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I was probably around the age of four years old when my papaw, that's grandfather for those who aren't from the south, started taking me to visit his brother in the nursing home.  From what I remember, it was normally once a month and always on Sunday afternoon.  I loved going!  I was always so excited; the nurses were always as kind to me as were the residents.  My great uncle always let me straighten his covers for him.  If he felt like being up, I could help push his wheelchair.  We always took him some type of candy, usually the peppermint patties that come in a box.  He would always share them with us and to this day they are still my favorite.  He was always so quiet, gentle, and kind, he never frightened me.  I never remember being afraid of any of the residents, they were just like the folks I was accustomed to being around at church or family gatherings.  They just lived in town instead of out in the country and they need a little extra help.  They were always telling stories about their lives growing up, their families, asking me questions, teasing me, just being normal folks.

I can still remember when, how, and where my mother had to break the news to me that he had passed away.  He was the first person I had ever really known that died.  I believe that was when I first realized exactly what a nursing home really was.  The aging process and death became a very real thing to me at the ripe old age of six.  As other friends and family would have to be cared for in the nursing home, I would visit but the carefree attitude I once had was gone.  The innocence of a young child had been squelched at his passing.    

I had the great pleasure of hearing a very lovely story that happened within this year.  A friend of mine whose mother had been cared for at one of our local nursing homes was entering the building for a visit when she was welcomed by the wonderful fragrance of roses.  As she entered her mother's room there was a beautiful arrangement of roses.  Not sure what the occasion was, she began to question the staff and was delighted to learn that not only had her mother received this gracious gift, but the other residents as well.

A very prominent businessman in our little town of Sevierville had gotten married and after the ceremony, he instructed the florist to deliver the roses to the residence of the nursing home.  My friend was so moved and appreciative that someone would remember her mother and others who are not so often thought about.  This most gracious individual was Mr. R.B. Summitt.  He did this not for notice or recognition, but to bring some enjoyment to those who just need a bright spot in their world, a beautiful bloom, a sweet fragrance, perhaps a long forgotten memory. 

So many times we see these stories with pictures and commendation for public service.  But, who was it really for, the person giving or for the recipient.  I commend Mr. Summitt for his generosity and for his quiet giving.  He hasn't a clue that this story is even being made known.  That is what is called true graciousness.  I hope that you will consider this when you decide who to do business with around our little town. 

Let's keep our eyes and ears open to what is really going on in Sevier County and see who is giving back to our community.  Let's look at how we can be gracious and kind and quiet in our giving.  Let us recognize those who are always willing to lend a hand, or brighten a day, or just lend an ear.  When it's all said and done, it's the little things in life that make it worth living.

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Karen Patrick