Everybody Dies Famous in a Small Town

I recently had the privilege of attending the funeral of one phenomenal lady. Not only was she the mother of a dear friend, but she was also the queen of the small town of Pontotoc, Mississippi. And when I tell you that being in that little southern town for just a few hours to honor her life was a breath of fresh air, I mean it. The energy of bustling Nashville, or what is now referred to as “Nashvegas” or the “New LA”, has my nerves in a frenetic state- demanding I consistently operate at “go, go, go” and “faster, slow down for traffic, faster, stop, more traffic”. The entire day in the quaint town of Pontotoc felt as though I had been dropped right in the sequel to Steel Magnolias- where the thickest accents and sweetest iced tea flowed abundantly and everyone held main character energy.

I arrived at the church a quarter past ten, and guests were spilling into the street from both entry ways. I wasn’t surprised. My friend, Molly’s mother was a force of nature and a friend to all in that tiny town. She was known to welcome others with love and would do anything for you, even without asking. After Molly and I moved to Nashville together in our early twenties, I fondly remember her mother, Millicent, ironing a new green dress I had picked out for an exciting wedding date in the big city. Milly, as many called her, knew I couldn’t dare walk into that posh Nashville country club with a wrinkly gown. She perfectly pressed my dress and sent me off with a smile like any proud mother would.

As I walked up the church steps, I was greeted by friendly faces and took my place in a very long line. I observed my surroundings and noticed the cute shops lining Main Street and listened to the upbeat, oldies music playing from a nearby speaker. The sky was a perfect blue, and for the month of August, it was unseasonably tolerable. In that small town, time stretched thin and sweet, and my nervous system melted into the lull with natural ease.

While we all made our way slowly to the receiving line, I struck up a conversation, as one would do in that situation, with a kind gentleman behind me. The man was quick to proudly tell me he was the one who installed the red carpet in the Sanctuary and was surprised when he and the other woman in charge agreed upon the color. According to him, these two church members had a long history of conflicting opinions, but thankfully the church benefited from them finally agreeing, and the lovely carpet blanketed the floor like the Red Sea. He was a delight, though his wife of fifty years seemed to be less than impressed with his tale, and I giggled in line thinking- there must be a story there.

Fresh sprays of flowers in every color filled the sanctuary from corner to corner. I am willing to bet there wasn’t a bloom left in any florist within a thirty-mile radius. I finally spoke with the family and hugged my precious friend, then asked her husband to show me the nearest restroom before the service started. After all there had been a long line, a long drive, and a lot of diet cokes that morning. He casually pointed to a closed door behind him, and I followed his direction. I tip toed through two giant sprays and opened the heavy, wooden door, trying to quietly close it to not cause a scene. I slowly pulled the door closed behind me only to realize I was in the reverend’s private chambers. Instantly I felt like a middle schooler who had stumbled into the principal’s office. Silent panic and preteen PTSD filled my bones as I wondered why in the world he would put me in this man’s private quarters. Was this okay? Maybe everyone is welcome here in this friendly small town?

I looked around the room to make sure I was alone. Long robes and bibles were scattered throughout. I didn’t dare touch a thing and wandered through the office to find another two hidden doors- one closet and one bathroom. I looked around again, making sure no one was coming to bust me, quickly did my business, and jetted out of there faster than a possum at a porch light convention.

Finally, I found my other friend, Lauren, sitting in the back pew where I settled in for the service. She was born and raised in nearby Tupelo and was the sole reason I survived nursing school twenty years prior. (Fun fact: she found herself as a successful nurse practitioner while I am still trying to figure out what I want to do with my life). Back row sitting at the church is typically not our style, but we figured there were people more important that needed to be closer. There wasn’t an empty seat in the house. Afterall, Millicent, was a lifelong member of the Pontotoc Methodist Church and was more loved than most. Plus, isn’t it true what they say? Doesn’t everyone die famous in a small town?

The traditional hymns filled the sanctuary, and a small-town service fit for their queen unfolded. Then our girl, Molly, stepped forward to deliver her mother’s eulogy—an immeasurable and almost impossible task. There she stood, right in the middle of that church, honoring her mama like no one else could, somehow making people laugh even as tears rolled down their cheeks. It brought to mind Truvy Jones’ words from Steel Magnolias: “Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.” Molly lived that truth in real time.

As the last surviving member of her original nuclear family, she bore the kind of resilience only a true Southern woman can claim—woven into our veins whether we ask for it or not. That strength is forged to weather storms that never check a calendar before arriving. And it was something to see—the way she kept herself composed while holding the entire room in the palm of her hand. Proud doesn’t begin to cover it. Impressed doesn’t even come close.

After the service Lauren and I lingered with the fellow townsfolk outside the church and debated if we should attend the graveside service. We hemmed and hawed on whether it was just for family and if it would be tacky to only show up to the lunch reception. After going back and forth, Lauren decided for us with the statement/ question, “Well, why don’t we just mosey on over to the cemetery and take a gander?” My brain slowly processed the drawn-out words that had just left Lauren’s mouth, and I busted out laughing.

“Did you just hear yourself? Mosey on over and take a gander?”

Lauren giggled, “I don’t know why I just said that. I don’t even talk like that!”

I blamed the small-town energy seeping into us as we both laughed. I then admitted that the phrase was surprisingly music to my ears, since I have been so used to hearing the sharp New York, Boston, and Chicago accents everywhere I went on a regular basis in the melting pot that is now Nashville. These simple and somewhat outdated words soothed my soul in a place that had long been covered by big city smog.

So, mosey we did… and gander we did… and eventually we ended up at a simple home reception filled with loved ones, hilarious stories, and some of the most delicious food one could find. After inhaling the unbelievable Taylor Grocery catering and homemade desserts from the ladies about town, it was time for me to hit the road back to Nashvegas with a to-go plate of chess squares and chocolate chip cookies, but oh how my heart wanted to stay. I longed to curl up on one of Milly’s cozy couches and never leave.

Being with friends in a slow-paced small town while celebrating the life of a fabulous woman was wonderful for this Southerner’s soul. It was truly bittersweet. I left refreshed, filled with love, and a reminder to take time to mosey and gander about my days with people who don’t care about what you do, how much you make, who you know, or where you live. Most importantly, I left with the beautiful words my dear friend gave in her mother’s eulogy- the tips to live like Milly. Hopefully one or two will hit home for you:

“So, live like Milly. Help a neighbor in need, cheer on the Rebels, plant a new flower, take in a stray animal, feed the hummingbirds, give back to your community, cherish your friends, love this town and… sorry reverends…, but enjoy a cold Miller Lite.

This story was written in honor of Millicent Seawright- the queen of Pontotoc, Mississippi, a joy to know, and a true steel magnolia.

Two Mississippi girls (or babies) fresh on the scene in Nashville, 2006 (Molly L, Susannah R)

This easy cookie recipe is perfect for any major life event- funeral, new neighbor, baby, etc. It’s simple, delicious, and the almond flavoring makes it a must for anyone’s to- go plate.