NOTE: This is the letter that I read at Ruth’s gravesite ceremony on Monday, June 17, 2019 at Mills and Mills Funeral Home, Tumwater, WA. It was a beautiful day with a cloudless sky and temperature of 77 degrees. Those in attendance were members of Ruth’s church small group, their senior pastor, my friend, Jose Diaz, Devon’s girlfriend, Aspen Humiston, Devon Parman, Graham Parman, Marilyn Conner, Kellie (Conner) Owens, and officiate & minister, Cecil Thompson. Graham and I had been standing vigil over Ruth at my apartment after she went into a coma on Friday evening. Devon joined us on Saturday evening. Ruth passed away on Sunday, June 10, 2019 at 4:58 AM. I began my part of the gravesite service by telling the story that I and then Devon took turns standing up to kiss Nanna on the forehead and whisper something heartfelt to her. After Devon sat back down Ruth passed away within 5-10 seconds as if we had given her the reassurances that she needed to let go. I told the mourners that what I whispered to Ruth moments before she passed was, “Thank you for being my mom. We love you.” I explained that what I was going to read was Ruth’s last birthday letter from me and that her and I had discussed its meaning between son and mother. So I was going to read it today to help them to better understand what it meant to Ruth and I when I whispered, ‘Thank you for being my mom. We love you.’ Dear Mom, Today is the day that we are suppose to celebrate your birthday. But obviously the celebration has been going on for much longer than a day. Today is the day that I will try to write a small token of what we have been celebrating everyday. I remember when I was young how you provided a home for dad and I. I remember how the sheets and blankets at every other place smelt wrong. It was only at home that they smelt right and I could relax and remember the peace that I felt at home. Before I was old enough for school I remember having a picnic with you and dad after church on a sunny fall day at Durand Eastman Park. I remember being amazed that we could have so much fun and laughter by simply rolling in the leaves. Thank you for creating and nourishing that feeling of security, peace, and home. That feeling of being loved. Mom, you have the best laugh. It is so airy and freeing. You can find humor in almost anything. We counted on you to find humor with whatever was ailing us. It empowered us against the pain. Our friends and relatives would always comment on how much you and your sisters’ would laugh. I remember the amazed look on Bob Morrow’s face when he was commenting on how much laughter that our family shared. You could always hear how much you loved to laugh, especially, with your sisters. Thank you for the love of your laughter. [NOTE TO MY BOYS 10/2019: Bob Morrow was your mother’s (Elizabeth (Morrow) Parman) father. He made this comment to me on the day of your mom’s and mine wedding. Before the wedding Bob had gone over to the hotel where Ruth and her sisters’ were staying and had breakfast with them. There are a few more stories that capture Ruth’s sense of humor, really the humor of the Oliver’s family. Nanna would often tell these stories and Aunt Marilyn can attest to them. Nanna’s maternal grandmother, Callie Clark, was blind for some time from cataracts. Cataracts surgery had not yet been developed. When Nanna was just a schoolgirl and your great-great-grandmother Clark would start to sit down on a chair Nanna would rush over and sit down in the chair first. Grandmother Clark would end up sitting in Nanna’s lap surrounded by a burst of giggles from a child and her grandmother. Nanna would often guide her grandmother Clark on a walk. On these walks Nanna would tell her that they were approaching a curb and to “step up, now, grandma;” but there was no curb. The phantom curb and mischievous misstep would, again, trigger a burst of laughter from child and grandmother. I bet grandmother Clark got wise to this trick but played along just for the chance to share a bright moment with her grandchild. Grandmother Clark got her revenge though. The miracle of cataract surgery finally caught up to Joplin, MO. When grandmother Clark came home from the hospital with her sight restored, Nanna asked her what was the most surprising thing she saw. Grandmother Clark replied, “I thought my grandkids were good looking.” Nanna loved telling those stories. Nanna’s humor never left her. On one of the last times she was well enough to dine out we went to a drive through to get Graham a coffee after dinner. Graham was sitting in the back seat while Nanna was sitting in the passenger seat next to me. It was late for the dinner crowd and we were alone in the drive thru. The young man serving us was very friendly, gregarious, and unrushed. He was in his early twenties so I knew coffee was not the thing that was always on his mind. He asked us what we were up to for the night. I pointed to Nanna and said with a straight face, “We’re trying to get her laid.” Without missing a beat he said, “Oh, really” and started to suggest various places that were good for hook-ups. I knew then we were off to the races and he and I started into a discourse on how to get my 80 year old mother laid. I told him we had been hitting up the nursing homes but everyone was asleep by 6 pm. Our smiles kept growing as our brainstorming grew. Graham was falling backward with laughter in the back seat. I looked over at Nanna and she was leaning forward into the conversation looking at both the server and me. Her eyes were alight and she was smiling and nodding her head as if agreeing that we were coming up with some good ideas and she just might get laid tonight. I thought with a smile on my face and tears in my eyes, “Yep, that’s my mom.”] Mom you have always been so giving. I’m sure that I will never know how much and how deep that you have given throughout your life. I bet that you can’t remember all the moments. The moments that I know of started when you were a young teenager and you sacrificed your childhood and education to care for your dying mother and younger sisters. You quit eighth grade to stay home to raise Marilynn and Phyllis, to do the chores and clean your mother’s blood from the bathroom floor after her radiation treatment. You gave to your mother and sisters by enduring and helping them to endure the abandonment and betrayal of your father. You helped your mother endure the abandonment and betrayal of the woman whom your father had the affair with. The woman, whom your mother had taken in, clothed, fed and treated as a daughter. [NOTE TO MY BOYS: When Nanna told me that story about cleaning her mother’s blood from the bathroom floor it also included the memory of her mother being too exhausted to care for herself as she laid propped up against the wall trying to apologize to her young daughter for the blood and the circumstances that she had been forced into.] Mom, you continued to care for your mother after she died by caring and protecting her children. You protected Marilyn and Phyllis from the abuse of their new stepmother and became their surrogate mother even though you had lost your own mother. You continued to care and give by arranging secret meetings at yours and dad’s apartment for Phyllis and your grandmother during Phyllis’ high school lunch breaks. You gave by being instrumental in corresponding with the authorities in building a case to remove Marilynn and Phyllis from the abuse of their stepmother and father. You cared for Phyllis during her summer vacations and were instrumental in helping her to meet her husband and life long companion, Uncle John. You kept giving by creating a job for her husband with yours and dad’s construction company. You cared by not turning your back on Uncle John when he continued to work for the business partner who had betrayed you and dad. You gave up your vacations and Christmas to care for Phyllis and her family. You cared for Marilynn by sharing your home with her during her junior and senior years in high school. You were her surrogate mother by helping her plan her marriage and watching dad give her away at her wedding to her husband and life long companion, Uncle Bill. You helped Phyllis and Marilyn to raise their children and heal their marriages. You helped them to deal with their pain and suffering as adults. I remember you being so brave and supportive when I had surgery on my lip. I remember that you showed that even more when I had spinal meningitis, not knowing if I would survive, and how you nursed me on the long road back to health. You would always find ways to save and sacrifice for dad and me. I remember you making clothes for me while sacrificing clothes for yourself. I will have to admit, however, that I always hated the cheaper, powdered milk and was greatly relieved when we went back to regular milk. You would work so hard to make the holidays special with decorating the house and making such wonderful meals. Hot spinach salad. Standing rib roast. Stuffed turkey. Which Duke [our dog] helped himself to. Green olives. Green bean casserole. Crescent rolls. Flaming banana bon bay. And your banana bread which was famous in all the dorms I lived in. [NOTE TO MY BOYS: My dorm mates in high school and college would literal knock on my door asking if Nanna had sent any banana bread. Duke was our beagle dog. One Thanksgiving there wasn’t enough room in the refrigerator for the leftover turkey so we covered it and put it in the garage to keep it cold. Unbeknownst to us Duke found his way into the garage through an outside door. He then helped himself to his own Thanksgiving feast. His stomach was bloated and rock solid. He was miserable for the next three days. He did a similar stunt when Nanna was baking in preparation for one Christmas. Nanna had left three loaves of banana bread to cool on the kitchen table. Duke waited for her to leave the room and then pulled them to the floor and chowed down as much as he could. He stopped chowing and ran away when Nanna eventually returned and let out a howl. Duke’s life was in danger for several days after that stunt.] I remember you hosting out-of-town guests for Brain Ostling’s wedding when you didn’t even have a kitchen. I remember you standing in our gutted kitchen washing dishes in a dishpan on a folding table while the rest of us were laughing and playing in the pool and backyard. I remember spending the summer in a pop-up camper in Hampton State Park while we built our new house on Lake Rd. I remember you forgiving me even when I didn’t ask for it. You forgave me for stepping over you when you fell at the ski lift. Bill Tracey even wanted to stop and help you but I was too insecure to acknowledge you in front of everyone else. [NOTE: After watching Bill Tracey ski at Smuggler’s Notch in Vermont, Uncle Bill nicknamed him “Hips.”] I remember the sacrifices that you made to keep my grandparents in my life even when grandmother was openly disrespectful of you. I remember the trips that you would plan and save for. Like the trips to Camp of the Woods, Myrtle Beach, Walt Disney World, and all the way to the west coast. I remember stepping outside of the air-conditioned car into the furnace of Sin City. I remember the emotional and financial sacrifice that you made to send me to Stony Brook Prep School when I was 16 years old. I remember how hard that was for you to let go of your only child and the lonely drive back to Irondequoit, NY. I remember all the weekend trips just to spend a day with each other. I remember the loving and patient support that you gave me when I had such a hard time after losing Diane. I remember the kindness and support that you gave me in hosting a graduation party even though I had failed at Stony Brook and lost so much tuition. I remember the emotional and financial sacrifice, including selling your home and riding a bus to work, that you gave to send me to Wheaton College, IL. I remember, again, the long trips back in forth from home to school and using the camper as a U-Haul trailer. I remember your graduation present of a down payment on Beth and mine’s first home together. I remember your continued emotional and financial support during graduate school and finishing my dissertation in the guest bedroom of your home. I couldn’t have done it without you. I am reminded of that every time I glimpse my diplomas. You have always had my profound and heart felt respect and gratitude. I know that you can be feisty and even threatening when you have to be. I remember the story of the new roof in Webster, NY. It was leaking and after you made repeated attempts to get the roofer to come back and make it right, he finally admitted that there was no money in coming back to do repairs. So you simply told him you would take an advertisement out next to his in the local newspaper explaining his failure to stand behind his work. Guess what? He promptly fixed the roof. I remember another time our Ford Escort was stolen. Weeks later you called me at college in an excited and out-of-breath way to tell me the story. You told me that while driving our second car you spotted the Escort going the opposite way down a main thoroughfare. So you did an abrupt U-turn in rush hour traffic and chased it down. When the driver tried to evade you by pulling down a side street you followed and forced the car up onto the sidewalk. You immediately ran over to the car, reached through the driver’s window, and pulled the keys from the ignition. The driver and passenger jumped out of the car and tried to escape from this crazy woman. You followed them yelling to the neighbors to call 911. Fortunately the police were nearby and apprehended them. After booking the thieves the detective told you for your own safety to never do that again, but I thought that the thieves would never steal from my mom again. I often picture you as a little girl counting the loose change on the kitchen table that your father and brothers would bring home from delivering coal and ice to local businesses and homes in Joplin, MO. I then imagine you keeping books and folding laundry for a local laundry mat. The laundry mat owned by the same judge who stood in the doorway of your father’s home when you were 17 years old waiting for you to gather your belongings and move out. I remember you telling me that when you were still 17 you and dad snuck across the county lines to be wed by your minister. I remember that during the ceremony you heard the phone ring in the church office and were scared to death it was your father calling to stop the wedding because you and dad were underage. You and dad then moved in with his folks until he graduated from high school and he could get a job through the local carpenter’s union building prefabricated homes. I know that job didn’t last long but the marriage lasted nearly 50 years. I remember you telling me that you honed your book keeping skills working in an upscale clothing store. Then later in the payroll department for the construction of the St. Lawrence Sea Way where you stood just feet away from Queen Elizabeth and President Eisenhower as they passed by during the opening ceremony. You continued to hone your bookkeeping skills after you and dad left the Sea Way and started your own construction company. [NOTE: Because Nanna worked in the payroll department of the St. Lawrence Sea Way she was instrumental in exposing and gathering the evidence against one of the international construction company’s that was hired to help build the Sea Way. The construction company’s president and his wife were convicted of embezzling millions of dollars.] I remember that during this time you also learnt how to drive a dump truck and delivery truck with construction supplies for your company; I doubt that you had a license for either one. You also learnt to climb scaffolding and help dad to hang siding on a house. After your business partner and close friend, Don Storms, sold your business out from under you, you became a bookkeeper for another construction company, Rudman Construction Company. I remember dad moonlighting for Rudman. I remember driving for hours through the dark, upstate New York countryside to some prospective buyer’s home so dad could sell him a garage. You and I would wait in the car. I would sit behind the wheel playing with all the levers and radio until you would tell me some new imaginary destination to drive to. It must have been exhausting for you but you wanted the family together. You had seven miscarriages before you had me on May 8, 1962. I remember you telling me how you would sit alone holding me in the hospital sunroom enjoying the fragrance of the lilacs as it drifted up from Highland Park. During your pregnancy you weren’t allowed to gain too much weight so you would stop off at the gas station on your way to the doctor’s office to visit the bathroom. Then on your way home you would visit the bakery and eat a dozen brownies in the car. You told me that you were so happy for a live birth that when picking my name you simply looked down the list for the meanings of names until you found “God’s gift.” That’s how you decided on the name “Shawn.” Try living up to that name! [NOTE TO MY BOYS 7/27/19: The fragrance of the lilacs that came to mean so much to Nanna drifted up from Highland Park which you guys visited. Starting long before I was born, there is a lilac festive there each spring. When we lived on Lake Rd in Webster, NY we would take you guys to that festival and I would look up at that same hospital, Highland Hospital, where Nanna had held me as new born in such private joy and wonder of life and future. Something that I knew now as a father. There were all kinds of age appropriate games and activities at the festival that you guys enjoyed. I remember a huge open-air tent with tables covered with coloring markers and other art projects. There was something there that one of you really liked doing but I can’t remember what it was. There was also some kind of race that one of you really enjoyed.] You ended your bookkeeping career after serving thirty years as the financial secretary with our church [Bethel Full Gospel Church, East Avenue, Rochester, NY]. While at Bethel you not only managed over a million dollar annual budget, you were also the substitute mother to the staff who would come to you for personal and business advice. Remember the pastor getting down on his knees asking for your help and prayers? You also gave out bus tokens and fed the needed and helped cook at church functions. Remember when you were cooking at the church and the ambulance driver called telling you I had broken my neck playing football? You also had to stare down a serial killer and rapist who surprised you while you were alone in the back office of the church. [NOTE TO MY BOYS: Nanna was sitting at her desk and she looked up to find this sinister man wearing a Shriner’s cap who had sneaked up behind her and was leaning over her shoulder. She didn’t know it at the time but this man was an infamous serial rapist and killer. She immediately stood up and quickly exited her office telling him to follow her. She led him through the empty sanctuary to the other side of church and the main office. She then handed him off to the other staff and pastor. A short time later his capture made the local news and the police ended up interviewing Nanna. They confirmed it was the same guy. The police apprehended him by staking out an old burial site of one of his victim. He had returned to the scene of his crime and was masturbating over the grave. While this was a sensational event, Nanna was constantly playing social worker to the endless homeless and addicts in the neighborhood that would come to the church seeking help.] But I think your greatest contribution to the church was the years you spent with the youth group. Again, you acted as a second mother. After watching so many youth pastors come and go in rapid succession you and dad decide the youth needed more stability so you and him agreed to run the group for several years. Being youth pastors included hosting parties at our pool on Sunday afternoons, staying up late to chaperone New Year parties, or sleeping in the hallway to prevent any “accidents” between the sexually adventurous during youth retreats. Later in life many of those same youth told you that it was you and dad who taught them what it meant to be a Christian and what a true marriage looked and felt like. They remember and their children, who don’t even know you, celebrate you. I remember you and dad coming down to Daleville, Alabama (Ft. Rucker) to pack-up me, Graham, Beth and her horses to drive us all back to Webster, NY. I remember how devastated I was in losing my Army career and physical health and, yet, there you were caring for my family and me when I couldn’t. You took care of us and supported us in your own home for four years. You gave me hope and shelter when I had none. I remember asking you to come to Lacey, WA to help raise the boys. I remember the days when you would have to care for me, dad, and Devon, make the meals, and get the boys ready for soccer without a word of complaint. I remember the courage and fortitude that you gave standing by me and watching your only son slide into chronic illness. I remember in Lacey the support and love that you gave me when my health and hope had failed and I lost my career for the final time. I remember you sitting me down and playing cards with me without a word when I needed it the most. You made it look all so natural. We know that you sacrificed your retirement home and savings so that my family and I would have a house to call home. We remember you and dad living first at Deb’s (neighbor’s apartment), then in the unfinished basement of the house for two years in order to afford the building of our home. I remember you changing bandages every hour for dad during his battle with cancer. I remember you quietly singing a church hymn for dad and then smiling at him and saying, “I see you.” during your last day on earth together. [NOTE TO MY BOYS 7/27/19: Boys, these are some of the events of the last two days between Papa and Nanna. By this time Papa had been on the third floor at St. Pete’s Hospital waiting to die, but he was holding out for Valentine’s Day. He had asked me to get Nanna a card and flowers for him to give to her for Valentine’s Day. Even then he was caring for her and wanting her to know of his love for her. I got yellow roses because I knew it had a special meaning for them. When I walked into his room the day after Valentine’s Day Nanna was sitting next to Papa looking into his eyes. She was in the middle of softly singing a hymn of love to him with such a loving expression on her face. The scene and sound was heartbreakingly beautiful to me but what surprised me the most was that there was no sorrow between them. There was only joy, peace, and most of all love. Of course Nanna was surprised and happy about the card and flowers and Papa was profoundly pleased to give that experience to her one last time. Eventually, nanna kept the petals. I also kept some petals and stored them in a glass vase in the built-in china hutch in our kitchen. I also remember Nanna and me sitting on each side of Papa’s bed. Papa had woke up for a moment again and I had a perfect view of Nanna’s face as she looked into his eyes and said, “I see you.” Once again, there was that surprising absence of sorrow, instead, there was only a sturdiness and purity of joy, peace, and love. But what was added this time was a knowing that they shared. They both silently knew that they truly saw each other. For them to see each other was to know life itself with all of its history and meaning. It was to see, know, and bear witness to each other’s lives and souls. It was a profound manifestation of love between two people. While they were totally focused on each other in their private moment they were also effortlessly accepting my presence and allowing me the privilege and gift of witnessing their love.] I remember on the day we buried dad and the love of your life after sharing over 49 years together. I was very nervous about standing up in front of everyone to give his eulogy. When I looked up from my notes to begin I was amazed by the beautiful, full-on smile you were giving me to show your support. In the midst of your grief you were still giving all that had to give. I remember you cooking meals with Devon for school projects and a girlfriend. I remember you holding the back of my head so I wouldn’t move while the doctor stuck a needle in my eye again and again. I remember you being terrified of driving on the highway, but because of your love for me and my need, you drove numerous times over the course of a year to the eye doctor. It’s a good thing I couldn’t see how the other cars were reacting to your driving. I remember sensing how scared you were when the doctor’s treatment wasn’t working and it was unlikely I would ever see again, yet, for my sake you put on a brave front. Thank you, mom, for helping to save my sight. I remember you never complaining while you were dying from kidney failure, unable to walk, pretending to hear, having your home taken away by the woman you called daughter, or having to sleep in a chair. Thank you, mom, for being born this day 81 years ago. Thank you for the amazing and loving life you have given and lived. Gratefulness, appreciation, respect, and love are just simple words but they mean everything to me when trying to tell you how I feel about you and the life that we have shared. It is impossible to put all that into one letter or one day. While I have not been a perfect son, I hope that from the life that we have shared together that you know and feel who you are to me. Happy Birthday, mom! I love you!
COMPARTA UN OBITUARIO
v.1.9.5