My Great Aunt
Posted on April 20, 2010
I lost a great friend yesterday and have come to find solace in the photos I have taken over the last few years. While most of my photography is aimed at capturing the happier moments of life, I also thought I would share with everyone how it helps to cope with loss and the affirmation of love that often chases on the tail of grief.
My Aunt was a remarkable woman. For all of her 86 years, she never had a driver’s license and only once drove a car. She was never married. She remained stubbornly independent and optimistically enthusiastic until her final days. She had a decades-old crush on John Wayne and the only dream I knew she had was to own not only a big screen TV, but one with color. She cherished the simpler things in life, preferring her old creaky recliners over new furniture and often had a small clutch of cats scurrying about her small Massachusetts apartment.
Aunt Ruth watched over me as a young child when my mom was at work. She cleaned my scraped knees, comforted me after bee stings, and made the best damn grilled cheeses you could ever ask for. Her egg nog was a welcome comfort in the dark New England Winters. Aunt Ruth was always an enthusiastic welcome at holiday parties and her campy birthday cards always seemed to find their target a day ahead of the celebrations.
One of my most fond ongoing memories of Aunt Ruth was when she would walk to the end of Pond Factory Road in Woodstock to meet us at
the bus. No matter the weather, no matter the day, as the bus rounded the corner a small, proud woman would be standing in a winter coat, eager to hear about our days at school. The New England autumns were especially amazing as we walked the mile and a half road through the wild, fiery colors of maple and oak. Before we played, Aunt Ruth made sure we did our chores. After the clanking of poorly washed dishes and the thumps of a loaded woodbox, we could then retreat to the chilly outside to play.
Another of my memories was as a very young kid. Aunt Ruth and I would walk everywhere (she never had a car) around Southbridge, Mass 
where she lived. For some reason she always encouraged me to walk along the stone walls that often lined the sidewalk. As a child, it was fun. As an adult, it proves that she taught me that some of the most rewarding things in life are often not found along the commonly taken paths.
Aunt Ruth has also been an inspiration for me as an adult. For twenty-something years, she went to work at a factory in Massachusetts making jewelry tags. She never missed a single day, and even when she would share her stories, never complained about her work. She always had such compassion for her pets – that I can’t help but think that provided me with life lessons on caring for the smaller things in life and my work as an animal rights advocate. Aunt Ruth encouraged me on our numerous walks to collect the pretty rocks we would see along the way. Back at her house, she would wash a glass jar and we would arrange the stones inside, and close the lid to seal them in. It was a few years ago that I found some of these jars among her only possessions. She taught me to see beauty in the smaller things among us, and was an inspiration for me as a budding photographer.
Aunt Ruth was such a stunningly simple person – she lived on a tiny pension and a social security check. Yet, I never heard her once complain. She always 
seemed to be so content with herself and comfortable in her own self. I truly…honestly…hope that as I get older I become more like her.
Perhaps, selfishly, I will really miss our Saturday phone calls. Over the last several years (it has become tougher as of late), we had a chat every Saturday. She always sounded to eager to hear of my endeavors and adventures – a surreal contrast and perhaps escape – from the confines of her nursing home room. While I would share tales of ziplining in Kauai, or details on my exciting new cell phone, she kept me grounded with stories about the ham she had for dinner last night – and how good it was.
Aunt Ruth…your crackling laugh and soothing voice will be missed so dearly. Perhaps the greatest thing of all however, is your crooked smile, your perfect heart, and your unconditional love you so freely shared with those around you. Thank you for being an inspiration, a true person, and a role model to a family.
Honeybunch
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6 Comments so far
She sounds like a wonderful woman. You were lucky to have her in your life. May you be at ease knowing she is at peace in the loving arms of Our Creator.
When Aunt Ruth lived in Woodstock with us, she would let me steal reeses sticks before and after dinner, and would always yell at dad and say” she looks nothing like yah!” or “she has none of yah in her !” and would set him straight! I can also remember when she lived in a home with a group of nuns, which i hated to drive to, and was always curious to look for the nuns around and think about how come they are so bland? and only wear black and white( i was younger then of course). Mom tol dme how she used to by me little dresses to wear as a little kid…. But what bothers me the most is that i didn’t take the time to come and see her for the past years! my Brother Scott always made the time but i never didn’t and to this day it kils me. even though a picture of me was shown to her, it still didn’t fill in the gap that i had created between us. But as i saw her the past two nights, i asked her and hoped that she would forgive me for missing out:)
Scottie….This was so beautifully said…I too would like to add to the memories. As a young child she would bring brother and I Christmas shopping in Worcester.Ma. ( a tradition she started with my older brother Dick). Jerry and I would be treated to the same Asian restaurant as Dick was, on the second floor.She told us we could order anything on the menu,”as long as you finish it all”she would say.And continued to say to you(honeybunch),Randall, Elena ,Mike and Jessie…When i was growing up and well into my teens;Water was rationed at our house. Aunt Ruth, however, treated us to a full bath tub, full of bubbles…it was so neat..again as you said,Scottie,..The Simpler things in life…I can,t believe she’s gone. She did not suffer, peace was obvious and no pain.There are some people one thinks will never die..like Aunt Ruth. You loved the ocean, animals of all kinds..especially kitties, Strawberry ice cream and merichino(?spelling) cherries…we shared so much more..Thank-you Aunt Ruth the love you gave us all, for the mini dresses you bought me,watching Lawrece Welk with me for caring for my children when i had to work…you will never be forgotten. When i hold my kitties, I will think of you.
I have peace knowing you are peacefully asleep and waiting until the day we will all be together in heaven, including Tina,Sammy,Frisky Uncle Harold and Norm (our father and grandfather)..all who await the promise of Heaven….
She still had one jar of stones and shells you kids collected with her and her well worn light blue sweater!
With Love,Nancy and Richie(the olde fuddy!)
My heart goes out to you. I am so sorry for your loss. It sounds like she was an amazing woman. I have to say, one of your best shots yet was her hands with her name band. I think every elderly person should have a picture of their hands for when they pass. From working with many elderly people, the most unique physical trait about them is their hands. Seems like you were very lucky to have known her. Keep you head up.
Michelle and Zach
I adored reading this love-fest to your Aunt. Your writing is beautiful and full of heart, as is your photography. Really gorgeous work, Scott.
I adored reading this love-fest to your Aunt. Your writing is beautiful and full of heart, as is your photography. Really gorgeous work, Scott.