Remembering Ruth

In my bedroom trunk lies a photograph, sandwiched between my grandmother's memorabilia, a broken cardboard Shamrock and a Garden Club program. In this yellowing black-and-white picture my Aunt Ruth is walking--almost running--gaily down a red brick street in Nacogdoches, holding hands with her girlfriend, who pales by comparison.

She sports--not wears--a wool plaid jumper over a white cotton blouse and Cardigan sweater with Bobby socks neatly folded over Saddle Oxfords. Her carefully combed hair is parted just so, then it waves over her perfect forehead, pinned with a spunky barrette. She must be in her early 'twenties, for the picture seems to have been taken in the late 1930's. In this abandoned snapshot one aspect is stunning: Ruth is absolutely beautiful. Young, strong, bright, poised and absolutely beautiful. She was my grandmother's little sister.

The picture says it all: she was vibrant, intelligent, graceful. She was Lucille Ball's age, elegant, fun and a living doll. Ruth was young when everyone "wore a hat, " as John Cheever wrote of that golden age. She had a level of class one simply cannott attain--she was born with it. Gentility was bred in her bones; born into that era and category of elegance, style, grace, lightheartedness and above all beauty. Effortlessly, she carried beauty into every situation, into every single activity. Ruth had an innate sense of aesthetics which my generation missed, somehow. Oh, we were pretty, as young women, but it was never first and foremost for us, with all our fish to fry.

Ruth's generation of women, and she in particular, radiated beauty in all things and in all ways. She was born lovely, grew up even lovelier and as she grew older she did and said lovely things, and everything she touched turned into something pretty. When Ruth casually tied on a cotton apron, it became a ruffled ball gown. She never tried to be something she was not, and this core of authenticity made her even more beautiful, for when she spoke we believed her; being around her made us into better people. Ruth loved her family; adored her sisters and brothers; loved her neighbors and friends and life itself. Her laugh, that blue-eyed knowing grin, could light up a whole room.

So, we all grow old. It's the way of the world. Ruth grew old gracefully and kept on growing older gracefully and carried grace with her, a sense of the positive, lovely side of this world, right up to the end. She said she would live to 100, but even someone as strong as darling Ruth could not make that wish come true. But with all her illnesses and trials, to know that she was determined to make it to live out a century entirely, touches and spurs us on to do our best, to live up to higher and higher ideals, even through darkness, fear and the deepest tragedies of life.

The one person who helped Ruth to believe in the positive was her beloved husband Dick. She was certainly lucky in love, for he could make anyone feel as if both sides of the street were the sunny side. He loved her in the way of fairy tales, and she loved this man with her whole heart, through thick and thin, right to the end. He was her Knight in Shining Armor, she was his fair maiden, as unrealistic as that seems. Dick made Ruth live up to what she was to become: a beautiful strong and loving woman who knew that one way or another, everything would be all right. We will miss you, Ruth, and will hold you as an example for all our days.