My wife's Grandmother died at 97-years old. So many people came to the funeral they almost had to hold it twice. She was known by everyone in my hometown. She was a sweet old lady. And until she was 95-years old she used to cook for us every Monday night. And she had quite a layout. It was never a casserole or specialty dish, there were several dishes, a dish of peas, a dish of butter beans, a dish of cream potatoes, a dish of some green stuff I couldn't bring myself to eat, although I'm sure that grandma's version of that green stuff was delicious, chicken & dumplings, meat loaf; and sitting on the counter was her famous chocolate pie. People would kill for that chocolate pie. At church auctions it would sometimes go for $20 or more. Unfortunately, she took the recipe for that chocolate pie to the grave with her. I once asked grandma, "What is the recipe?" She said, "A little sugar, a little salt, eggs, filling - and a little love." That was the secret ingredient, love. She made each pie with love.

I always said, "If you live past 90, you can't cry at the funeral." But I shed a tear when Grandma died. I'm going to miss her. And I'm going to miss those chocolate pies.