The Lady Wore Red

by Donna Poole

No one did Christmas as well as Ruthie; her family was sure of that. She almost looked like Christmas all year round, always wearing her pearl earrings and often wearing red. When she wore her red suit to church, she was the most beautiful woman there, even when she was sixty years old. Her dark eyes sparkled; her dark hair didn’t turn gray, and everyone agreed red was her color.

And if Ruthie was Mrs. Christmas, her husband, Claytie was the best Mr. Christmas in history. He didn’t let her do a thing alone; he was there for it all, the shopping, the wrapping, the decorating, the cookie baking.

And when the kids and grandkids came home for Christmas, Ruthie spared no effort to make the Christmas magic happen. Her heart was in her home, and never more so than at Christmas time. Porcelain angels bowed low, stretched their arms high, or danced with one another on every shelf of the hutch. Santa and Mrs. Claus sat on the round side table next to the couch perched on crocheted doilies. The perfectly decorated Christmas tree stood center stage in front of the bay window, and behind it, on the window shelf, Ruthie’s collection of antique red glass sparkled.

A red cardinal tablecloth covered the dining room table every year; cardinals were Ruthie’s favorite bird, and cardinal ornaments and knickknacks were tucked into every nook and cranny. A set of cardinal Christmas lights wound around the banister, and Ruthie, in a red apron, waited with face aglow at the door to welcome her family home for Christmas.

“Come in! Come in!”

And Claytie was right behind her, enveloping everyone in huge hugs, making even the in-law out-laws feel wanted and at home.

If hugs and kisses could have made it so, their family would have stayed forever.

Each year the menu included every one’s favorites; a HoneyBaked spiral ham, sweet potato, green bean, and carrot casseroles, stuffing, dinner rolls, and Ruthie’s home canned bread and butter pickles. Oh, and the potato salad. Though the recipe passed down to the next generation, no one was ever able to make that potato salad the way Ruthie did. It was worth driving one-thousand miles for. Dessert wasn’t too shabby either—homemade pie and apple crisp, delicious chocolate fudge and penuche, and spritz cookies, forever after called “Grandma’s cookies” no matter who made them.

Love and food meant practically the same thing, so Ruthie spoiled her family with both. No one ever forgot her delicious lasagna, or spaghetti topped with sauce she’d made from garden tomatoes and kept freezer ready for the holidays. Scalloped potatoes and leftover ham were on the menu too.

The red tablecloth stayed pristine clean, only because it was protected with a thick, clear plastic covering. When it wasn’t holding a heavy load of food, it found itself covered with board games and elbows of people leaning forward to talk and laugh with the person across from them or at the other end of the table.

Gift opening was wonderful too, but it would have been Christmas even without it. Often there were homemade gifts from Ruthie under the tree; she was a beautiful seamstress and a creative crafter.

And then each year, Claytie put the icing on the cake. The family called it “Grandpa’s party.” They would all go down to the family room and enjoy the treats he’d made or gone out to get; pizza, hot spiced apple cider, popcorn balls, summer sausage, cheese, crackers, little Pepperidge Farm breads, fun and games, love and laughter. There never was another party like it; I don’t believe.

It seemed to the family those days of coming home for Christmas would never end, but even the sweetest of fairy tales draws to a close. Claytie’s health failed before Ruthie’s did, and the two of them bought a small house in the south to live closer to their daughter.

The home of so many Christmases was sold.

A few years later, Mr. Christmas went home to be with God, and Ruthie lived part of each year with her daughter, and the other part of the year with her son. Her dementia worsened year by year.

One year she said to her son and daughter-in-law, “I can’t remember what home looks like.”

Out came the pictures of each home she’d lived in, but she just frowned at each one and shook her head. “No, that’s not it. That’s not it. I miss home.”

She seemed to enjoy Christmas with her son and daughter in law each year, and they did their best to keep up the family traditions, but it wasn’t the same, even though all the family still gathered together. She smiled politely at her gifts, often something red, a sweater, another cardinal, but she often had a far off look in her eyes.  

Her daughter-in-law noticed. She’s missing Dad and days gone by, but there’s something else too. What is she missing? I think she wants to go home, even though she can’t remember where it is.

More years passed as years do; the chapters in the book seemed to write themselves more quickly now. A severe infection sent Ruthie to a care home. She was happy there and didn’t seem to remember she’d ever lived anywhere else.

Except for that one day. Her son and daughter-in-law tried to visit her every day they could. One day she saw her son coming down the hall and her face lit up the way her daughter-in-law remembered it looking when she’d stood at the door at Christmas.

“Have you come to take me home?” she asked.

Tears filled her son’s eyes.

A nurse gently said, “You live here now, remember?”

“Oh, yes!” Ruthie said, sounding happy but still looking confused.

“Do you know who this is?” the nurse asked, gesturing toward her son.

“Why yes! He’s my husband!”

“No, he’s your son.”

“That’s right. He’s my son.”

The daughter-in-law’s eyes filled with tears too. Husband. Home. There’s no going back, is there? On the way out of the care home that day she clung a little tighter to her husband’s arm, looking back at the windows of the home, and wondering how long it might be before one of them might be there without the other.

One of the gifts they bought Ruthie for Christmas that year was a beautiful mobile with eight glass cardinals hanging from different lengths of string. They looked like they were flying. They were Ruthie’s favorite bird, and her favorite color, but by then she didn’t remember that anymore. Still, she sometimes looked at them and smiled. She had some of her porcelain angels in her room too, and other things she’d once loved, but none of them seemed to matter anymore.

Ruthie did love visits from family though, right up until the end. The nurses told the family she didn’t remember they’d been there two minutes after they’d left, but that didn’t matter, because when they were together, sometimes, just for a brief moment or two, a flash of memory would return, and often it would be about Christmas.

“Hey, Mom, remember how you got the kids blanket sleeper pajamas every year and took a picture of them by the Christmas tree?”

She nodded. “Except for Karen. She wanted nightgowns.”

The son and daughter-in-law looked at each other in surprise. “That’s right! And you and Dad got the grandkids Hess trucks every year.”

“Where is Dad? He was here just a minute ago. Be sure you find him and say goodbye before you leave. He’ll feel bad if you don’t.”

“We’ll look for him on the way out, Mom.”

Winter faded into spring, because no matter how cold the winds blow or how dark and short the days, spring always comes. And one evening, when Ruthie was cozy in bed, an angel came for her. She was surprised to see him; he didn’t look at all like her sweet, cuddly porcelain angels.

He was tall and bright like lightning, but she wasn’t afraid. She caught her breath with joy and felt like a child at Christmas.

He said, “Ruthie, I hear you want to go Home.”

“Oh, I do! Would you mind if I put on my red suit before we go?”

He laughed, and it sounded like an echo of faraway thunder. The windows in the care home rattled, but still she wasn’t afraid.

“Make it snappy,” he said.

And soon, while everyone else in the home slept, two figures soared upward, one an angel looking like lightning, and the other a lady. And the lady wore red.

The end

***

These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

I have six other books on Amazon as well, four fiction books in the “Life at the Corners” series, and two children’s Christmas picture books.

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