Smith, Ryan O’Keith

Smith, Ryan O’Keith
27 Feb
2017

Ryan O’Keith Smith, age 43, of Flat Rock, St. George, Sales and Delivery man of Dundee’s Bakery, Flat Rock, St. George, Treasured Son of Victor Smith and Angela Mottley-Beckles, Brother of Rodney, Rhonda, Andy and Theik Smith, Great-grandson of Clesfield Mottley, Nephew of Maxine Phillips, Winston and Elma Smith, Frank and Eleanor Bullen, Wayne and Victor Mottley, Sonja Bubb, Vanessa Moore, Oreen and Ivis Corbin and seven others, Great Nephew of Luther Corbin, Colleen Taylor, Beverly Worrell, Penelope Walcott of Canada and many others, Uncle of two, Stepson of Thomasine Watson-Smith and Henderson Jordan, Cousin of many, Relative of the Smith, Bullen, Mottley, Worrell, Corbin and Taylor families, Friend of Joezel Joseph, Nicole Wood, Joeann Greaves, Timothy Barnett, Lloyd Crookendale, Ken O’Neal, Marcena Bradshaw, Primero Moore and many others

The funeral of Ryan O’Keith Smith leaves Waithe’s Funeral Home, Greens, St. George on Friday, February 24th, 2017 at 2:00 p.m. for St. Matthews Anglican Church, Hothersal Turning, St. Michael, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 3:30 p.m. for the service, followed by the interment in the churchyard.

The Organist and members of the choir are asked to attend.

Floral tributes can be sent to Waithe’s Funeral Home no later than 1:30 p.m. on Friday.

The body will be reposed in the Chapel of Waithe’s Funeral Home, Greens, St. George from 4:30 p.m. until 6:00 p.m. on Thursday.

Bus transportation will leave the Flat Rock Wesleyan Holiness Church at 2:30 p.m. to St. Matthews Anglican Church and back.

Online condolences can be sent to This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

  • Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
    Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightening they Do not go gentle into that good night.   Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.   Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.