Good bye Helen

I had a funeral (of sorts) to attend yesterday.

Years ago, back in the 50’s women often did not work outside of the home. And, in that world of suburbia, a friendship was formed. The players:

Ruth - often spoken of as ‘the glue that holds us together’, artistic, wry sense of humor, married to a jeweler.

Doris - had met Ruth during the ‘War’ when they worked in the same office in Texas. Surprised to find they ended up within 30 miles of each other afterwards.

Mary - Ruth’s best friend from high school.

Helen - Ruth’s across the street neighbor - who always wondered about ‘those smartly dressed ladies’ going across the street.

While 3 of them had children at the same time (1952 and 54 were popular years), their friendship was much more than that. They would plan their get togethers, with all of the steely eyed determination of Patton, all of the what can I make out of this flair of Martha Stewart, and all of the ‘let’s talk’ of Joan Rivers.

They’d ‘play bridge’ or at least claim to. But the real reason for their gatherings was a celebration of friendship, womanhood, and creativity. They’d treat themselves like the queens they were, with special recipes, using the ‘good’ china, centerpieces, watermelon boats etc.

While I was at college, I would hear of the menus and decorations of each gathering, was continually astounded with the level of detail they’d take.

Once, they took a trip together down to Florida. Although the plan was playing bridge etc, they mostly sat around the pool and drank Margaritas, getting the tans of their lifes.

Through everything, though the deaths of Mary’s husband, Ruth’s first child, through the trials and tribulations of each child’s marriages, divorces, grandchildren, the ‘moms’ would continue to triumph, and bolster each other.

In 1984, Helen was called on by Ruth’s husband, who was in the hospital. Ruth wasn’t answering the phone or door, could Helen go check on her? Helen and the police eventually broke in to find Ruth’s body. Helen took it upon herself to notify Ruth’s children herself, to spare them the police knocking on their doors.

In other situations, this wouldn’t have been an arduous task. However, in Ruth’s household, there was one phone with a list of phone numbers beside it. Created in 1970 and never redone, it was a maze of numbers crawling around in circles, completely clear to those who worked with it continually, a complete mystery to those seeing it for the first time. There was even a phone number listed for Ruth’s in laws, which hadn’t been true since 1971.

But Helen perservered. She contacted the youngest child’s girlfriend, discovered he was on a sales trip through the Upper Peninsula. All of his contacts there had to be contacted individually - ‘has your Russ Barrie representative arrived? yes? thank you’… leaving messages with those he hadn’t seen. For the oldest, a teacher with a common last name and unknown district, Helen remembered that the husband was a mortician, and called funeral homes in that city looking for him. For the middle child, a dillema. She was unlisted, and had been laid off from her job. Helen browbeat the long distance operator into taking a message and calling her.

As Ruth’s middle child, I can’t begin to tell you what it’s meant to me over the years to have these women in my life. Helen, I miss you.

wring, I am sorry for your loss.
She sounds like a wonderful woman, someone who will be greatly missed by all who knew and loved her.

{{wring}}

Rose

I share your sorrow. Sounds like a wonderful group to have been associated and a special lady to have lost.

Jim

oh wring, i’m so sorry. what a caring woman. it is so hard to say good bye to someone like that.

oh wring, i’m so sorry. what a caring woman. it is so hard to say good bye to someone like that.