Lela Mae Graham Mays: The Matriarch Who Fed Hearts and Stretched Love

Family profile adapted from the memories of her grandchildren: Linda Crenshaw, Kenneth Mays, Regina Mays, Clarice Marshall, Earnest Brown, Valerie Mays, Robbin Brown, Terry Mays, Kathleen Tucker, Celeste Staples, Emerson Mays; and great-grandchildren: Talisha Mays, Dejuan Brown, Sharvette Treadwell, Jessica Mays, and Keyanna Campbell.

Curated by Kathleen A. Tucker (aka Kat) Her Proud Granddaughter

There are some women whose presence is so deeply rooted in the family tree that everything around them seems to flourish. Lela Mae Mays—affectionately known as Mama, Grandma, Pretty Lady, and Great-Grandma, our Matriarch—was one of those women. She fed hearts with warmth, wisdom, and meals made from scratch, and her love stretched far and wide—beyond the limitations of time, space, or resources—covering generations with comfort, care, and a sense of belonging. Whether you were family by blood or by presence, her love always found room for you.

Born the fourth child into the Graham family, Lela Mays spent her life pouring herself into others with unmatched grace, strength, and gentleness. Her home was much more than a house, it was a safe haven, a place where stories were shared, love was felt, meals were prepared with care, and every soul found peace. Most of all, it stood as a symbol of unconditional love.

Food was her love language. Whether you were family or not, the moment you stepped into her home, you were asked: “You hungry?” And somehow, even with what little she had, she fed everyone—like a miracle woven into daily life. Her meals were legendary: homemade ice cream, sweet potato pie, fresh breakfasts, her famous chocolate rolls, and cakes that seemed to appear as quickly as they disappeared. “When one cake was eaten up, there was another one following it,” as one grandchild recalled.

But Lela didn’t just feed bodies—she nourished hearts. Her ability to make each child, grandchild, and great-grandchild feel like they were her favorite was a gift only she possessed—yet the beauty was, she truly had no favorite. She loved each person with equal measure and made them all feel uniquely seen, valued, and cherished.

She sewed love into quilts, filled the air with stories, and passed down traditions with quiet strength. At every gathering, she could be found sitting back in admiration—her eyes soft with pride, a smile tucked at the corners of her lips, quietly beholding the family she had stitched together with love.

She was a woman of peace and patience. Rarely raising her voice, she ruled her home with kindness and understanding. Yet when it was necessary—like warning children about danger—her voice carried an authority that no one questioned. Her wisdom was wrapped in gentleness; her honesty never cut down, but always corrected with love.

A deeply faithful woman, Grandma Lela lived with purpose—rooted in her unwavering devotion to the Creator and her wholehearted commitment to family. Her grands remembered being taught to never say goodbye. In her home, parting words were always the same: “Love you... see you later.” That was the family way—spoken with care, never final, and always filled with hope.

She had humor, too. Like the time they left the family house in Wilson City to take Debbie to the bus station for her trip back home to Chicago—unaware that her luggage had been left sitting right in the middle of the floor. Grandpa was hot. All the way back to the house they went, the ride silent and tight with frustration—until Grandma burst into uncontrollable laughter! That night, after everyone had settled down, out of nowhere Grandma Lela broke into laughter again—and kept laughing about it well into the night. Her laughter, like her love, was full and contagious.

She was elegant, confident, and unshakably kind. With a heart as generous as her spirit, Grandma Lela always found a way to give—whether it was a warm meal, a quiet embrace, or a folded handkerchief filled with coins to ensure a great-grandchild had at least $2.00 in her pocket for lunch money—and for another, a little something in their pocket while away from her.

Her care reached into every corner of family life. One young, city-born grandchild recalls a summer visit where Lela was calmly preparing for the day’s meal—patiently sitting in the yard, gently tending to the chickens. Then, with one swift and practiced motion, she rose from her seat, reached out, and grasped a chicken—wringing its neck in one smooth, merciful movement, a method passed down through generations. To a child unfamiliar with farm life, it may have seemed intense or even shocking, but at that time, this was a common and necessary practice for women who raised and fed their families from the land. What looked harsh was, in truth, an act of mercy and skill. Lela approached even this with quiet strength, deep respect, and unwavering devotion to those she fed.

She gave us more than memories—she gave us a model: to love well, serve generously, and leave no one unfed or unloved.

There was no one quite like her, and there never will be again.