birmingham

A Story for Aunt Nancy

/ Matthew Hamilton / Leave a comment

Yesterday, we gathered at Shades Mountain Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, to honor the life of my sweet Aunt Nancy. That church wasn’t just a place she attended — it was a defining part of her identity. She joined in 1952 at just five years old, and by the time she passed, she held the longest consecutive membership in the church’s 115‑year history. Nearly seventy‑four years of worship, service, friendships, and memories. I learned she had experienced every building the church ever called home, a living thread running through its generations.

I had been to Shades Mountain before, but it had been many years. Walking through its doors again for her service felt both familiar and heavy with meaning. The sanctuary was filled with love — the kind you can feel even before you see it. The hour before the service was devoted to visitation, and hundreds of people came to offer their sympathies. It wasn’t just her church family. Her work family came too — colleagues from nearly sixty years in the insurance world, where she served as an underwriter for several Birmingham companies. Their presence spoke volumes about the impact she had on the people she worked with every day.

But the heart of this story — the part that struck me most — was her “chosen family.” This remarkable circle of friends stood by her through every season of life. Their devotion to her was beyond anything I could have imagined. I had met some of them over the years but seeing them again reminded me how rare and beautiful it is to have people who love you so fiercely, not because they share your blood, but because they share your heart. They planned every detail of the service with such care and precision that it felt like a final gift to her.

Aunt Nancy’s life at Shades Mountain was full and vibrant. For many years, she headed up the church’s singles ministry — a group that became a lifeline for countless people. One story shared yesterday made everyone smile: in one year alone, that ministry celebrated twelve weddings. Twelve couples who found love, community, and connection under her leadership. That’s the kind of legacy most people only dream of leaving.

She was also a devoted member of the choir, lending her voice to worship week after week. The choir took her on trips across the country and even overseas, experiences she treasured and talked about often. Music was one of the ways she expressed her faith, and she poured her heart into it.

And then there was her gift for celebration. Aunt Nancy was a wedding planner, and she loved being part of life’s happiest moments. She showed up for people — not just for big milestones, but for the small joys too. She never missed an opportunity to attend events for the people she loved, including my own daughters’ birthday parties. Her presence always made those moments feel a little more special.

It was also comforting to see my cousins again. It had only been five days since we gathered for Uncle Mike’s service, but even in grief, being together mattered. We said it last Friday, and we said it again yesterday — we cannot keep waiting for funerals to bring us together. Family deserves more than that.

With Aunt Nancy’s passing, an entire generation on my father’s side is now gone. My grandparents passed in 1998 and 1999. My father died in December 2021. Uncle Mike followed in November 2025. And now Aunt Nancy, on Saturday, January 10, 2026. It’s a strange, heavy realization — one that makes the world feel a little emptier and the memories a little more precious.

But yesterday wasn’t just about loss. It was about legacy. It was about a woman who lived faithfully, loved deeply, and built a community around her that stood strong until her very last day. It was about the people she touched — family, coworkers, lifelong friends — all gathering to say that her life mattered.

And it did. More than she ever knew.

Honoring Aunt Nancy and Uncle Mike: A Week of Loss, Memory, and Gratitude

/ Matthew Hamilton / Leave a comment

My uncle passed away at the end of November. He was my dad’s older brother, and I even wrote a story about him back in November. His memorial service was held this past Friday in Birmingham at Vestavia Hills Baptist Church. It was a beautiful service — but it was also where I learned heartbreaking news about my Aunt Nancy.

Aunt Nancy holding Julie: August 13, 2013

Aunt Nancy was the younger sister of my uncle Mike and my dad. I had just texted with her two days before Christmas, but her health had taken a sudden turn for the worse. Hospice had begun the very day of Mike’s service. After the memorial, Jenn, the girls, and I went to visit her at home since she was too weak to attend the service. I’m grateful we made that visit. She was alert, warm, and still very much herself. We talked about how everyone was doing, and then drifted into memories from long ago.

She told me the house was built in 1952. She was 15 when the family moved in, and Uncle Mike would marry my wonderful Aunt Ouida just a few months later. He never officially lived in that house, though he and Aunt Ouida would have moved into their own home in the early 60s. That 1952 house was my grandparents’ home — the place we visited every Christmas, usually arriving a day or two after the holiday. Even when Aunt Nancy wasn’t living there, we spent just as much time with her as we did with my grandparents.

The house still has its giant Magnolia tree out front. I can remember climbing that tree as a kid. We visited in the summers too. My grandparents were born in 1914 and 1915, and in the late 1990s, Aunt Nancy moved back into the house to care for my grandmother when she became ill. On Friday, she told me she had moved back into her same childhood bedroom. She lived in that house for the rest of her life. My grandfather passed in 1998, my grandmother in 1999. I even remember being there visiting when we heard the news of Princess Diana’s death.

Aunt Nancy passed away the next day — Saturday. We had just seen her the day before, and it still feels unreal how quickly everything happened. She was one of the most caring people you could ever hope to meet. She spoiled us at Christmas and on our birthdays. She and Uncle Mike rarely missed the girls’ birthday parties, even when it meant driving two or three hours. Whether it was the Children’s Museum in Chattanooga, the Chattanooga Zoo, the loud skating center, or even Callaway Gardens, they always showed up.

I also remember a wonderful visit with both her and Uncle Mike a month or so after my father passed away. We met at my sister’s house and spent the whole afternoon catching up and sharing memories. That’s who they were — present, loving, steady.

With Aunt Nancy’s passing, she became the last member of that generation on my father’s side of the family. It’s a sad milestone, but I take comfort in imagining her reunited with my dad, with Uncle Mike, and with their younger sister Kathy, who passed away in 1959 at just nine years old.

It has been a week of loss, but also a week of remembering the deep roots of our family — the house built in 1952, the Magnolia tree, the Christmas visits, the birthdays, the stories, and the love that stretched across decades. I’m grateful for the time we had with both Aunt Nancy and Uncle Mike, and for the legacy of kindness and presence they leave behind.

Her service will be this upcoming Wednesday at Shades Mountain Baptist Church. It will be my second trip to Birmingham in a week, but I would not miss it for the world.

Caroline’s Dedication at Church: June 4, 2017

From Patten Chapel Road to Lifelong Impact: Honoring Mike Hamilton

/ Matthew Hamilton / Leave a comment

Uncle Mike and Julie in August, 2013.

My beloved uncle, Mike Hamilton, was truly one of a kind. He lived in Birmingham, Alabama, and was my dad’s older brother. He passed away on Sunday, November 23rd after a brief illness. In March, he celebrated his 85th birthday—a milestone that reflected not just years lived, but a life filled with kindness, generosity, and devotion to family.

Mike and his beloved wife, Ouida, meant so much to us. They had always been close to our family, but after my older sister’s passing in 1989, they became even closer, taking us under their wing in ways that left a lasting impression. While many people say a certain family member is “the best,” Mike truly was that person. I never saw him raise his voice or lose his temper. He was always willing to do anything for anybody, and he did it with grace.

Mike and Ouida were inseparable until her passing in 2015. One of my favorite memories comes from a trip to Europe in July of 1989. Ouida joined us, and she took hundreds of pictures with a new camera. Somehow a setting had been switched that made every photo panoramic, which meant developing the film was much more expensive than expected. After hearing the news of Uncle Mike’s passing on Sunday, I called my sister, and she reminded me of that story. What stood out most was how Uncle Mike didn’t bat an eye at the extra cost—he simply made sure those memories were preserved. That was the kind of man he was: generous, steady, and always putting others first.

Some of my fondest memories are of summers spent at their house on Patten Chapel Road. I was a camper and later a counselor at Camp Mac in Munford, Alabama, for many years. Since Birmingham was close by, we would stay at Mike and Ouida’s the night before camp check-in. Those evenings were filled with long conversations about whatever new thing was happening. Mike loved technology—he was one of the first people I knew to use TiVo, long before DVRs became common. I remember watching The Fugitive starring Harrison Ford at their house, and during the famous train wreck scene, the sound system was so powerful that the den floor shook beneath us.

After Ouida passed away in 2015, Mike remained active and engaged with life, but his dedication to work and service had long been a defining part of who he was. For many years he ran Hamilton Oxygen Company, and he also served as executive director of the Alabama Durable Medical Equipment Association, where he tirelessly advocated for the home medical equipment industry. His commitment was recognized just this past May in Washington, D.C., when he received the Mel Mixon Legislative Advocacy Award—a fitting honor for a lifetime of service.

Even with his busy schedule, Mike always made time for family. He came to many of Caroline’s and Julie’s birthday celebrations, alongside his wonderful sister, my Aunt Nancy. Though I regret not seeing him and Aunt Nancy as often in recent years, I hope to remedy that with her.

Mike bore a striking resemblance to former Vice President Dick Cheney, who also passed away earlier this month—a fun fact that always made us smile. But more than anything, Mike resembled the very best qualities of humanity: patience, generosity, and love.

Now, I take comfort in knowing that Mike and Ouida are rejoicing together again in heaven, reunited after ten years apart. Their legacy of love and devotion continues to live on in our family, and I will always cherish the memories of my uncle, who never failed to show up, never failed to care, and never failed to love.

Julie was nine months old and was meeting Uncle Mike for the first time.