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. 

And We Laughed....and We Laughed....and We laughed

Have you ever laughed so hard that you literally had tears running down your face? You snorted? You couldn't breathe? You even peed a little? Guilty!!!! I love to laugh. There is simply nothing better....unless perhaps it is my own humor. Yeah....that is definitely better.

Many of you may not know it, but I am hysterical. No....really! I am! I think I came out of the womb thinking knowing I was funny. I remember as a kid often having a "witty" comeback when Mom told me to do something. Mom called it talking back, I however, called it...."me being funny." Mom and I often had to agree to disagree on my humor.

I was never openly disrespectful to Mom, or anyone for that matter, but things would just pop into my head and they had to come out. Sometimes I thought them so funny that I was hysterically laughing before I could even say them. On occasion I would see the corners of my mothers mouth go into a half-smile, but never more than that because she was not about to encourage my hilarity. In fact she spent a lot of time cautioning me about my mouth and my "humor" and warning me that someday it would get me in trouble. It has a time or two, but only because people didn't understand how funny I a really am. (wink)

In my defense, I come from a pretty darn funny family. Believe it or not....my mom's side of the family was filled with humorous characters and funny stories. My grandfather once shot his own reflection in a mirror, thinking it was an intruder. Grandma killed a snake and put it on the walk heading up to the house knowing Grandpa was scared of snakes. Yes...these are my kin. Explains a lot now doesn't it.

Now Mom was funny too and she had an amazing sense of humor.....which usually showed up in church. Put her with her sister and it was like two 10 year old little girls sitting together. They would look at each other and you could see it start. Why were they laughing? Who knew, but before long....both had their heads down and were literally shaking and trying to keep from snorting out loud. At my cousins wedding rehearsal they got so tickled they were both laying in the pew....yes....they were snorting. The mother of the groom was not amused. Neither was my other aunt who threatened to take them outside if they didn't behave. They only laughed harder.  Eventually after years of  this kind of behavior, my mom and aunt realized that sitting in the same pew during Mass was a recipe for disaster so they ended up sitting across the church from each other and out of each others line of site. I think Father sent them each a thank you letter.

My aunt was not the only one who could get my mom going in church though. Once my mom, my brother and I all went to confession on a Saturday afternoon. We walked into the pew....Mom first, then my brother and then myself. Neither my brother nor I were paying attention and I guess we both assumed Mom had put down the kneeler. She had not. Both of us went to kneel down and hit the ground chinning ourselves on the pew in front of us. Let me just say......I'm sure it looked a lot funnier than it felt. Mom looked over at us and started to laugh. Neither my brother nor I were amused, Mom however was. She laughed and she laughed. Tears began to form in her eyes and we knew her trademark snort was just around the corner. Watching her trying to unsuccessfully hold back the snort got us to laughing too. It was contagious and none of us could control ourselves.I am sure Father wondered what was going on, not to mention the others who had come for confession and got a show. So you see, I am obviously funny.....even when I don't mean to be. It's a gift I tell you.

Through the years, I have surrounded myself with friends who are 1) either as funny as I am or 2) appreciate how funny I am. Yeah, I know.....if you are my friend, you know what I am talking about. Whether it was hiding from the cops behind a fridge on New Years eve, laughing our way to St. Louis or having the pleasure of being my wing person as I make up fake identities at a bar.....you know how funny I am. You also know who you are.

My kids have also spent many years dealing with my humor. They, like my mother have not always appreciated my quick wit and at times I am sure I have even embarrassed the tapioca out of them, but along the way....I have also taught them to have a sense of humor and to laugh....even when life doesn't throw a lot of "funny" your way.  

In case you weren't aware....I am not your ordinary mother. As I have gotten older my humor at times has crossed over to the dark side and my mouth can be a bit irreverent. When my kids were young though, I always tried to keep my words and my humor appropriate around them, but even the best of us has our slip ups. I think Z finally realized who he was dealing with when he was about 8 years old. At that point in his life, I rarely cussed and the F-word was strictly forbidden in our house. Then came the day that Z saw a different side of me. The side that changed his view of me......forever!

Z and I were out outside working in the yard and we came upon a snake. Now this snake was huge and seemed to be squaring up for a fight. Z jumped into action, trying to be my big protector. He picked up a nearby brick to kill it. Now here is where I should tell you that I was wearing flip flops, not knowing that steel-toed boots might have served me better that day. Z threw the brick at the snake and missed it by a mile, however....he did NOT miss my big uncovered, unprotected, freshly polished toe. The brick left a huge gash right across the nail and actually broke the toe. The pain was immediately excruciating and as I grabbed my foot and began to hop around....from my mouth flew the words F*ck a Duck! Now never in my life had I used that particular phrase.....so I have no idea where it came from. What I do know is that it was loud enough that everyone on my block probably heard it and I turned to see Z white as a ghost with his mouth and eyes equally wide open. I am not sure whether it was the words that came from my mouth, the dance of pain I was doing or the expression  on my face, but all of a sudden my 8 year old just burst out laughing. He was laughing so hard that he doubled over. He obviously had inherited our families signature snort as he was snorting and trying to catch his breath. Even in my state of pain, watching my son gasp for air as he laughed at this unfortunate incident....well it got me to laughing too. And we laughed.....and we laughed.....and we laughed. By the way.....no snakes were injured or even remotely traumatized during this little incident. My toe however.....was not as lucky.

I think it was at this moment that he realized who his mother really was and I realized that my son, like me,  had an amazing sense of humor. As Z has grown, I have had a glimpse into what my mother might possibly have dealt with....with me. I have been the recipient of his "witty" comebacks and his humorous remarks that were so funny in his head, he almost couldn't get them out. He like his mother is pretty darn funny and sometimes together.....well lets just say.....only the truly funny can hang with us.

So yeah...I'm funny. And apparently....I, like generations before me....have passed this onto a whole new generation. For this, all I can say is.....your welcome!

The Story of Ruth

A life well-lived. Can any of us ask for more than that? And yet some just seem to do it better than others. Ruth Poteete was one such person.

I met Ruth many years ago when we moved to Mulvane and she was our mail lady. She always delivered the mail with a smile and in the spring and summer she would often stop and visit with my mother who spent every waking moment in the yard when the weather allowed.

It wasn't until my sophomore year in high school that I connected Ruth to a very pretty, shy girl in my class named Berty. Berty and I had gone to school together for 3 years but not until I practically attacked her in Foods class asking her about her older brother whom every girl in the school had a crush on, that we actually met. I guess my big mouth and her shyness were the perfect match and from that moment on......we were friends.

Berty came from a large family (12 kids to be exact....6 boys and 6 girls) who were headed up by Ray and Ruth Poteete. Ray by this time was retired military working for the post office and between the post office, working on his passion wood working and his other passion running.....he wasn't often around and when he was, he kept to himself. Ruth on the other hand was around. She ran her home with the efficiency that only a military wife with 12 kids can. Her word was law and even though she was small in stature.....she could be a force to be reckoned with. I was privy to a couple of situations where I witnessed the wrath of Ruth and no one doubted that she meant business.

Ruth's home was a welcoming home with a door leading from the garage to the kitchen that was perpetually open. Along with her own 12 kids a steady stream of extended family and friends came and went through that door over the years....and always they were welcomed by Ruth with an ease that was both inviting and comforting. Looking back though....I suspect that after 12 kids....nothing much surprised her nor rocked her world to any extent.

When I first started going to the Poteete's on a regular basis....it was sort of a fantasy land for me. There was constant commotion, laughter, yelling and just plain life going on in that house and most of it taking place in the kitchen. To a girl with one brother who spent a great deal of her time alone.....this was a world I had only dreamed of. My fantasy though was their reality and I am sure they saw their house with different eyes than I did.

I think the thing I liked most about going to the Poteete's was Ruth's reaction to my being there. Her reaction was simply no reaction at all. If I was there.....I was treated like everyone else which meant I might be handed a dish towel and told to dry dishes, or a dust rag and told to go dust something. Often on Sunday's I was put on "Thiry duty," and told to go find Thiry (Berty's younger sister) who would always mysteriously disappear when she was suppose to be helping fry chicken or do dishes. I always found her hiding somewhere trying to sleep. I once even found her in the tub with the shower door shut. Ahhh....good times.

As Thiry got older, she, Berty and I became inseparable. Every Friday and Saturday night (and sometimes Mon.-Friday night too) we were gone. However, Ruth's rule was no one went anywhere on Saturday until the house was clean. This often meant that I was recruited to help in order to speed the process up. Looking back this is rather amusing as my house cleaning skills would never have and I am sure never did pass the careful inspection of Ruth. Even her own daughters were known to have to go back and redo a job more than once on more than one occasion which explained Berty's belief that things were never clean enough for her mom because she obviously had dirt in her eye. Possibly though.....Berty should have expressed this thought when her mother was not within ear shot as I believe her opinion was met with the evil "Poteete look!" If you have seen it....you know the look  I am referring to and Ruth passed that look onto each of her children! Go ahead....tick one off and see what kind of look you get! LOL

Every Sunday the house on Greenwich was alive with people. After Mass everyone gathered for fried chicken and a pot luck of assorted foods in the Poteete kitchen. For years every Sunday I could make it....I was there. My mother would have had a nervous break down having her house full of people, noise and commotion every week, but Ruth took it all in stride. In fact she seemed to thrive on having her family around and she could always be found holding a grandchild and enjoying the company of her children. After dinner when the kitchen was clean and everyone was just sitting around...Ruth would often tell stories of her past growing up in Moline, KS or about adventures she had had in Japan, the Phillipines or many of the other places she and Ray had traveled while he was in the military. My favorite story was of her experience being in the Udal, KS tornado back in the 1950's. The tornado virtually wiped out the whole town and because of the time it hit (night) there was no warning. It was a frightening experience to say the least, but like everything else....Ruth seemed to take it in stride.

Ruth had her onery side too. The Poteete house was always inundated with animals, but they were never allowed in doors. My two favorite animals where Bogart and Dinky. Bogart was weiner dog mix and Dinky was Heinz 57 whose mother was Bogart and whose father could have been any dog. Well one of them (can't remember which one) had puppies. They were so cute but Ruth had no intention of keeping more dogs so they were being given to anyone who would take them. There was one left and she was so cute. She was black and white and I loved anything puppish. Ruth knew it and told me to take the puppy home. I knew taking that dog home was going to ensue the wrath of my mother and I really did not want to go there. I told Ruth I better not, as I fawned over the puppy and then tried to hand her over to Ruth. Ruth was having none of that. She gently handed the puppy back to me and said, "go ahead. Your mother won't mind. Just tell her I said it was okay." Now I knew my mother and I knew it would NOT be okay. But I wanted that puppy so I decided to sneak her home and Ruth being the "generous" lady she was even provided me the box to sneak her home in and food to tide me over until I had found a way to break our new little addition to Mom.

As I knew would happen.....my mother about busted a kidney when she found out that I smuggled contraband in the form of a puppy into her house. As I stood there watching the vein in my mothers forehead throb as she was telling me not just NO....but HELL NO.....I burst out...."but Mom....Mrs. Poteete said it was okay." Normally telling my mother that someone elses mother had okayed something, thus trying to trump her would have been hazardous to everyone's health involved. But not this time. Mom picked up the puppy, looked it over and said...."She is pretty cute. Fine....we'll keep her." It was a WOW moment.

One of the reasons I liked Ruth so much was because she seemed so different from my own mother. As kids often do when they are less than pleased with their own parents....they compare them to other parents. When I was mad at my mother....I am sure Ruth was thrown in her face on more than one occasion. I always saw them as polar opposites until one evening. I am not sure whether Ruth was looking for a child, picking up a child, or just needed a break and for whatever reason ended up at my house. I know though that it was an unusual occurrence as to my knowledge other than their chats when Ruth was a mail lady and a few necessary chats regarding Berty and I....they had never really talked. Mom invited her in and they sat down in the kitchen and began a conversation that lasted at least a couple of hours. I perched myself on the stairs where I could hear but not be seen and listened as these two women whom had seemed so very different to me, suddenly became more and more alike. Both were brought up small town Catholic girls but that is where I thought the similarities ended. The reality was Mom was a single parent and Ruth often felt like one. Both had to put up with a great deal from the men in their lives and both were suffering through their childrens teen angst. Both also hand younger children at home whom they were trying to sheild from the older ones shenanigans. The way they talked you could tell that in many ways.....they were kindred spirits. Amazingly....Ruth had many nice things to say about me to my mother and she let her know that she was glad that Berty and I had found each other as she felt my "personality" had helped to draw Berty out. Mom of course felt that Berty had a settling effect on me and was so happy that I had a friend such as her. It was a surreal moment....these two so very different seeming women.....suddenly showing themselves to be very much alike. It was also surreal because a moment like that never again happened for these two. They ran into each other from time to time and again had a few obligatory phone conversations....but never again did such a conversation take place between them. Also...never again did I compare the two or throw Ruth in mom's face.

As the years went on.....I was invited into not only Ruth's home but also Ruth's family. She seemed to know that her family filled a void in my life and she told me on more than one occasion that I was around so much....she had decided to make me on honorary Poteete. It was an honor. I was even invited to a Christmas or two....which again was different than the Christmas's I had grown up with. With 12 kids you would go into the poor house trying to buy for everyone so Ruth stuck to the true meaning of Christmas raising her brood and taught them that it was about the giving NOT the receiving. Christmas at Ruth's was celebrated after midnight mass on Christmas Eve. Everyone came back to the house where of course....there was food galore and then gifts were open. Ruth's gift to everyone was always.....socks. When I got my first pair of socks.....I almost cried. It truly meant I was part of the family (in my head anyway....lol) The kids, who had drawn names the previous Christmas Eve....then presented each other with gifts that they had hand made. I remember a Christmas or two both Berty and Thiry panicking because come Dec. 23rd they had not as yet completed their gifts. It was a beautiful tradition which left a lasting impression on the character of Ruth's  children.

When the last of their children were out of high school, Ray and Ruth decided to leave that wonderful house on Greenwich and move to rural spot in eastern KS, then eventually they moved to Emporia and then Topeka. I missed the Sunday dinners and seeing a house full of Poteete's on a regular basis. But whether I had a wedding, a baby shower, a baby or any other major event in my life....Ruth always seemed to find a way to be present for it. Every Christmas....hers was the card I looked forward to getting and every special Poteete occasion that I could make it to.....I so looked forward to seeing her. She always seemed to be laughing and enjoying this new found stage in her life. I will always picture her with her beautiful white hair, her wonderful laugh and her glasses hanging from a chain around her neck. And her famous words to everything...."oh my!" 

When my husband died....she was there at the funeral. Ruth had never really been a verbally demonstrative person. Her feelings for others were always conveyed through her actions. I remember very little about that day. I remember it was hot, Thiry was pregnant and Berty, Dan (Berty's husband) and all their girls were there. Other than that....I remember little else....except for Ruth. She came up to me with tears in her eyes and hugged me. She said, "Lisa....I wish this hadn't happened to you. I am so sorry. I love you." Those words touched me more than anyone will ever know and like many other things about Ruth....will hold a special place in  my heart.

Later, when my own mother died....Ruth again touched me with her words. She let me know that she was always there for me.....that I was her honorary daughter and that if I ever needed her.....she was only a phone call away. I never dialed that number....but it was always a comfort to know that if I had ....the voice on the other end would have been one of love and compassion. It would have been Ruth.

When I heard Ruth had been diagnosed with Parkinson's I truly was not worried. Maybe it was my lack of knowledge about the disease....or maybe it was just how well I knew Ruth, but I felt Ruth was stronger than any disease. With the proper medical care....I figured this was merely a speed bump in the life of such a strong woman.

I was thrilled beyond words when I heard that Ray and Ruth were moving back to Mulvane. I envisioned getting to spend some good old fashioned Poeete time again with this amazing family. I had hopes of Sunday dinners with lots of noise and chaos and heck.....I might even go help clean on a Saturday for old time sake. The move however coincided with Ruth having med issues and her Parkinson's giving her a run for her money. I was having a garage sale and Ruth had some stuff she wanted me to sell. As I sat there in my garage...I saw an elderly woman pull up and get out of her car. She literally was shuffling very slowly to get across the street. Not until she was half way up my drive did I realize this was Ruth. She sat and talked for awhile and told me her meds were giving her fits. She let me know in no uncertain terms though.....this was merely a set back and as soon as her meds were adjusted, she would be back to her old self. She was right. A few weeks later I rode my bike by her house to find her walking in the yard picking up sticks and much more her old self. I began to make that a regular bike/walk route and would stop and visit anytime she was out.

In April of 2010 it was discovered that Ruth needed a heart valve replacement and a valve repair. She had been tired and not feeling well and her heart valves appeared to be the culprit. It was felt that after the surgery....she would feel tremendously better. This was not to be the case. After her surgery it was one health issue after another. She had trouble with her Parkinson's, she was dizzy, she felt awful and old health issues became present health issues. She was either in the hospital or a rehab most of the time.....being able to spend only a short time at home.

When she was in the hospital she was at the same hospital where my youngest had weekly physical therapy. So on therapy days I would sneak off and go visit Ruth. Several times she was obviously feeling too bad to have company....so I would go in, squeeze her hand, kiss her forehead and leave. She always managed a smile and a "thank you for coming by." One time though, when she was in the ICU.....I caught her on a good day. As I walked in a nurse was with her. Ruth seemed truly happy to see me and introduced me as her "honorary daughter." The nurse then laughed....."with all the daughters you already have....you need an honorary one too?" I laughed too as I had always kind of felt the same way. Ruth however did not laugh. She simply said...."yes!" We proceeded to visit about Berty, Thiry, her grandkids, my kids, Ray, the hospital staff and jello. Every time I would start to leave she would squeeze my hand a little tighter. Finally when I knew my son would be just about done with PT.....I told Ruth I had to leave. She smiled and said..."I know." She then grabbed my hand and said..."I love you Lisa!" Tears rose in both our eyes. They drift down my cheek now as I write this, for what I didn't know then was that was the last conversation we would have....and those were her last words to me.

Ruth continued her trips in and out of the hospital over the next few months. Her body was getting tired and complications from her health issues were taking their toll. On Thanksgiving morning I talked to Berty who told me that the drs. had told them she was not going to get better. Thanksgiving evening Thiry called crying. That is a sound I have only heard a couple of times in 30+ years. Ruth was gone! The reality was processing. I left for the hospital to say goodbye. The whole trip up their I had thoughts of Sunday dinners, Christmas socks and a smiling Ruth with her glasses hanging from her neck. I also had the same sinking broken hearted feeling I had had nearly 8 years before as I drove this same route to the same hospital to say goodbye to my own mother. I also worried that maybe my need to say goodbye to this woman and my presence at such a time might be viewed as intrusive to the family. I hoped though that maybe my being their might offer some kind of solace in all of this sorrow. My fears were alieved when I walked in and Thiry grabbed my hand and said "Thank you for coming," and Berty hugged me with both relief and the understanding that only three decades of friendship can bring. I have no doubt that Ruth had designed it that I could not only come to say goodbye to my surragate mother but also so that I would be there with the two women who meant more to me than anyone else in the world.

At Ruths funeral....Father said: "She survived a Tsunami, a prairie grass fire, a devastating tornado, and an large earthquake." I think I knew all of this but wasn't sure. I did know however that she was a small town girl who married a man who became military. While he served, she was at home raising 12 kids. She had little patience for whining and even though she was small in stature she could put the fear of God in you (i.e. the Poteete look). She loved plants and birds and the outdoors, She laughed often, loved with all her heart and lived her life to the fullest. Yes.....Ruth's life was a life well spent. So Ruth, I thank you for making me one of your own. I thank you for the Sunday dinners, the explorations of your house to find Thiry, the puppy, the Christmas cards, the socks, and most of all...for giving me the two very best friends a person could have. I know you are in heaven sitting at the kitchen table discussing us girls with my mom. Please be kind! lol I love you beyond words and miss you dearly. So dear Ruth until we meet again....R.I.P.