of that furniture squeaking is among the enduring memories of my childhood. The family even got a flat screen TV for the tiny front room, though, as my uncle said in the eulogy, Granddaddy ``didn’t watch but five channels.’’
A lot of people at the service joked that Granddaddy would have fussed at all the changes to his home that my aunt and cousins magically engineered over a few weeks.
The service was in Chattahoochee, a town so far north in Florida it's almost Georgia. Granddaddy lived in Chattahoochee most of his life. He and my grandmother, who died several years before him, raised my mother, her sister, her brother and a cousin who was ``like a sister'' there.
Granddaddy farmed and worked as a carpenter, ran laundry and dry cleaning businesses and helped care for mental patients at the Florida State Hospital.
According to the census, only about 13 percent of people over 25 in his hometown of about 3,000 have a bachelor's degree or graduate or professional degree. I wish the census takers could have been at the funeral, to see that the numbers don't reflect how people in Chattahoochee feel about education.
A diploma on the wall of his home attests that Granddaddy completed all grade levels available to a black student in Gadsen County in 1934. His son is a minister with a Phd. Scores of other people _ lawyers and teachers, entrepreneurs and military officers _ who got their start in Chattahoochee came to the funeral from the places across the country where they migrated to find better educational and professional opportunities.
My Granddaddy’s service was movingly spare. In addition to the eulogy, we had just a few hymns, including ``I’ll Fly Away,’’ a favorite of mine. A neighbor sang a solo, ``Prayer Changes Things.’’ She had a beautiful voice. More importantly, she sang like someone who loved Granddaddy, shared our family’s pain and knew how to lift it, if only for a moment.
I'm a city girl. I know the humor, practicality and grace I saw in that church are also urban values. But sometimes they are easier to see in a small town, and make a more profound impression on a traveler in need of welcome and sustenance.
Granddaddy had asked that we skip the traditional parade of friends sharing remembrances. He had joked that at his age, most of his friends were gone. My uncle added in his eulogy that Granddaddy wanted to be remembered for his deeds.
Granddaddy, a child of the Depression, had built his house only as he was able to afford materials. But he once mortgaged that house to pay for renovations at the church. Other church members followed his example. Then, Granddaddy kept after everyone to ensure the debt was repaid.
A church member did manage to sneak in a remembrance,. After the church service, at the graveside. She told of the time Granddaddy showed up at her house with a pair of pliers. He was looking for her husband, to ask him to pull a tooth.
``Won’t that hurt when I pull it, Richard?’’ the husband asked.
``It’s hurting now,’’ Granddaddy responded. The neighbor said the story illustrated that Granddaddy was ``a man of courage and a man of prayer.’’
We went from the grave to a community center, to be served a lunch made by church members. The minister himself did the collards and the green beans, and all agreed they were highlights of a repast that included chicken, baked and fried, and ended with dozens of layer cakes.
Granddaddy never got home from the hospital to see his renovated house. He would have said my aunt spent too much, and probably would never have used the microwave oven. But I think he would have adjusted to watching his Braves games on HDTV. He was, after all, a practical man.