Two years ago, I went home and stumbled into a nightmare I never could have imagined.
Visiting Crawford-Ray Memorial Gardens has been part of my ritual since Papaw died in 2004. I’ve walked that familiar path more times than I can count. Sadly, the number of plots has grown with the years—I lost Daddy in 2009 and Mamaw in 2020.
The hillside has filled, but the ritual never changes. I sit with my loved ones and let the stillness wrap around me. I tell them how life is going, what the girls are up to, and how deeply they are loved and missed. I leave seashells as tokens, small offerings of memory.
But that day, when I made my way down to their plots, my breath caught in my chest. Daddy’s tombstone was gone. Vanished.
In shock, I rushed to the funeral home tied to our family graveyard, desperate for answers. And there I was told what no child should ever hear: Daddy had been disinterred. Moved. Taken away from the place we thought was his forever home.
The person who did this? Evil. There’s no other word. How could anyone do that to a man’s children, his siblings, and his grandchildren—the very people who loved him most? It wasn’t just a stone taken that day—it was a piece of our peace, an anchor in grief torn away.
For two long years, every visit to that hillside hollowed me out. I would sit among the ones I love, feeling that absence gnawing at me. Daddy’s place—empty. My heart—shattered. I tried to find solace in knowing I’d placed my portion of his ashes in Mamaw’s hands before she was buried, but the blank space where his stone should have been was a cruel reminder of how callous people can be.
But on my most recent trip home to Canton, I found something I thought I’d lost: restoration. Daddy’s stone was back where it belonged. Crawford-Ray Funeral Home had replaced it, asking nothing in return. I would have paid any price for that mercy, but they gave it freely.
So often, small towns get spoken of in ugly ways. But this—this kindness, this compassion—is what makes them beautiful.
To Mayor Zeb Smathers, who carried my pain with care, and to Crawford-Ray for their grace: thank you.
Your goodness shines like a beacon, a reminder of the best parts of small-town life. And because of you, I’m prouder than ever to call Canton home.
