The bad thing about getting old is that you start going to a lot of funerals. That’s what I did on Tuesday. Of course, funerals are not really for the dead, they are for the living. It is a way to celebrate the life of a family member or a loved one. This one was for my sister’s mother-in-law, Melverda.

It was on Tuesday, so I drove up to Columbia, South Carolina Monday afternoon. It did not start well. I waited a tad too long to leave Atlanta and since it was raining traffic sucked. I should have been able to make it to my sister’s house between 7:00 and 7:30. Instead it was 8:00 when I arrived. To top it off, my cellphone, which I hardly ever use, had given up its ghost which I didn’t discover until I tried to power it up 20 minutes after I left my house, so every time my sister called, it went straight to voice mail which made her think sumpin’ had happened to me.

When I arrived, I paged them at the gate since I my cell didn’t work and I didn’t think their neighbors would take too kindly to me honking my horn in front of their house. The gate wouldn’t open since I thought the gate code was proceeded by a * instead of a #.

They bought a ramp so getting up the steps to get into the house is no longer the adventure it used to be. They’ve also widened a door so I can now get into the bathroom without crawling. I used to stay at a hotel ’cause it was more convenient for me than staying at their house.

What can I say about Sherry’s mother-in-law, Melverda? Technically, I’m not related to her. I don’t think there is a concise description for our family relationship. For her, I’m the brother of her daughter-in-law. For me, she’s the mother-in-law of my sister. Nevertheless, she always treated me as a family member. Ryan told me she always asked about me and how I was doing. I did the same about her. I always looked forward to seeing her every Christmas when I would drive up to Columbia to spend Christmas with Ryan and Sherry.

She would regale me with stories about Ryan as a boy, one of them about how he once tried to escape from her by climbing up a Chinaberry tree. Didn’t work. She bunched up her skirt and climbed up after him. That was a family favorite and Ryan told it in his eulogy.

I loved to hear her talk with her South Carolina Midlands accent, which is my favorite Southern accent. Needless to say, I heard a lot of that accent Tuesday as there was a big turnout for her funeral. Here in Atlanta Southern accents are disappearing which I think is a shame.

When my sister got married and Melverda and her husband came to St. Louis to attend the wedding, my mother put them up in a motel called Coral Courts. My mother was unaware of one of the primary uses of that motel. Each unit had a garage, which meant that cars could be parked out of sight which made this a great place to conduct illicit affairs. Since Melverda was a good Southern Baptist, I never shared that information with her that she stayed in a motel used by a lot of sinners although, with her sense of humor she may have gotten a laugh or two out of it or said that had she known she would have prayed for them.

I didn’t attend the wedding since I was overseas keeping the country safe from godless communism (Little did I know that rat bastard commies would be running the country 45 years later) so I didn’t meet Ryan’s parents until long after he and Sherry were married. That happened when Mom and I were on the way to the Florida Keys to go diving. I was gonna go on my own but Mom asked if she could come along and we could take her car and do some sightseeing along the way. We stopped in Westville South Carolina and stayed with Ryan’s parents and that’s when I met Melverda and J.O. They took Mom and me up to Rock Hill and that’s when I met Olivia, Ryan’s sister, and her husband Lindell. They also wanted us to stay longer so they could take us down to Charleston, but we didn’t have the time. Melverda was amazed at all the stuff we had in Mom’s VW. We were camping (This was before I became a SRF) so we had to have camping equipment and my dive gear. I saw her a few times after that but didn’t get to see her on a regular basis until Ryan and Sherry moved to South Carolina and that’s when I became part of her family.

She doted on her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I was so glad that she got to see Reid’s (my mephew) twin girls before she died. She, Olivia, and I didn’t think very highly of Reid’s first wife. Very perceptive of all three of us. Of course, none of us shared those feelings before the breakup of the marriage and welcomed her and her son from a previous marriage into the family. All three of us hoped (We really hoped!) we were wrong. Alas, we weren’t.

She used to come down to Sherry’s on Christmas Eve and spend the night but as she got older, the hideabed was too low for her and the bed in the guest room was too high. Alas, Ryan and Sherry did not have a Goldilocks bed so Ryan would have to drive her down from Rock Hill and then drive her back after dinner. I would accompany him on that trip. Finally, a few years ago we would take either a Christmas Eve or Christmas dinner up to her condo in Rock Hill and share it with her there.

The last time I saw her was last Christmas. As we were leaving, I saw a loaf of cinnamon bread, picked it up as if I were taking it with me, and said, “I could eat this.” She gave me a look that said, “If you try, you will not escape my wrath!” Chastened, I immediately put it back where I had found it. I told Ryan later that I bet he had seen that look many times growing up. That will be my favorite story about her.

She has been gradually getting worse since then. Losing weight. Sleeping more. Going on oxygen. For the last few months Ryan and Olivia have had to stay with her full time. Since Olivia lives in Rock Hill she has had to say with her the most. She didn’t have to die in a nursing home.

The funeral was Tuesday and the weather was beautiful. If there is a God, I imagine she gave Him the look she gave me and told him the weather in Westville needed to be perfect for her funeral. As I said, I was considered family so I went to the little gathering at the grave with the rest of her family. Then we went into the church. It was a beautiful service. Ryan delivered a touching eulogy that brought tears to many eyes, mine included. Olivia, his sister, played piano and accompanied a singer.

My nephew and his current wife, whom we all love, were able to make it up from Fort Rucker, and he attended the funeral in his uniform. He’s now a warrant officer and I complimented him on his uniform since the blue trousers make him look like he’s in the Navy instead of being an Army puke. He was one of the pallbearers.

On another note, my sister discovered moth holes in the suit I was gonna wear and forbade me from wearing it. I told her that I’m a cripple and in a wheelchair so no one would take any notice since they would think I was poor. Didn’t work. I had to wear one of Ryan’s suits.

She lived 93 years and touched many lives, mine included. Christmas this year will be a little empty without her.