Ruth Poteet, A Remembrance

About a month ago, I asked my grandmother if there was any special music or scripture she wanted at her funeral. Her response to me was, “Do whatever the hell you want to, I won’t be there.”

Ruth Poteet lived a long full life, and was full of spunk to the very end. She had a quick sarcastic wit, that we will remember and laugh about for the rest of our lives. From here on, I will refer to her as “Mimi”, a name she chose for herself when I was born. She chose it because it sounded “French.”

I am not qualified to tell you many details about her early years. My impression of her childhood, created from the many stories she and her sister Helene told, centers around a cottage by the shore in New Haven Connecticut. During the summers, Mimi, Helene, their brother Paul, and countless other cousins and neighborhood kids would spend their afternoons sailing and swimming. In the evenings, they would play cards with her parents, and her beloved grandmother and grandfather who she called “Go-ma”, and “Go-pa”.

“Go-pa” is one of our family’s connections to the “American Dream”. He was an immigrant from Germany who arrived in New York with a few dollars, and a rifle to protect him from the Indians. Mimi told us that the first thing he did when he got off the boat was rip the tag off his clothes that designated him an immigrant. He was in America now, there was no looking back.

The stereotypical German qualities of being industrious, methodical, and unsentimental were still apparent in his granddaughter Ruth.

She worked hard throughout her life. I remember many nights as a child watching the Mary Tyler Moore show with Mimi while she knitted or crocheted. I have a Santa Claus doll she created which will be bittersweet to bring out this Christmas. One day she asked me to type something for her. She decided she wanted to write a children’s book so she handwrote a 20 page rhyming poem about “Rowena Rabbit” and her missing Easter bonnet.

She would write letters and send cartoons or photos she had clipped from the National Enquirer adding her own caption to each. As a child, I would look forward to her letters because she would write about what animals she had seen wandering the golf course behind her house at dusk. Since she moved into “The Atrium”, she started a knitting club, “The Knit Wits”, acted in a play, and was in a fashion show.

Mimi was methodical. For years her grocery list always included the following items, a small jar of pineapple jelly, Little Debbie Fudge Rounds, and boiled ham. So just throw that whole “Eat Healthy, Live Longer” philosophy out the window. Every single meal she ate was accompanied by a glass of hot tea. For several Christmases in a row, my father and I received the same gift, a bottle of British Sterling aftershave. You can tell someone is wearing British Sterling, if you see a faint green cloud hanging around them.

As a young man it was very frustrating to me that Mimi and Aunt Helene owned a brand new stereo and used it for one purpose. In the morning, they would turn on the stereo with a wall switch, and at night they would turn it off. It stayed on exactly one “Easy Listening” radio station, at exactly one volume level. Every once in a while, I would get the crazy notion of showing her how to change the radio station, or play music on a cassette. Before I left the house, the radio would be back on it’s one station.

Mimi was not sentimental. I only know of one time she ever shed a tear, when my grandfather Jim died. She kept her spirituality close to her chest. She attended church throughout her life, but to her, religion was a matter between herself and God. She told me that she often spoke with her mother who had died long ago, and more recently she told me that she spoke to Helene. I read her final requests letter yesterday, and she said that she wanted her remains to return to nature by being scattered in the sea, and her soul to return to God.

In the last 25 years, Mimi’s sister Helene was without a doubt the most influential person in her life. The two of them fought like only sisters can, and understood each other like an old married couple. They would constantly finish each others thoughts with the rhythm of an old vaudeville routine. If one of them told a story, the other would interrupt to tell the punch line, the other would repeat the punch line, and then they would both break into riotous laughter, regardless of how many times that same story had been told in the last 70 years.

The two of them would use words that were a hybrid of German, Yiddish, and we suspect a bit of gibberish. They dressed alike when ever they went out. They would wear loud colors, wigs, animal prints and wrap it all up in gold lame’ and bling. They were often referred to as “The Glitter Twins” by store clerks. I’m beginning to think that they dressed that way just for the attention.

Every few years, Mimi would call Mom and tell her that she couldn’t stand living with Helene, and so for a few months, she would move in with us. It only took a little while until they would both get lonely, reconcile and we would move Mimi back to Helene’s.

I understand why she could be hard to live with. Mimi had a sarcastic dry wit and the comedic timing of Bea Arthur. If she had reason to, she would put you in your place with one sarcastic remark. One day a widower at “The Atrium” approached her and asked her if she’d like to feed the squirrels with him. Her response was “Well those squirrels sure know a nut when they see one.” I can’t tell you how many times, Mimi said precisely what was on her mind at that minute, not caring who heard. More than one doctor or medical technician was told “Okay, enough with you. You go home now.”

During one of her last visits to the hospital, my mother was trying to assess Mimi’s mental state by asking her questions like “Who is the president?”. Mimi didn’t know the answer, but instead of admitting defeat, she said “I don’t follow politics.” My sister, Ali summed up the exchange, “She is with it enough to be a smart alec. She must be okay.”

I work with an elderly population, and I tell the patients stories about Mimi. I kid about how she moved into “The Atrium” and crowned herself queen. Telling stories about Mimi is sometimes difficult in mixed company, due to her choice of words. One of her favorite expressions involved a hat, a bodily function in said hat, and pulling that hat down over your ears.

As tough as she could be, Mimi had a knack for making friends. I was surprised at the number of residents and employees at the Atrium who came and shared a kind word about her. I was touched by how much she had come to mean in their lives in the short time she lived there.

One of the hardest moments of the last few days for me was walking into her apartment, and seeing her walker festooned with a big bow. Everything she had was decorated festively. Canes were covered with stickers, electrical cords were covered with bows, and mirrors were covered with cards and photographs. Yesterday, her three great grandchildren played in a big pile of colorful scarves she had left behind, marveled at her many colorful broaches and tried on her necklaces.

Although I miss her, I don’t feel despair. She rode the train as long as she could. She was tired from the journey. Death comes for us all sooner or later. She knew it was coming and wasn’t afraid. She knew she would be in the presence of God, and re-united with friends and family who had gone long before.

I will miss her love. The day after I graduated from high school, my picture was in the Gainesville Sun, giving a thumbs up to my family. She kept a blown up copy of that picture framed in her room. That meant a lot to me.

One of my last memories was sitting in her sunroom and looking at pictures with her. I remember laughing out loud as she commented on each.

She had more confidence in me than I ever will. More than anyone should really. I perform ultrasound at a busy cardiovascular surgery office in North Carolina. More than once she told me that if the doctors I work for were smart, they would put me in charge of the office and let me do surgery. I know that when I hear her voice in the future, it will be encouraging me and pushing me to do things I didn’t think were possible.

My sister Alison hosted a joint 90th and first birthday party for Mimi and Lilly. Mimi loved her great granddaughter so much, she rode up to Charleston to be part of the festivities. I could almost never get a hold of Mimi by phone, so I usually got a report from Alison who called and visited Mimi frequently. Mimi nicknamed Alison’s husband Ryan “Michaelangelo” for volunteering to help around her home with painting and other odd jobs.

In the last few years, my father had became Mimi’s personal assistant. She called him several times daily, and he was always patient and responsive to her needs. She relied on my father, and he never let her down.

Mothers and daughters have always butted heads, and my mom and Mimi are no exception. Most of the conflicts arose because how much they cared for each other’s well being. My mother has taken a real shine to being a grandmother because she learned the job from one of the best. Mom learned how to love her three grandchildren equally and unconditionally.

In honor of the memory of Ruth, we should all be honest with others about what we think and feel, we should all continue to try new things and meet new people as we get older, and above all else, we should look carefully before we pull our hats down over our ears.