Dear Ruth

Dear Ruth--You would have been 35 yesterday.  When I told Joie, she said, "No offense, Mom, but you're old."  


I am old...at least older than you.  I'm old enough that I remember your dark brown eyes, and cute dark brown curls as a baby, and that your hair didn't fall out.  And I'm old enough to remember your huge smile, and how much I adored you when you were born.  I was eight years old when you were born, and I carried you around and called you, "Dolly" because I thought it was horrible that my parents would name such a cute baby, "Ruth."  (I thought Ruth was an old lady name.)

Ruth, it was too soon for you to leave us.  I wish almost every day I could see you again, and hear your voice again--to hear you talk about your girls.  I know they were your world, and I loved the way you told stories about them.  So many times since you died, I've wished I could sit down and talk to you about Joie.

Better yet, I wish you could just be here, being Joie's mom.  When I see her do and say things I tell myself that you're watching, and you know, but it's just not the same not having you here--not seeing your face light up as you watch your beautiful daughter grow.  Sometimes (especially in the beginning) I feel you near, whispering to me what to do.  I feel like I'm raising her with you, even though you're not here, but I wish we could just sit down and talk...and at the same time I know if you were here, we wouldn't be raising Joie.

When Joie was little, I remember you telling me you loved the song, "In My Daughter's Eyes," by Martina McBride.  Now every time I hear that song, I cry because every day I get to look into your daughter's eyes is a gift, but it's a gift I wish was yours.  The song ends with:

When I'm gone I hope you see,
How happy she made me,
For I'll be there,
In my daughter's eyes.


It's almost like you knew, and you were telling me.

I do know how happy she made you, because I could see it in your eyes every time you talked about her, and I do see you (and Nick) in her eyes.  I also hear it in her voice.  She talks like you.  Sometimes it's just the sound of her voice, but it's also in her mannerisms and in the phrases she uses, and in the way she thinks.  It cracks me up sometimes.  As I watch her grow, I know you'd be so proud of her.

Ruth, your life touched so many people.  Yours was a heart of friendship--something I know was a gift to everyone who knew you in the short 30 years you lived on this earth.  After you were gone, that was one thing I heard over and over again about you, and I know it's true.  You had the heart of a true friend.  I might have taken care of you when you were a baby, but when you grew up, you took care of me, through your love, through listening, and through your heart.  I wish I could still talk to you.  I miss our conversations (and my kids miss all the stories you used to tell on me).  Can't you just come back down and talk?  Just once?

I love you, Ruth, and I can't wait to see you again, and to really, really feel one of your hugs again.  Keep watching over us, because I know you do.

Love,
Mary