My testimony and tribute to Melody

Composed by me; read aloud at the funeral by our friend the Rev. John Walker. Much of this story is told in more detail elsewhere in the Daily Notebook.

I am here to praise and thank God for one of His great works, the friendship and love that He gave to Melody and me.

The earthly part of the love story of Melody and Michael is now over; we had only 50 years together. But, as I told Melody a few years ago looking back, even if we had only had two hours together, it would still have enriched me for the rest of my life.

I can’t tell you about all of Melody’s life, only the part we shared. I know that we both had hard-working but non-academic parents who had high ambitions for us, and each of us had a father with a knack for learning a very broad range of things, and a devoted mother who wanted to make sure we had what we needed.

We met at a University of Georgia recruiting event for high-school seniors. At such an event in 1972 I had made my own decision to come to UGA, and three years later, at age 18, as a third-year student I was helping host the same event. Early in the morning of November 8, 1975, the prospective students were filing in, each of them accompanied by an entourage of parents, kid brothers, and the like.

I saw a nice-looking girl who had just come in with no entourage. I saw my duty to the University and did it. She introduced herself as Melody Mauldin, and we spent the whole day getting to know each other.

Even before I realized the breadth of Melody's interests and the might of her intellect, on that very first day she struck me as something else: wise, mature, and honest.

In the first minutes of our friendship, she risked not being liked. She made it evident that she was serious about her studies and serious about being a Christian. That might repel a lot of college boys. It attracted me — especially because it showed me that she wasn't trying to present herself as just whatever she thought might charm a boy. She knew herself well and wanted me to know her.

So we became good friends that first day, we kept in touch by writing letters, and I looked forward to welcoming her into my circle of friends when she entered UGA.

The following spring, her art class at Gainesville College assigned her to come to UGA’s Georgia Museum of Art, and she invited me to meet her there. All afternoon, we talked about all our shared interests, and it was obvious that we were going to be more than just friends.

I had dinner with her family three weeks later, and that is when 18-year-old Michael was given permission to date 17-year-old Melody.

I felt that a great blessing had come into my life, something much better than what I thought a girlfriend would be.

From very early on, she was almost the only person who understood what I wanted to do with my energy and time.

She was the only friend I've ever had with whom I did not have to set aside, as an interest not shared, anything I really cared about.

Lots of people had said, “These things you do are amazing, I don't know how you do them.” She knew.

She knew what it was like to have talents and want to develop them, rather than just pursuing the middle-class job market. She didn’t consider me hopelessly eccentric for wanting to learn languages rather than business administration. She was fascinated when I showed her some computer programming – something ordinary people didn’t get to see in 1976, before home computers.

From her I learned how artists actually do their work – as planned projects, not just inspiration and finished product. And she led me to learn French.

Melody completed me in a remarkable way, providing understanding and encouragement that no one else could. We talked about our childhood so much that we felt we had known each other since about age 8, not 18; her happy childhood filled in for my sad one. To this day, I tell people that when you get to know me, you are getting about 40% Melody.

The rest is history. What followed was not so much courtship as the gradual merging of two lives. We had a delightful year together at the University of Georgia and then endured a five-year long-distance relationship while I went to graduate school elsewhere. By the time that was over, we were sure we belonged together, so we got married and lived happily ever after.

We started slowly. During our year together at UGA, we adored each other and were head-over-heels in “like.” We were shy about letting people call us a “couple,” even though that is what we obviously were. We didn’t exchange the words “I love you” until the middle of our first year apart, and even then, after I said them, it took her six weeks to reciprocate.

We started cautiously because we were young, and neither of us wanted to deprive the other completely of the experience of being young and single. With a five-year separation looming ahead, I frankly could not be sure whether we would last, and I didn’t want to demand more commitment than was appropriate.

Also, we were not champions at the dating game – in fact Melody later thanked me for making it unnecessary for her to play it at all. Instead, friendship ripened into love and marriage.

We saw other people overcommit, break up, overcommit, break up, and so on, many times before marriage. Of course, people should break up if they realize they’re with the wrong person, but we both felt strongly that too much practice breaking up is not a good preparation for later life.

Another peculiarity of our relationship was that I had other good friends who were female, and with whom I spent time socially though not romantically. (Several became lifelong friends of both of us.) Years later, I apologized to Melody for straining her patience that way during our early dating. To my surprise, she told me that it didn’t strain her patience – it assured her that we were together voluntarily, that I didn’t view her as my captive.

Clearly, this was love, not “romance.” I’m not the one who took her to her high school prom; that was a few weeks before we started dating, and she went solo. A few years later, some confused friends suddenly bundled me off to the Yale Prom with a different girl, not knowing Melody and I were already informally engaged. (Being no fool, I phoned Melody, who was back home in Georgia, and asked permission. She knew the young lady and approved.)

But those “romantic” occasions are not the mileposts of our lives. We have been in important places together, have met fascinating people, and have shared extraordinary experiences. We’ve had romantic getaways, but some of our most tender and loving moments have taken place in hospitals, not just romantic settings. God gave us many ways of being together.

Surprisingly, in 50 years of friendship and love, we never had a quarrel. Not even once. We could certainly argue with other people, but we never argued with each other. One reason is that we were both high school debate champions, so we naturally approached every disagreement as a problem to be solved – what does one person know that the other doesn’t? – not a battle to be won.

Another is that is our character to be wholehearted. Now that we are apart, I can assure you there are no fragments of ill will, no annoying habits of hers that I am glad to be rid of. We liked each other.

Melody remained in robust health long enough to bear two daughters, raise them to adolescence, and impart to them her powerful intellectual habits. But around the 25-year mark in our relationship, her health started to decline.

She hurt her knee in 2001, which gave her a foretaste of limited mobility. Then a heart valve defect turned up, and the surgery to fix it did not go well. Just as her heart was getting back into shape, she had problems with her back and hips, as well as late-onset diabetes and a small stroke.

In 2014 she had both hips replaced, but in 2017 one of them got infected and required more operations; she was completely wheelchair-bound for five months. Afterward she could only walk short distances, and her hips and back gradually got worse again.

In spite of that, two of our last major excursions were especially delightful. On her birthday, October 5, 2025, I took her to a concert at UGA by musicians from the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields. That commemorated the many classical concerts and recitals we had gone to as UGA students, though this one was in a much bigger auditorium and had world-class musicians.

And on the 50th anniversary of the day we met, this past November 8th, we took a one-day vacation. First we revisited the exact spot where we met, a lobby in the UGA Law School, and prayed and thanked God for bringing us together.

Then we went to Amicalola Falls, which had been one of Melody’s favorite destinations in her younger days, and that day she walked the entire width (not length) of the Appalachian Trail.

And then we took a wheelchair-assisted stroll around Perimeter Mall, re-living the many walks around malls that we had enjoyed in the 1980s and 1990s.

We both knew that not many more excursions were coming. We made a difficult, wheelchair-assisted trip to the Georgia Museum of Art for the 50th anniversary of our first date there, this past April, and got our picture in the museum’s newsletter. We got to Louisville to see the grandchildren in June.

This summer, it transpired that her right artificial hip was mechanically worn out and needed some parts replaced. An operation to fix it revealed a severe, long-standing infection.

After two more operations to address the infection, on a day when she seemed to be recovering, her heart suddenly stopped and could not be restarted. The exact cause is unclear, but I think it’s quite possible that Melody simply asked God to let her out of this rapidly failing body, and He did so. It was quick and painless and marked the end of an ordeal that would have only gotten worse.

It was a backhanded blessing that her decline was musculoskeletal rather than mental. She endured a lot of pain but never lost the enjoyment of her intellect. I was amusing her with puns – our favorite entertainment – on her very last day. Now she doesn’t have to worry about getting dementia in old age or losing her dignity in some other way.

The earthly part of the love story of Melody and Michael is over, and never having experienced adult life without her, I feel like part of the world is missing. But I want to assure you that I don’t feel that my own life is over. I have other things to do, I don’t know exactly what, but I’ll keep following Christ. And God has other things for Melody to do now in Heaven.

Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more
than all we ask or imagine,
according to his power that is at work within us,
to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus
throughout all generations, for ever and ever!
Amen.

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The funeral service

For the order of service for the funeral, click here.

The significance of the music is as follows:

• "The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, Has Ended" broke upon both of us through Rick Wakeman's The Six Wives of Henry VIII, which is one of several pieces of Wakeman's music that Melody was very interested in when we were first dating, and to which she introduced me. At the time I didn't recognize this hymn, but in later years I encountered it as such and then, revisiting Wakeman a few years ago, found it in his work. This tune had actually been running around in my mind in recent weeks as I faced Melody's declining health. The Six Wives, on CD, is presently in one of our cars and I had been listening to it.
• "Because He Lives" is a particular favorite of Melody's from our 1970s youth group days, and I also like it. I think it is one of the most enduring pieces of 1970s contemporary Christian music. Its message is powerful and is exactly what Melody wanted to tell the world. My notes show that on April 5, we talked about our funerals and she specifically requested this song for hers.
• "Lord, For The Years" was taught to both of us, in a group, just a few years ago, by Noel Tredennick, who had a role in promoting it. (I thought he was co-composer or arranger, but apparently I misremembered.)

The service was video-recorded but the video is not public; I will make it available privately to selected people.

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A daughter's tribute

On Facebook, our daughter Cathy wrote:

I have heard touching praise of my mother’s intellect and kindness, and learned new facets that make me love her more from her relationships with her communities here in Athens.

I also want it to be remembered that she was in the seat beside me on almost every roller coaster ride in my life, because Sharon didn’t like them. She would plan road trips to support any new interests we developed, like taking me to North Carolina to buy African violets. She used her immense artistic skills not just to make the works like the ones displayed at her memorials but to sew feet for my puppet when I was Stephen’s age and outraged it had none, to illustrate picture books for and about me, and to make our Barbie dolls a custom mask so that we could play Beauty and the Beast. She showed me how to love campy movies and television without dulling my artistic sensibilities too much. She methodically completed games, and for a long while sent me weekly updates about how she was in the server top ten for the number of unique pets she’d captured in World of Warcraft, and then sent me so much mail in Animal Crossing.

I have picked up my phone to call or message her so many times this week to share something the kids or pets did.

I love you, Mommy, Melody Mauldin Covington.

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Melody Mauldin Covington, 1958-2026

The earthly part of the love story of Michael and Melody is over. After a third hip operation on Wednesday (her ninth in total), followed by a day of seemingly good recovery in the ICU of St. Mary's Hospital, much of which I spent with her, her heart stopped unexpectedly and unexplainedly at 12:25 a.m. and could not be restarted. She died quickly and without pain.

Given the number of different serious medical problems she was fighting, I am glad that she avoided a long, slow decline, and it may well be that she simply asked God to let her out and He did.

I have been braced for this moment ever since her difficult heart surgery a quarter century ago, in November, 2001.

May God enfold her in His arms and may her memory be eternal.

One of our last extended conversations is encapsulated in the previous Notebook entry below, "Help real people, not imaginary ones." Many Notebook entries are ideas that she contributed to, not just my thoughts. And during her last day, we were exchanging humorous observations and puns, something we'd always done a lot of.

In this Notebook I have already chronicled how we met on November 8, 1975, at a University of Georgia recruiting event; started dating the following spring; enjoyed a year together at UGA; endured five years of a long-distance relationship, which assured us that we were together voluntarily; married; and lived happily ever after.

Before anything else, we were best friends, and we remained so. She completed me in a way that I would have thought impossible. I could already get girls to like and admire me — which in itself I had thought was never going to happen — but Melody was different. From very early on, she was almost the only person who understood what I wanted to do with my energy and time, and she was the only friend I've ever had with whom I did not have to set aside, as an interest not shared, anything I really cared about. Lots of people had said, "These things you do are amazing, I don't know how you do them." She knew.

How do you love a man who is into everything from ancient languages, to computers, to electronics? By understanding what is interesting about all of them. Likewise, I enjoyed learning about art, music, and the French language from her. She was a connoisseur of popular music in a way I had not realized was possible — not a "fan" of anyone, but appreciating particularly good guitar passages and well-constructed songs even when they were surrounded by mediocrity, and she had shared only part of this knowledge with me. That is one disappointment; I was hoping to get a lot more of it during the homebound period that we were expecting her to have.

We were happy to celebrate the 45th anniversaries of several of our first dates (they are chronicled in this Notebook) and the 50th anniversary of the day we met; that was a very good day, with a trip to Amicalola Falls and Perimeter Mall. (Read the whole story there.) And we had a good trip to Louisville to see the grandchildren at the end of June.

Our earthly romance lasted 4,635 times as long as that of Romeo and Juliet. And we maintained a perfect record — during our entire acquaintance, more than half a century, we never had a quarrel. Not even once.

In fact I can assure you there are no annoying habits of hers, or scraps of ill will, that I am glad to be rid of. We liked each other. I would have nursed her for another hundred years without complaining.

Sharon and I have decided not to do much rearranging of the house or removal of her possessions until the end of 2026, and then to approach it thoughtfully. I am always going to want the house to show her touch and her continuing presence.

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Help real people, not imaginary ones

As most of you know, I've just helped a large part of my family survive the death of a granddaughter, and now I'm taking care of Melody through repeated, difficult hip surgeries. Through all of this, there is a principle I live by:

Help real people, not imaginary ones.

That is, find out what people are really experiencing, feeling and needing, and help with that, not my own or someone else's guess about what they are experiencing and needing.

It's natural to imagine yourself in the other person's place. But that only provides a first guess, not "ground truth" as they say in the military. Other people are not me. So I do not assume other people need or want exactly what I would need or want if I were in their place. I have to pay attention and find out.

Then there are third-party guesses. I don't want to get tangled up in a web of other people's guesses about what's needed. Other people might know something useful, but, again, that's not ground truth either.

Two small examples: Melody wants more privacy that some people do. She actually does not want someone sitting with her 24 hours a day in the hospital. If she did, I'd be doing it, but she doesn't, so I'm not, and it's not because I don't care or am not available. Similarly, we do not need meals delivered to our house, despite people eager to cook for us; Melody wasn't our cook in the first place, and we're not at home to eat them.

All of this leads to another principle I live by:

Guesses have to be tested against reality.

That is (to borrow a term from electronics) there has to be a feedback loop. In fact, I wonder how much human relations can learn from the mathematics of the control of machines. Guesses are never perfect, and there has to be a feedback loop to correct errors. If the feedback loop is disconnected or is tied to some other inaccurate estimate, rather than the actual output, the system veers off to an extreme. I could be describing either an op-amp or a human activity when I say that.

In fact, there is one very simple way to break the feedback loop when dealing with human beings: Assume that people don't mean what they say (or expect others to assume that you don't mean what you say). Anybody who plays such a game invites chaos, in the mathematical sense of the word.

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Deceptive use of AI is wrong

I don't mind making a medical appointment by talking on the telephone to a speech-understanding system, as long as it works well enough.

But when it introduces itself as Barbara, has humanlike hesitations in the speech, and has fake office noises in the background, then it's not helping me. It's deceiving me.

Why do they think customers will enjoy being deceived? Let's let machines be machines.

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Personal updates

[Updated.]

As I was saying at the end of July, Melody was admitted to St. Mary's Hospital (Athens, Ga.) on July 28 and had an operation to clean out her artificial hip and replace some parts the next day. She has been there, bedridden, ever since, making a slow recovery that has necessitated transfusions, strong antibiotics, and a lot of medical monitoring. Physical therapy has consisted of getting her up on a walker briefly each day and into a chair. She is indeed getting better, very slowly.

At some point she will be transferred to the rehabilitation unit in the same hospital for extensive physical therapy combined with continuing medical monitoring. We expect then to have to give her IV antibiotics at home for several weeks.

I have been visiting her at length every day and not writing Notebook entries. My disconcerting experience this evening was sorting our laundry, and finding that not even one piece of it was hers.

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