In a Small Southern Town

My uncle passed away at the end of last week.  His funeral was yesterday in Gainesville; a small town of about 36,000 in north Georgia.   I just arrived home a few minutes ago.
I love small southern towns.  The people are more relaxed, more helpful, more kind, more ...
Well .... human.
On the way there, my car had some issues.  I stopped in a little town in central Georgia and found a water leak.  I went into a ma and pop gas station and bought some coolant and as the ol' boy was ringing it up, he said, "Now if you  need some water, just come right on back in."  ("You" not "y'all", because in the south we know "y'all" is plural despite any stereotypical representation you may see in movies.)  It turned out I needed some water.  I came back in and he filled my now empty coolant jug with water and said, "If you need some more, just come on back."  Keep in mind, that all 6 of his pumps had 2 cars at each, the store had about a dozen customers in it and he was there alone making order out of chaos.  Well, I needed more.  He filled it again, told me to come back for more and not to go off without a full gallon extra in my trunk.  Several hours later (what it took to make the repairs will be the subject of another post sometime) I got back on the road to Gainesville.
I finally connected with the family, made it to the funeral parlor, the church and finally graveside. (Actually, it was "finally" back to the church for lunch provided by two Sunday School classes for the entire extended family.  More hospitable should probably be added to the list above).
During the funeral procession, both from the funeral home to the church and from the church to the grave site, an interesting thing happened.  As the procession passed, all the cars on both sides of the road stopped.  Not just as the police escort passed, but for the entire procession.  This wasn't a little side road.  It was a 4 lane, state highway with a good amount of traffic right through the middle of town.  No one got impatient and tried to squeeze around the stopped cars.  No one honked.  No one cut into the line.
Literally hundreds of people stopped to pay their respect to the grief of a family and the loss to the community.
You see, in a small town, they understand.  When one of us hurts, we all hurt.  When someone dies it is a loss to us all.  Even though I don't know you personally, you are a part of me.  We don't live in a community, we are community.
It is more human in a small southern town.