For Grandma Ruth

The following is the reflection that Earl wrote and shared with the assembled at his grandmother Ruth Fay's funeral, this morning at 11:00 in Westborough, Mass.

Do you have one of these? (Photo at right of a "Christmas Mouse" ornament, one of many handmade by Ruth.)

Simple, beautiful, treasured. That was grandma. From February 15, 1922 until July 3, 2008 her life was well lived.

Here are some thoughts and memories I’d like to share:

There is nothing remarkable about a chickadee. It’s a small black and white bird that lives here year-round. Grandma loved it.

Grandma didn’t drive. She tried once and never again.

On December 27, 1943, in front of the Christmas tree, Ruth Elenor Wheeler and Robert Harold Fay exchanged marriage vows. For over 60 years of marriage there were many good times and certainly there were some bad. There was serious sickness but mostly there was health. Married life ended only a couple of years ago when death did them part.

Lunch or supper always included a glass of milk and a slice of bread and butter.

Take out is now a way of life. When I was little, a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken at Grandma’s was a big deal.

Grandma didn’t need a drink to have a good time.

Memorial Day meant a drive with her beloved sister Gertie to visit the cemetery where her dad is buried. Perhaps just as important, it meant stopping for ice cream on the way home.

A couple of years ago, at the Fay/Smith family Christmas party at my mom’s, Grandma was sitting on the couch while gifts were being exchanged. Grandma had trouble articulating her thoughts and I don’t think she really knew who many of us were, especially the great-grandchildren. I observed grandma watching presents being passed around and opened by the kids. She didn’t say this to anyone in particular, she just motioned to a present and said, “I wish I had one of those (gift) to give to one of them (child).”

The best job Grandma ever had was working on Goff Moore Farm. The rat farm. It was not the best job because she was unskilled or because there was no other employment. It was the best job because she truly loved it.

I’ll re-tell the highlights of this story one more time.

They were recently married. Grandpa was in the service and stationed in the south. Grandma decided that she would travel there to be with him. If I’m not mistaken, she traveled by train from Boston to New York where she was to take a bus for the remainder of the trip. At the New York bus station, she had difficulty finding the right bus. She was overwhelmed by the city; closed in by the buildings. It seemed to her that people were everywhere and just going all over the place but finally she found the right bus. There were many service men on the bus. As she worked her way further and further back on the bus, she felt that everyone was staring at her. Near the back of the bus, she finally found a women sitting by herself and grandma asked her if she could sit next to her. Only then did Grandma realize that she wasn’t supposed to sit with the “colored” people, but she did it anyway. Certainly the black lady that grandma sat next to was shocked but by the end of the trip, they were like longtime friends.

I don’t think grandma ever said much about her actual time on the army base except that it was dreadfully hot and humid and that there wasn’t much to do. Grandma described how the colored people had their own areas, they were dirt poor, and many extended family members lived together in small shacks. Each evening, even from the distance, you could see and hear the colored people talking, laughing, and singing together. Grandma could never understand why people despised the Negros so much, after all, they were the only ones who were having any fun.

Grandma may have repeated this story a hundred times, yet each time she told it, it was told as passionately as if it were the first time she had ever shared it with anyone. We all would laugh about it but I don’t think this was just a little quirk. Grandma had a few important things she wanted us to know and she used these stories to communicate them. So she had to tell this story. She was compelled to do so. This is what grandma was really saying. “I was alone and I was scared as hell but I found a way to travel from rural New England, through the big cities, and to the South because I loved my husband and I wanted to be with him.” Grandma was also saying that judgments based on race or economic status is nonsense. To really live, you need to share joy.

Grandma truly had courage and she had wisdom and I’d like to hear her tell that story one more time.

Grandma had this 1815 publication of the King James Bible. I’m not sure how she got it. It’s old and musty. On many different levels, this Bible is difficult to read and understand. There is however a simple bookmark that Grandma placed at Psalm XXIII.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;
He leadeth me beside the still waters, He restoreth my soul
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou prepareth a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.
Thou annointeth my head with oil, my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Earl and Ruth at her 80th birthday party, February 2002. The cake, made by longtime family friend Kathy Smith, was in the form of a hat, and decorated with flowers. Grandma thought she'd try it on.

Ruth and baby Abby, Christmas 2001.