Appalachian and Southern Death Notifications

An oral obituary

Photo by Sandra Seitamaa on Unsplash

This was how mom and dad did it:

(Mom, this is a fictional representation. I know who Mrs. Shye actually was…)

Let me set the stage. Let’s say I was 50 years old. I’m visiting my parents, sitting in their living room. They turn to reminiscing and a light goes on, as they look at one another.

“Oh, Edwin, do you remember Mrs. Shye? She was your kindergarten Sunday School teacher. Remember her?”

“No mom, I really don’t.”

‘Sure you do! She was a thin woman with red hair (back then). She always gave you peppermint candy. Do you remember now?’

“Dad, I was five. I don’t remember much of anything. No, I really don’t. Why?”

“Of course you do! She lived on Eighth avenue and she would babysit you when you were little. (When I was little? Littler than 5?) She had a little Poodle named Fluffy. You called her flufluf. It was adorable. We have a picture here somewhere of you with her and the dog. Remember now?”

“No mom, I really don’t. Why?”

“Come on son, sure you do! She said you loved to sing ‘Jesus Loves Me!’ And ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider!’ She really adored you! She was sure you’d do great things! She called you Keith Edwin. Remember?”

“Dad, again, I was five. I remember cookies and playtime…a little.”

“She taught Sunday School for years. On the second floor. With all the lovely pictures of Bible stories on the wall. She had them painted. Do you remember?’

I remember blue walls and carpet, and shelves of toys and books. Mrs. Shye? Not so much.

“No mom, I don’t. I mean, not her. Not really…”

“Mrs. Shye’s son was a dentist. I think he’s retired, hasn’t he dear? Anyway, you never saw him but we drove past his office all the time. On 5th Avenue. Next to the toy store. Remember? You always wanted to stop and get Hot Wheels cars. Her husband left her many years before. Tragic story really. Remember dear?”

(Every boy then remembered Hot Wheels. They were awesome…but we didn’t keep track of marital scandal at the time.)

Exhausted and realizing I’ll never win.

“Yes, now I do. Fine. Mrs. Shye. She was very kind. Why do you ask dad?”

“Oh, she’s dead.”

And on to a new topic.

And that’s how Southern parents in general, and Appalachian parents in particular, tell you when someone has passed.

It’s a process…but I guess it’s worth the work.