Ruthie: A Person Like None Other in My Life
I hope we all have a person/a few people who show up unconditionally, who love us when we are undeserving, who forgive us when we falter, who are our biggest cheerleader — the ones who teach us who and how we are meant to be in this life. Someone who teaches us more about living than we can ever teach them. For me, one of these people is Ruthie.
Ruthie was born August 21st of 1941, the third youngest of ten children. She loved Billy Ray Cyrus, bowling, bologna sandwiches, MacGyver, Big Red, loved babies, family, dollars, and making loops (also known as potholders). She never learned to read or write; yet her wisdom was beyond our earthly formal academic understandings of knowledge. She did not have the privilege to play many organized sports aside from bowling with Special Olympics religiously on frigid and blustery winter Saturday mornings. Though, in a friendly, family game of baseball she could hit a ball “over the moon” (her words when the bat contacted the ball). Ruthie was 41 years older than me.
To the onlooker, I may not have much in common with her. Though, to me (and my family), she was everything. She was the center of belly laughs, countless warm embraces, and deep love. Ruthie held no grudges though was perceptive of people’s character. She taught me to sit with pain and grief. We shared a room when I was a child and I held her as she cried for her mother after she died. I learned early — 10 years of age to be precise — that I couldn’t ease her pain or tears, but I could sit with her as the cycles of grief waxed and waned. Her grief that re-surfaced in the evenings was so visceral all I could do was hold her until she fell asleep. Now, as an adult, I recognize the routine we shared was sacred. Ruthie, by welcoming me into her experience, taught me that grief is a painful reality we all navigate. I wouldn’t erase any of the moments we shared sitting with Ruthie’s heartbreak as she traversed life without a parent to guide and protect her earthly journey.
Slowly, our tearful evenings included giggles. The pain and joy began to co-exist as the sun set and the moon appeared. I miss her deeply. She died in 2013 at 64 years of age. At the time, she had the second longest physical life of anyone living with down syndrome in the state of Wisconsin. She was a saint walking on this earth and a gift to my life. I treasure that our orbits crossed on this earth for the years they did. I didn’t deserve Ruthie — then or now. My family (immediate and extended) didn’t rescue her when her mother died, and she became an orphan. She revived our humanity and deepened our capacity to love.
Ruthie had an inner knowing of the miracle of life. Her tenderness, soft voice, and the admiration she adorned babies with was heaven on earth. She had no concept of time. Ruthie not only required patience but she was patient. The worldly accomplishments and doing were of no concern to Ruthie. She was fully present — always.
I strive to be like her in more moments of my earthly life. Ruthie, at the age of 10, taught me people can be both cruel and kind but to focus on our love for one another. Stares were commonplace and hurtful comments were unsurprising as we stood in line at McDonald’s, walked into the gymnasium of a basketball tournament or talent show. We didn’t resent the attention we received — we recognized people’s ignorance did not define Ruthie or our family (to be clear, I’m not equating this to stereotypes, discrimination and acts of hatred other marginalized groups receive). I was proud of Ruthie and honored to call her one of my very best friends (even though she was 41 years older than me). In fact, when my parents decided to care for Ruthie, they instructed my sister and I that we had another sister, and we should treat Ruthie as such — and we did. She was my biological aunt in name but more so one of my best friends, spiritual guides, and sister. She always was and always will be more than a woman living with down syndrome.
No one’s smile was ever wider than Ruthie’s after my teammates and I won a basketball game or championship. She engulfed me with pride. I hope I support others’ success and dreams in the ways she embraced mine. If I lost, she would be the first to tell me “It’s ok, Tonnie. Good job. I love you.” Her unconditional love and support is something I can only aspire to emulate.
Ruth Ellen Prewitt was joy in the flesh, a fierce bowling competitor, a bridge builder for people and family, a soul who came to this earth to live in deep compassion and love. The ripple effects of her presence on earth are much greater than what she taught me. Her down syndrome was a part of who she was; never all of who she was. She came to this earth to do what she was called to do and did it well.
My hope is that we all denounce every form of discrimination and dehumanization and especially on December 3rd, International Day of Persons Living with Disabilities, we celebrate, embrace, and continue to strive to be better humans who make spaces, places, and opportunities more accessible for all. My prayer is that we recognize our physical body provides us the opportunity to live in human form and is our exterior armor keeping our organs intact. Though, something far more magnificent permeates our being — our precious soul. Our soul that radiates love, care, an inner knowing and that desperately seeks belonging in a world that tells us we are inferior. Each of us are destined to connect on a level much deeper than the superficial. We can co-create a society that lifts the grandeur of every soul breathing on this earth. The world will be better if we do. There are millions of people who are waiting for us to be the humans we are called to be. Ruthie was the first to teach me this.
