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This is a story about my neighbor, and in it is her story about life.
I had just recently bought and moved into my house in an historical district in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. It was a beautiful neighborhood, tree lined streets, old-fashioned streetlights and Ruth. Ruth had been there about 35 years and knew everything there was to know about the neighborhood. It didn’t matter if it happened twenty years ago or yesterday - Ruth knew about it.
“Ruth, you’re 87 years old, - don’t cut my grass.”
| Soon after moving into my house I had to go away for several weeks on business. Being single at the time I asked Ruth if she would keep an eye on the house and to expect a kid I had hired to cut my grass to come by. A week or so went by and I called home to Ruth to say hello, see how she was doing and check on my house. All was well except my grass was growing just as God had wanted it to versus how the neighborhood association wanted it. I said my goodbyes and would call again in about a week. The next time I spoke to Ruth she was doing well, been to church, had lunch with long time friends, and visited her younger brother. She’d been busy . . . little did I realize how busy. Before I hung up I asked again if the kid had made it by to cut my grass. “Well”, Ruth said, “I waited until yesterday and when I didn’t see him I just went over and cut it myself.” I said, “Ruth, you’re 87 years old. Don’t cut my grass!” Well, I fired the kid and hired Ruth. No I’m only kidding – about the Ruth part. Well I continued to check in on Ruth while I was gone and we were always glad to talk a few moments.
When I returned I bought her a small gift and we would chat for a few moments whenever I had time, which seemed to be less and less as the years went by. Thirty minutes seemed like a lot just to hear the same story again. One day I come home to see the police and ambulance in her driveway. My heart jumps to my throat and as I rush to her door, Ruth had fallen and broke her hip – two days ago. She could hear my car come and go from the driveway; it wasn’t until her brother came by that he found her at the bottom of the stairs. Yes, Ruth passed away last week at 93 years of age—she broke her hip when she was 88.
Ruth never stopped living. She got a new hip, went to therapy. I brought her a hand carved walking cane from Costa Rica and she started driving again. Oh by the way, did I mention she lived alone and her house had two stories and a basement. Ruth continued to go to church, visit friends and family and even now when she is gone from this physical world, she continues to teach me lessons in life. Her first lesson came when she cut my grass, we do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. Ruth never stopped playing, she enjoyed working in her yard and garden, living in her home and going out with friends. Another lesson came when she broke her hip. While I was going through Pararescue training as a 25-year-old Airman in the United States Air Force, we had a saying, “never die”, in other words don’t quit, and don’t give up. But it was Ruth who helped me to truly understand the meaning of those words. Remember this; growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional. |
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