He Just Made Me Cry

Today, my order of cookies arrived in the mail. A friend from my opera supernumerary days is currently on Broadway in the role of Mary Sunshine and to help pay the bills while Broadway is dark, he has begun a home business baking sweets. I decided to share some of the goodies with my upstairs neighbor.

The neighbor husband is living with Dementia. It has been about 10 years since his diagnosis and most of his language is gone. He is the sweetest 75-year-old man I know, although at times he is rough with his wife. The neighbor wife is as close to a saint as one can get taking good care of him in their smallish apartment of one bedroom and one bath.  

She, with her daughter, run a gift shop in Evanston, and a while back during a shopping visit, I mentioned that she looked familiar. She returned that I too look familiar and after a few trial and error guesses, we discovered that we both lived in the same condo.

A little more conversation led to my sharing that my husband had lived with Dementia for 12 years and had passed away a while back. She shared at that time that her husband also was living with Dementia. Need I say we bonded. I also felt the need to be there to support her if I could.

Several times we went out to coffee and it turns out that many of my stories, prompted by her comments, were able to give her the support she needed as well as suggest possible solutions to some of the caregiving problems she was having with her husband.

I started sharing baked goods with them as I love to bake but did not want to eat all the cookies, cakes, pies, etc by myself. So I was happy to share with them and they appreciated my efforts. Every now and then she would thank me by leaving a bag of something sweet in front of my door and once called ahead to let me know they were bringing me dinner from a local carryout.

Over time we have become friends and I have also befriended her daughter on my visits to the shop which the daughter now totally runs since my neighbor cannot leave her husband alone anymore. 

Now and then they both neighbors show up at my door to pick up something I baked or when they are bringing me something in return. Mike and I always shake hands (then I sanitize) and we all wear masks as we do our neighborly exchanges and depending on who is delivering to whom one stays just inside the door while one or the other stays in the hall.

Today I dropped off some cookies for them. The wife and I talked for a while. When I arrived I called my "Hello" to the husband who was sitting on the sofa watching the TV. When I was about to leave, I called out my "Goodbye" and he got up to come to the door. He offered his hand and we shook (I sanitized when I got back to my unit.) She showed him the cookies I brought and he took the box and looked at them and handled a few. 

Then he looked at me and said, "I love you." Seemingly out of nowhere from a man who has trouble with language. I thanked him and he again offered, "Come back to us!"

I replied with, "I will." 

I left with tears running down my face at such a show of caring and love on his part and for the joy that apparently I bring with our visits!

Ruth Charlotte Boss Morito

Ruth Charlotte Boss Morito 1925-2012

Gregory and I lived on Poplar Avenue in Evanston for approximately 25 years. During that time we got to know our end of the block neighbor Ruth. She was the classic, self created, incomparable woman who in no way resembled the "norm" of Evanston. It was said that she was never quite herself after her husband and young son died within the same year. Who could blame her? Here are some memories of those 25 years.

Living alone, with a dog who would terrify most of us, she was needy for conversation. You could always find her hanging out on the corner, weeding her garden, chatting with the postman, the UPS driver, and various neighbors. It was fun chatting with her but you had to gracefully edge yourself away or she would continue to chat for hours. If you were in a hurry you waved hello and went the other way.

She would often sit on Central Street (pictured above) and paint. She became somewhat of a neighborhood icon to shoppers visiting the area, shop owners, and neighbors alike. She could paint and chat (non-stop) at the same time. She was charming and had many admirers.

Ruth was the neighborhood WATCH committee in the shape of one person. Because she was home most of the day, and outside tending her garden (weeds?), she kept an eye on things. If she noticed unusual people or activities she would let the police (whom she befriended) know or let you know as a neighbor if something affected you or your property. She was always up to date on the neighborhood gossip, in a good way.

As an artist, Ruth could be seen prowling the Northwestern Railroad berm (eventually renamed METRA) collecting interesting vines and leaves. Over the years we were the proud recipients of beautiful, natural wreaths that she fashioned out of her findings.

After her mastectomy, she wore a key ring, with what seemed like 100 keys, fastened to  her blouse over the missing breast. She said it made her feel more balanced and less like she was going to tip over. 

Ruth used to drive a school bus for Evanston Schools and was adored by the children she picked up and dropped off every day. Sadly, as her cataracts grew worse she had to give up driving. I am not sure if she couldn't afford the surgery or if she was mortally frightened at having it. 

Her yard was a source of dismay for many neighbors. I really liked it. It was overgrown, weed filled (weeds are only what people don't want growing in their garden and Ruth loved them all) and blooming most of the spring and summer. The dead trees and rotting stumps were home to many of Evanston's wildlife including squirrels, raccoons, ground squirrels, possums, and who knows what else. 

Every now and then the city would intervene and threaten her with a fine if she didn't clean up the area. The neighbors would pitch in and help but Ruth would always be there supervising these "cleanups" with her hands on her hips, firmly instructing the helpers what to cut down and what not to touch.

For several years I volunteered to mow her lawn (read cut her weeds with my lawn mower.) Of course she would supervise as I wove a path between the weeds she liked and the ones she could give up. When I was finished, instead of a beautifully mown, line marked lawn, the area around her house looked more like an obstacle course.

When Gregory and I did some remodeling and purchased a new refrigerator, we offered Ruth our old one. She did not have one and went shopping every day or bought things that didn't need refrigeration. She turned down the offer with, "That is really nice of you but I have so many art supplies that I do not have room in my kitchen for a refrigerator."

I am pleased to say I never saw the inside of her house but understand that between the dog, and the "art supplies," and the piles of newspapers, etc, one could say it was not quite as sanitary a place as a human being should live in. 

One year, the city sent out a social worker who gained Ruth's confidence, and the two of them, at the city's expense (or loan?) helped clean out and fix up the house. The place was really turned around and we think Ruth actually was able to take pride in the new work done.

At night (or should I say sundown) when you would pass Ruth's house you could see only one exposed light bulb burning in her bedroom and the rest of the house was dark. I seem to remember however, that she slept downstairs because the trip upstairs became too strenuous for her.

For the sake of full disclosure, every Christmas, Gregory and I would slip an envelope and holiday card, marked "anonymous," with $100.00 under her door. We hope that in our small way we were able to make her holiday a little happier. It made us happy to be able to do that for her.

Gregory and I moved to downtown Evanston five years ago and Ruth moved into a nursing home. We lost touch although heard of her progress via old neighborhood friends. After she recovered from the illness that sent her to the home, she lived a comfortable life at the home with neighborhood friends taking care of her and her affairs to the end. She knew that she was in good hands with Bernice and Jeff and they treated her like one would treat their mother in need. Bless them.

This Saturday we will go to Ruth's service. I am happy for Ruth, I am sad for myself.

For an even more in depth remembrance, check out Patti Crew's BLOG. She is a neighbor, fellow writer, and friend. After reading about Ruth, check out some of her other writing.  I think you'll enjoy her "stuff." 

http://writingbecomesher.wordpress.com/2012/07/10/the-truth-about-ruth/

Obituary

Morito, Ruth Boss

A long time Evanston resident, Ruth Charlotte Boss Morito passed away on December 27, 2012 after a long illness. Ruth was the mother of James "Jimmy" Morito who died in July 2011 and Charles Morito who died in May 1970. Both sons were ETHS graduates. A grandson, Charles “Charlie” Morito of Carlsbad, California, survives Ruth.

Ruth was born in Washington, D.C. on August 26, 1925 to Hazel and Rev. Dr. Charles F. Boss, Jr. Her father was Executive Secretary of the Board of World Peace for the Methodist Church and lifelong peace activist.

A well-known local artist, Ruth often set up her easel on Central Street and painted local streetscapes. She won first place at several Evanston Women’s Club art shows. One of her mentors was Walter Burt Adams, a nationally known painter of Evanston buildings. In her later years, Ruth could be found in front of her house, daily greeting commuters, schoolchildren, and neighbors. Her friends will greatly miss her smiles and stories.

A memorial service will be held on February 10 at 4 pm at First United Methodist Church of Evanston, 516 Church Street.  Internment at Memorial Park Cemetery is private.