She hated to be called Mary Ruth. She worked hard to shed her Southern accent, and as a result, I don’t have one either. She was proud and vain, even in death; she asked to wear white gloves in her casket, because her hands had become so shrunken and old in her last weeks. She always had beautiful hands. She worked as a beautician and a cosmetologist. Those who didn’t know her well thought she was sweet and wonderful. Her family knew different. But she was our mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother, and she gave us life. For that we are grateful:
…and all the descendants to come. That’s a wonderful legacy to leave behind.
Rest in peace, Mary Ruth.