At 66, Alan Jackson walked alone through the side door of the quiet Nashville chapel where Jeannie Seely’s funeral was being held — no press, no stage lights, just a worn black suit and the familiar weight of his guitar case. The air inside smelled faintly of lilies and lemon pie, the kind Jeannie used to bake when the Opry nights ran late and the stories stretched longer than the songs.
WHEN THE LEGENDS WEPT: Alan Jackson’s Silent Farewell That Left the Room in Tears At…
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