Melanie F Coleman

Melanie Fay Thompson Coleman, 72, sailed into the mystic on July 24, 2025, after a brief illness. She defied breast cancer twice and kept her good cheer throughout her battle with dementia, and she peacefully slipped away on her own terms.

She was a lifelong learner and voracious reader, and despite having no advanced degrees, she knew more than most college graduates; a difficult crossword puzzle was no match for her skills. She read everything: history, philosophy, politics, fiction, and poetry alike. In her final years as a reader, she devoured Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series and would recommend it to anyone, but she also loved Howard Zinn’s People’s History of the United States and the obscure novel Your Face Tomorrow by Javier Marías. She could confidently and correctly answer most of the clues on Jeopardy!, and while learning new things about the world sometimes disheartened her, it didn’t stop her from seeking more truth.

She loved beautiful things, from sonnets to pop songs to films. She had eclectic tastes and adored the movies Doctor Zhivago and Road House with equal fervor; she loved John Prine and classical music and the band They Might Be Giants, too. She loved wit and satire and those who told truth to power. She could not abide a bully or someone who abused children. Although she was unfailingly polite and had a strong sense of decorum, she could not observe injustice without intervening. Her sense of wrong and right was clear and fixed. When she began to draw Social Security benefits, she donated them in their entirety to charities that mattered to her, including Blessings in a Backpack, French Camp Academy, The Carter Center, and The Mississippi Food Network. In lieu of flowers, please consider donating in her honor.

What Melanie really loved was people. She loved her family: her five brothers and their families; her husband of 51 years, Richard; her three daughters; her four grandchildren; her two great-grandchildren. She taught her daughters to always see people as human beings and to never make assumptions about or be afraid of others based on preconceptions about them. In her final years in the Memory Care unit at The Blake at Flowood, when dementia took many of her memories, her love of people remained. Those who cared for her had deep affection for her. One thing dementia gave back to her was her lost family; in her final years, her mother and father–George and Murlyne Thompson–were still alive, although they lived only in her mind. Her beloved Aunt Fay and Uncle Kling and brothers Ashton, Ricky, and Terry all preceded her in death, but for her, they, too, were alive.

She is survived by her husband, Richard Ray Coleman; her three daughters, Nikole (Jason), Olivia (Tony), and Judith (Steven); her grandchildren, Michael, Hannah, Jake, and Samantha; and her great-grandchildren, Blakely and Morgan. She is also survived by her brothers Curt and Sean and myriad nieces, nephews, cousins, and friends. She remains deeply loved by her family, who will miss her forever.