Love letter to my hometown

Editor’s note: This letter was submitted by Tava Smiley, daughter of the late Don Smiley, a longtime Theodosia resident who was a beloved neighbor, friend and colleague of many. Don died Jan. 30, 2024. His wife Connie Smiley still resides in Theodosia. Tava, her husband Lauder and son Lochlan Hawk, are currently living in England. 

By Tava Smiley

My father passed almost a year ago today. 

“Don has to undergo an emergency surgery…” was all I heard before I said, “I’m on my way,” and immediately threw a toothbrush and some clothes into an overnight bag. I was already heading to Heathrow (the London airport as, at the moment, we live in the English countryside) to pick up my husband who was flying in from LA. My impromptu plan was to hand the car over to my husband and jump on a plane home. 

On the way to the airport, I got a call from my stepmom Connie who said the surgery went well and maybe I should hang tight for a minute until we had more information. As we both knew I couldn’t come for an undetermined amount of time, we wanted to be mindful of my being there when it would be best for my dad, ideally when he was coherent and would know I had come. 

I kept my bag packed and was in constant communication with both Connie and any nurses who were on call for my dad. He was continuously making small improvements and his “numbers” were getting better. He came off the ventilator, and I scheduled a flight home for a few days later, so I could time it to hopefully be there when he was about to get released from the hospital, that way I could be helpful with that transfer and him being at home. 

Then I had a conversation with a senior nurse that changed everything. 

“Yes, his vitals are showing improvements and his numbers are getting better, but I’ve been at this rodeo before. As good as all that seems, I don’t see this ending well. If I were you,  I’d get here as soon as you can.”  

Well, that woke me up. That was at 10 p.m. my time. I immediately booked myself on the first flight in the morning. I set my alarm for 5:30 a.m.. The call came at 3.

"He's gone." Shock - and then my heart broke into a million pieces. I had been holding on to hope that he would come out of it and get to go home. Well, I believe he did go home, just not to the one in this world. 

I kept focusing on the memory of his raspy voice in our last call together, saying “Hey kid” in the way he always had. (I can feel my heart breaking all over again right now as I'm writing this.) I had known he was with me in that moment, really with me. And that moment helped me forgive myself for not being in the room with him when he passed. 

I pushed my flight back an hour, so I could tell my son when he woke up that his granddad was gone. Then we dropped him at school, and my husband took me to the airport. The journey that day was a bit surreal. I was a walking open wound and somehow God put a slew of kind hearts in my path to support me on my way. I don't know if I've ever hugged an airline attendant before, but I hugged several that day. I guess it would be more accurate to say that they hugged me.  But not only attendants... I was hugged by airport security, the person who checked me in, the people in the American lounge and the attendants. I think I lost my body weight in tears that day. I was lucky enough to have empty seats next to me in economy, so I was able to lay out. I just laid there and cried. It was dark on the plane, and no one could see me. I was very grateful for that. 

When I got to Springfield, Marti [Kyle] Warden picked me up. The hurt opened up all over again because she was such an integral part of the childhood I spent with him, but in that moment there was no one I would've rather seen. Without question, she had offered to pick me up and take me home, and it was such a blessing to get to share with her and be with her on that ride. 

I got home to Connie, and we spent the next week together… planning the funeral, attending it and then just being home together. My husband and son had wanted to come for the funeral, but they had work and school and it was such a long trip, so I asked them to let me represent our family. As much as I would have loved having them there, being there alone allowed me to not have to be wife or mother for that time, I could just be daughter. And that made space for so many memories to come up and to really deal with my pain. 

Connie and Dad had gotten a golden retriever named Gus a few months before. He was also a Godsend. If you are a dog person like myself, you can maybe understand how much hugging that dog and just having his sweet energy around helped me that week. I was so thankful for Connie, too. We talked and shared stories and memories, and then sometimes we were very quiet. But that was OK.  Just being in the home that I grew up in, which holds so many memories, was a salve to my heart. 

And I got to see Dad. Another blessing was that my old friend Gene Britt was running the funeral home and handling my dad's service. They did such a beautiful job embalming him, and even though it was hard, seeing him in his open coffin was the thing that gave me the most peace. Gene allowed me to spend as much time as I needed with him, and I did this over a couple of visits. Somehow, he still looked so handsome to me. I kissed his head, I laid my hand on his chest, and I talked to him. I am immeasurably grateful for that. It was the goodbye I needed. I also wrote a note and left it in his pocket, a note just for him. Not having been with him in his final moments was hard, but this truly gave me peace. 

The funeral was on the nicest day I've ever seen in February in Theodosia. I didn't even wear a jacket. The sun was shining, and I was in awe of how many people showed up. We didn't have time to really invite anyone or put out a proper notification as it all happened so quickly, but word of mouth spread, and people came. Thank you to those who came, having you there was a blessing. And also thank you to anyone who wanted to be there but couldn't. 

Now, I titled this piece, “A love letter to my hometown,” so let me get to that. One of the biggest gifts Dad ever gave me was raising me in the Ozarks. He loved this area with his whole heart and anyone who knew him at all knew this.  It was his dream to bring me up in a place where there would never be more people than trees, where he could hunt and fish and where there was a strong, supportive community. Well, he nailed it - especially the community part. The friends. The support I felt when I got home held me like a hug. And not just me. The outpouring of love and care for my stepmom was also almost overwhelming. At a time when his death could have undoubtedly taken us down, we were instead lifted up by the unexpected magnitude of response from so many people who held deep affection and respect for my father. He was an amazing man. And to witness so many people agreeing with me on this did something incredible for my heart. I have both traveled through and lived in many countries in my life, and there is no place in the world like the Midwest. Specifically our Ozarks. And that is because of YOU. Thank you for holding me up when I most needed it. When I didn’t have the strength to do it myself. And thank you for always being there for my dad.

He is buried under a “tree stand tree” (his name for any tree that looked like a good candidate to hold a deer stand) in a beautiful small cemetery far out on a back road where wildflowers bloom in the spring, the fire-colored leaves come down in the fall and snow brings its blanket in the winter. Where the wild animals come and go as they please. I believe he would approve of his final resting place, for now he is truly a part of his beloved Ozarks.

Whether we moved here or we were born here, most of us are here because we love this place; and sharing this love unites us and this unity honors my dad’s memory in a way no words could ever touch. Except maybe his own:

My heart's in the hills,

in the trees before sunrise,

and deep in the lake.

Thank you, my Ozark family. I love you.