My mother, Oneta Ann Sheridan Brown, died in her sleep on October 17th, 2025. She was living at The Villa at Blue Ridge Nursing Home in Columbia, MO.
Mom was born on November 9th, 1940, in a barn, on a farm, near the town of Vandalia, MO. I took a few liberties with the truth in that last sentence. I do not think Mom would mind. She did have a sense of humor. I often heard her laughing while she whooped my ass. She could swing a mean crutch.
She is survived by her sons, Kevin and Keith Brown, and her younger brother, Jimmie Sheridan. Grandchildren Erin, Justin, and Amy. Great-grandchildren: Camden, Adalie, and Reed. Of course, Kevin was her favorite son. (Guess who is writing this.)
She was preceded in death by her parents, Albert and Liz (Elizabeth) Sheridan. I knew them by their alias: Grandpa and Grandma.
Her older brother, J.W., and younger brother, Billy Bob, have also passed. They both passed away too young.
During visits with Mom over the past few years, I have tried to learn more about her childhood. I did not learn enough. We always feel we will have more time.
I did learn that her grandfather and uncle operated a moonshine still during Prohibition. She told me about her uncle going to federal prison during Prohibition due to his extracurricular spirit activities. He never ratted on her grandpa. I will tell that story one day. Sheridan outlaw blood.
I do want to talk about Mom’s early years. These years tell of her fight for life and a never-give-up attitude. Mom was a strong woman.
When she was seven years old, she walked into the kitchen and fell to the floor. She would never walk again. She saw doctor after doctor before she was finally diagnosed with polio. She lost the use of both legs. She wore braces and walked on crutches much of the rest of her life.
Doctors said that she would not live for more than a few years. She died one month short of 85. They said that she would never have kids. She had two sons. She was told that she would never drive a car. She learned to drive in her 20s. She was told over and over again that she could not do this or that. She proved them wrong.
The years on crutches took a toll, and she needed multiple shoulder surgeries. She finally had to move into a wheelchair. Not just any chair, but a turbocharged chair. One that moved so fast that they had to put a governor on it so that she would not run over people in the halls of the nursing home. Natural selection, she called it.
She did not like the nursing home, but who does? One day, an administrator contacted me to let me know that Mom and one of her friends had left. I found out that Mom had driven that turbocharged chair some distance down the street to eat at a restaurant. She was always complaining about the food at what she called the joint. They also happened to stop at a liquor store on the way back and made a purchase. The evidence was located in her mini fridge. Busted. Life in the joint. Sheridan outlaw blood.
Per Mom’s wishes, there will be no service. On the 25th, the family will gather at the City of Laddonia Cemetery, where Mom will be buried next to her mom and dad.
If you knew my mom, I ask you to go to your mini fridge on Saturday at 2:00 PM and grab a spirit of your choice. Pour a little out, and relive a memory. She would like that.
(This was posted on Facebook two weeks ago. I add it here so that those not on facebook might find it.)
Dear Camden 