Ruth’s Daughter

I began working at NASA in April of 1988, and from that day forward I had to change my name. I was no longer Barb, or even B.J., as some knew me. From that day on I was simply “Ruth’s Daughter.”

It’s not as if that would be so horrible really, but I now understand what my mother must have gone through raising five kids. On the day that my oldest brother started to school, she became somebody’s mommy, and though her first name changed from time to time, the second one seemed to stick. You would think this would cause an identity crisis, but she wore it like a badge of honor.

She precariously balanced home and career with the stealth of a tightrope walker, teetering now and then, but never losing control. Tip-toeing with determination across that slender line and, at least in the eyes of her family, dancing high above her world. Her savvy and sense of humor came so naturally that we took it for granted. We never knew there were others out there who also recognized the value of her advice and the strength of her shoulders in time of need. We believed she was ours alone.

That misguided opinion changed suddenly when I started to work at NASA. My mother had been working on the same contract since 1971, and for many of those years she worked in Human Resources. For her it was the perfect mating of personality and position. Everyone who came to her office left with the feeling that she truly cared and she would do her best.

Some who visited didn’t really come for advice, they just needed to talk. Mom called this “venting.” Us kids had done this for years, but we never knew others did it as well. We thought that somewhere between the Christmas stockings and Easter egg hunts she had invented it just for us. My new fellow employees were more than happy to regale me with stories of my mother and her ability to listen to the ranting of otherwise normal employees. I was told that some people vented so well that mother had to replace the potted trees in her office with the more durable rubber variety.

Though many years ago she transferred from Human Resources, and has since retired, there are many people who still seek her out. Apparently they have grown to depend on her in much the same way that we did. I remember that as I stumbled through adolescence I found the usual faults with my parents that most teen-agers encounter; but I have since discovered to my amazement that the older I get, the smarter my mother becomes.

In 1996, my mother suffered a devastating stroke. Her world and mine were turned upside down. Suddenly gone were the quick wit and ready counsel I had come to rely on. There were days that I believed I would lose her altogether. The doctors seemed so convinced she wouldn’t make it through the critical first 72 hours. Or, if by some miracle she did, how much would she have left? But my mother had always had a tremendous faith and had taught us to expect miracles. My brothers, sisters and I prayed that, once again, she would prove to be right.

As the days progressed, she struggled to identify even the simplest things - where she was, what year it was or the food she was eating. Worst of all, the woman with whom I had once shared my innermost thoughts, hopes and dreams, was now unable to even remember my name. Our roles were reversed and I became her caretaker, protector and occasional tormentor as my brother and I quizzed her with pictures and word games to help her brain re-path around the damaged area. Through it all, she never gave up, and she never complained. Though I knew she wanted to, it wasn’t her style.

I realize now that even in her illness, she again taught me some of the most significant lessons in my life–perseverance and the importance of family. Then one day in the hospital we were going through our usual routine of questions and answers, and I asked her who I was. I cannot begin to describe the euphoria I felt by her matter-of-fact response: “You’re my daughter, Barb.”

As my Mother continues to recover, I let her know in every way I can that I love her. Never again will I take our time together for granted. I cherish each precious moment because I realize how quickly we might lose them.

And now those words that used to make me feel like I had no identity have helped me define who I am, and I could never adequately express the tremendous feeling of pride that rushes over me when someone asks, “Are you Ruth’s daughter?”

It’s still not an easy cross to bear. She has, after all, left me with enormous shoes to fill. But how lucky I am that she is my mom, and she is willing to continually remind me that I have big feet.

Happy Mother’s Day from “Ruth’s Daughter”!

 

I wrote this article in 2001. And though my mother has since passed, I still feel she is ecouraging me to be the best I can be. I don’t believe I can ever filled her shoes, but I continue to walk as straight as I can in my own. I know that’s all she ever really wanted.