She Never Gave Up Trying

 Last Wednesday, I got a call that probably shouldn't have come as a surprise, but still, it did. On the other end, I heard, "Aunt Ruthie died." It was my brother. He was the only other person, besides my kids that called her that. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and in the hours and days that have followed, my mind has been flooded with so many memories of this woman and how lucky I was to call her Aunt. 

From my earliest days, Ruth Heatley was Aunt Ruthie to me. She was my mom's older sister and one of the "little girls" in the Dougherty family. She was seven years older than my mom, but as time went on, that 7-year distance grew much shorter, as they became each other's confidant, critic, cheerleader, and ultimately....best friend. 

Funny thing, growing up, my mom's name was Mary Jane, and all of Aunt Ruthie's kids called her Aunt Janey until they became teenagers or a little older, then they called her Aunt Mary Jane, but for some reason, Aunt Ruthie always stuck with my brother and me. I remember one time when I was in my early twenties, my mom took me aside and told me that she thought I needed to start calling Aunt Ruthie, Aunt Ruth. I was shocked! Mom told me that she thought I had grown out of calling her "Ruthie" and Aunt Ruthie had grown out of being called Ruthie, especially since we were the only ones who called her that. For some reason this did not sit well with me, so me, being me, the next time I saw Aunt Ruthie, I asked her if she did not want me calling her "Ruthie" anymore. I know it startled her, but perhaps I looked or sounded wounded when I asked because she immediately smiled and said, "Lisa, if you want to call me Aunt Ruthie, you can call me Aunt Ruthie for as long as you like." I was relieved and from that day forward, the subject was never brought up again. And moreover, a new generation, my kids, also called her Aunt Ruthie. Whether she liked it or hated it, the poor woman was stuck with it. 

Aunt Ruthie was born Ruth Ann Dougherty on March 1, 1929, in Hinton, OK. She was the 8th in line of the Dougherty kids. Mom always told me that growing up, Ruth was smart and she was beautiful. She and her older sister Helen Irene (the other little girl) were very close and where one was, the other was not too far behind. They were often left with helping cook and clean as the older girls were mostly gone and the boys spent their days in the fields. They also had the "privilege" of helping watch the three little kids, one of whom was my mom and all who were ornery every chance they got. 

Mom, being the storyteller that she was, loved telling stories on her siblings, and Aunt Ruthie was no exception. Reading between the lines, I gathered that there might have been a little sibling rivalry between Mom and Ruth, as Ruth wasn't above getting a little bossy, and Mom wasn't above getting a little feisty. 

Apparently, there was a time when Grandpa and Grandma went to town and Ruth and Helen were left to clean the house and watch the little kids. Ruth told my mom to help her mop. Mom who much preferred to be outside was not happy about the mopping situation and after a bit of an argument, Mom grabbed the mop handle from the bucket, flinging the handle over her shoulder. Mom did not realize that Ruth had stepped up behind her and she nailed Ruth right between the eyes. Luckily a good size bump and bruise were all that Ruth ended up with, but if you read my Uncle Pat's story of the bat, you might see a pattern here. 

When Ruth was in high school, Frank Sinatra was the singer of the hour and the crooner who sent young bobbysoxers into fits of adoration when he sang. This always amused my mother as yes, she liked his voice, but as far as his looks, she was not impressed. She said he was too skinny and not remotely her type. Ruth on the other hand must have found him dreamy, as Mom would tease that every time he came on the radio, Ruth would always put a hand to her forehead and scream, "Oh Frankie!" I always thought this was just a humorous exaggeration until one time we were at Aunt Ruthies and Mom brought up "Frankie". I asked Aunt Ruthie if it were true, mostly thinking that she would deny it. Instead, Aunt Ruthie turned bright red and said, "Really Mary?" Mom and her both laughed and that day I saw a different side to my aunt. 

Now, it has been a long while since I have heard the stories and I really don't have much to fact check this on, but I believe after graduating from Hinton High School, Ruth went on to college at Weatherford. She was going to get her teaching degree and it was here that she met a tall lanky boy named Warren Heatley. I am not quite sure how quickly they became smitten with each other, but eventually, they did. 

Warren was not a Catholic boy, but he was a nice boy, and religion aside, he passed the parent's test. Both Grandma and Grandpa liked him, but he was a boy, after all, so every time he came to visit, Mom was put in charge of "chaperoning" them. This meant every chance the two young lovebirds got to be alone, Mom was to insinuate herself into the mix and make sure nothing more than hand-holding went on. Knowing my mom, I am sure that she took some form of delight in her parental approved harassment, just as I am sure Ruth and Warren did not. 

On November 23, 1950, the chaperoning was over and Ruth and Warren were married. Again, I don't have all my facts for sure, but as I heard it, Ruth and Warren lived in and around Oklahoma City. Ruth was a teacher for a while and Warren began his career in the oil industry. Eventually, they moved to Wichita, KS, built a house, and continued growing their family. By 1963, Susie, the last of their kids was born. This is where my memories began.  

For me as a kid, there was nothing like going to Aunt Ruthies. Susie and I were about 11 months apart and most of our childhood years, we were close. Going to their house was Disneyland and Christmas, all rolled into one for me. Perhaps it was because Aunt Ruthie had five kids and she was at that point in her child-raising, that if there wasn't blood involved and she didn't have to drive anyone anywhere, she was okay with us doing it. This meant running around the neighborhood, walking to the store, riding bikes to the pool, and going on long walks with Susie's older sister Sandy. It was an ease and freedom that I just never felt at home. Even playing in their yard was fun, as they had drilled out oil barrels that you could roll around in, and on occasions, Mark and Warren, Susie's brothers, would push us all over the yard in the wagon. 

There were just so many memories in that house, from sliding down the banister to the front door to the little door on the side of the house. There was the toybox, that had a huge wooden lid that if you weren't careful and quick could fall on you and the cement stairs that went from outside the kitchen to the ground. And St. Margaret Mary's. It was the first time I knew that you could go to daily mass at 6:30 in the morning. To this day, I can still close my eyes and smell the smells of that house and remember cowboy and ballerina wallpaper, the piano in the living room, and Uncle Warren yelling at us to close the basement door. I adored that house, that family, and most especially, Aunt Ruthie. 

As a kid, my growing up years had a great many Aunt Ruthie memories. The Heatley's had a blue-green Pontiac station wagon, and many were the time that we all loaded into the wagon, to travel across the southern border into Oklahoma. With the station wagon loaded, kids shoved in every available space, and bread and butter sandwiches and a thermos of water, we would head out. The Oklahoma trips usually were just a couple of days and then we would all load back into the station wagon, exhausted and covered in Oklahoma red clay, already talking about the next trip we would make. 

Aunt Ruthie and Mom always made our excursions entertaining, if not downright fun. There was always a lot of talking and over talking and lots and lots of laughter. Aunt Ruthie seemed to be the one person in Mom's life that she carried from one chapter to the next and had no plans of letting go of. 

In 1975/76, Aunt Ruthie and Uncle Warren decided to give up their home in Wichita, and build their dream home on a plot of land they had out in Mulvane, a town about 10 miles south of Wichita. It just so happened that my dad decided that Mulvane was going to be our forever hometown too. Susie and I were just entering junior high school and we were all about to head into a new chapter in life. 

Once we were all settled in Mulvane, Aunt Ruthie began having periodic dinners. She would invite us all out and there would be roast, creamed potatoes, sometimes german sausage, green beans, homemade bread, cinnamon rolls, and angel food cake. It was always delicious and we couldn't wait for our next invitation.  

 It was at this time in all our lives that I really got a glimpse of who Aunt Ruthie really was. While she did just fine in the city, she was a country girl at heart and her world became her little plot of land, her garden, her family, her church, and our little town. 

Aunt Ruthie loved our little St. Michaels Church and for years taught religious education classes there. Many is the Mulvane Catholic who has fond memories of having Mrs. Heatley as their teacher. Her religious education did not just stop at the church though, She often would bestow her religious wisdom on Susie and me too. She told us one time, that her vision of heaven was a place where we could eat whatever we wanted and never get fat. I told my mom this, and I remember she couldn't help but laugh. Aunt Ruthie seemed to spend most of her adult years on a diet (and she didn't really need to), so it made perfect sense that heaven as she saw it, would be skinny jeans and an all you can eat buffet. 

One of the things I remember Aunt Ruthie saying to me was, the only difference between us and Saints, was that the Saints just kept on trying. I know she didn't come up with this statement, but I think she definitely lived it, and it has always stayed with me. 

In 1983, Wichita, KS had its Summer of Mercy. It was a major protesting of a local abortion clinic. Aunt Ruthie was deeply pro-life and during that summer, she spent a great deal of time on the front lines, praying the rosary and picketing. Mom went with her on occasions, but this was Aunt Ruthie's true passion and she felt this was where she was supposed to be at that moment in time. At the time, Wichita was making the national news every night, and even though the protests were by and large peaceful, every day, arrests were being made. I know it worried Mom, but Aunt Ruthie was determined and this was a fight she found worth risking her freedom for. Eventually, it happened and she was arrested. She gave no resistance and she was carried by the police to the wagon and taken to Sedgwick County jail. I remember asking her if the police were rough with her and she said, "No." She said, they were hot, tired, and just doing their job. 

I cringed to think of my little Aunt Ruthie in jail, but I don't think it really affected her badly at all. She said that along with others that had been arrested alongside her, there were some "really nice" ladies in there. She said, she prayed, they all talked and these ladies seemed genuinely concerned that she and some of the others had been arrested. For Aunt Ruthie though, I think she felt that it was all just part of the process. 

I have no idea how long she was in jail, as I recall it wasn't long, but had they kept her longer, I am sure she would have withstood it all without question, for she truly believed in what she was fighting for. From that moment on, I always saw her in a different light. Perhaps she was Saint bound after all.  

In 1989, Aunt Ruthie lost her beloved Warren to cancer, but not before he joined the church. It wasn't because of insistence or prodding on her part. Instead, I think, it was from quietly watching her all those years, attending mass, praying the rosary, and living her faith each and every minute of each and every day.

After Uncle Warren died, Mom and Aunt Ruthie seemed to get closer, if that were even possible. As the years went on, they began going out to eat and shopping together. They even took a few trips together and really enjoyed each other's company. The one place they found that they could not be together though,  was side by side in church. There was something about the quiet and respectful setting, that made these two grown women dissolve into fits of childish laughter when they sat in the same pew. And we aren't talking just a giggle or two, we are talking full-on wheezing, snorting laughter. 

My first realization of what a problem this was, happened at my Grandpa's funeral. All the siblings had walked in and been seated in a pew. I was sitting back a ways where I could see the whole thing unfold. There were tears and sadness until one of the siblings arrived late and went to join the already packed pew. The sibling was in a state of grief and barely aware of anything but finding a seat and sitting down. As they took the seat, they kind of swung their hip to enter the pew. Being that everyone was in sardine-like proximity, that hip swing caused a chain reaction down the pew, shoving each person, until it got to my Aunt Malene on the end, as she went flying out of the pew. Who was sitting next to her? Mom and Aunt Ruthie of course. I remember the look on Aunt Malene's face was one of shock and then irritation. Mom and Aunt Ruthie saw it too and then suddenly, they began to giggle. Within seconds, their giggles were full-on laughing snorts, and Aunt Malene realizing why they were laughing also began laughing. Aunt Margaret was sitting on the other side of them and she kept giving them death stares, which made them laugh all the harder. Now to the unobservant eye, they looked as if they were shaking with grief and crying, but I knew what was going on. This was just a Dougherty thing. 

As time went on, it got no better and eventually, Mom and Aunt Ruthie realized that they must have separate pews or they would be misbehaving in church. You have no idea how much I miss those days. 

In the years that followed, it was obvious that Aunt Ruthie's heart was that of a servant's heart. When Aunt Margaret was sick, Aunt Ruthie dedicated a huge amount of her time and her life to being her caretaker, until she no longer could, and then she would spend every day at the nursing home with her until she passed away in 2007. 

After my husband Tim passed away, I remember Aunt Ruthie calling me and telling me that she knew it was hard, but she also knew I was strong and I would get through it. I asked her how she knew and she said, because she got through it when Uncle Warren died, so she knew I could too. She then told me that she was sure Tim was up in heaven cooking for everyone, and for some reason that made me feel better. Oh, Aunt Ruthie and her food in heaven. 

When my mom died in 2002, I know it was hard on Aunt Ruthie. Not only did she lose her baby sister, but she also lost a life long friend. From time to time she would call me, just to check-in and to talk about Mom. We always ended up talking about some silly thing that Mom did or that they did together, and we would laugh, and tear up a bit. Those talks helped me more than she could ever know. 

In the last few years, my once energetic aunt had grown weak in body. She ended up being moved to the Catholic Care Center in Wichita, where she spent her last days. At first, I talked to her pretty regularly on the phone. She sounded good and hopeful that her current circumstances weren't permanent. As time went on though, she knew and we knew.... 

In the last year, often I would think of Aunt Ruthie and start to call, but life would jump in and I didn't. I guess I always thought there would be more time. So that call on Wednesday should have been no surprise, but it was. It was an ending for a lifetime of memories, smiles, and laughter. Aunt Ruthie was brave and she was stronger than most of us. Her faith was never wavering and in the end, just like all Saints, she never gave up trying.