THE COLUMBUS DISPATCH

SPRINGFIELD, Ohio — A baggy-bottomed toddler with long blond hair.

An impish kid in an oversize life jacket on a pontoon boat.

A lanky teenager with a buzz cut and mischievous look.

A newly minted Marine standing with Dad at boot-camp graduation.

A young man with his fiancee, his last Christmas gift to her a ring and the promise of a lifetime together.

Snapshots chronicling Kevin Smith’s life flashed across a church wall yesterday as family and friends gathered to grieve its sudden end at 20 years.

The lance corporal, a gunner on a Humvee, was killed March 21, barely a month after arriving in Iraq. A suicide bomber detonated his explosive-laden car, numbering Smith the 53rd Ohioan to die in the conflict.

The Rev. Bill Yowler relayed the memories of parents Ronald and Kathy Smith, sister Rachel, fiancee Kristi Leider and others during Smith’s funeral at Fellowship Christian Church.

They recalled a typical kid, teenager and young man, one always smiling in the photos shown to bookmark the landmarks of his life.

A little boy who once gobbled handfuls of Crisco because he thought it was icing for the cookies in the oven.

A teen who loved rumbling up neighborhood streets in an aging, attention-demanding Toyota Celica he dubbed "Doughnut."

A growing boy whose fastfood preference never varied — two Taco Bell bean burritos, extra red sauce.

A team leader who kept fellow Marines loose with one-liners and always had their backs as they escorted officers and VIPs along dangerous roads in Al Anbar province.

The 2003 graduate of Kenton Ridge High School envisioned returning from Iraq in October to marry Kristi and, after finishing his stint in the Marines, becoming a police officer.

Kevin Smith was an ordinary man.

But, he was extraordinary to those who knew him and loved him. They escorted him in a mileslong procession to his grave in Vale Cemetery.

On a warm, windy afternoon, two Marines struggled to keep the flapping American flag secured to the casket until seven riflemen fired three times and the bugler sounded taps.

The flag, folded into a triangle of blue with white stars, was presented to Ronald Smith, who hugged it to his chest and cried.

The Marine’s mother caressed her boy’s bare, silvertoned casket, her knees nearly buckling under the burden of her grief.

There were tears and tributes as nearly 300 people filed by the bier to comfort his family with handshakes and hugs.

But, as Nick Mounts instructed mourners during his earlier salute to his buddy, farewells were forbidden.

"Say goodbye to Kevin — my best friend, my brother, my miracle, my hero?

"Never.

"Kevin, when I see you again . . . there will be no need for hellos or greetings — because we never said goodbye."

rludlow@dispatch.com