By Ruthann Held Wike
My Dad, Harold Held, has been gone for 23 years now. It doesn’t seem possible. I was always close to my dad. Maybe it was because I was the baby of the family. I was told that one year dad said to mom, lets have another baby. And so they had me. I was going to be either Jerry Allen or Ruth Ann. I turned out to be a Ruth Ann. Evidently mom didn’t get very big with me, because lots of people didn’t even know she was pregnant. Because she had had a Caesarean section birth 7 years earlier with my brother John, they planned on a date, 7-24, for another Caesarean section for me.
But those plans were abandoned when I decided to make my appearance in June. Mom’s doctor, my dad’s uncle, Arthur Held, in Jasper, picked mom up and took her to Deaconess Hospital in Evansville. Dad finished his farm work – I was told he was getting the combine ready to harvest soybeans - and took my two older siblings to my mom’s aunt’s house, Anna Cahoon, then he came to Evansville. I made my entrance into the world about a month earlier than planned, weighing 5 lb 2 oz.
Since mom had surgery and because I was so small, we remained in the hospital two weeks before we made it home. To pick us up, dad went to Luke Boultinghouse, who had the Funeral Home in Rockport, to see if he could borrow his hearse to bring us home. Luke thought he was kidding. “I just saw Helen a couple weeks ago. She wasn’t pregnant.” Dad had to stop there on the way home to prove that they had a baby. Therefore, I’ve already had my first ride in a hearse!
Dad had held several different jobs so, as he said, he would be able to farm. He delivered Concrete blocks, he delivered Double Cola, he drove a School Bus for 20 years, he was a Marathon gas distributor for 20 years. He drove the hearse for Luke Boultinghouse when he had a delivery or needed something picked up in another city. I believe there was even a discussion about dad becoming a mortician. That never happened.
I wish I could remember the stories that my dad told me. He had a long memory and was a great story teller. Unfortunately, most of those memories died with my dad. That is a big reason that I help my husband record and preserve memories of others . . . before they are gone.
I guess I was probably closer to dad after my stroke in August 1989 than I ever was before. I remember the weekends that I would get to come home from the rehab. Mom gave up her recliner beside dad so that I could sit beside him in the evening. They would both help me out of the wheelchair and into the recliner. Dad and I sat there watching Michael Jordan, Scotty Pipin and the Chicago Bulls. Dad was on the left side of me, and we spent a lot of time holding hands. I remember that his hands were rough an weathered from all the manual labor and farm work they had done. His fingers weren’t long, but they were short and thick...just like me. I still remember those hands, and I still love and miss them.
After I recovered enough to go back to my house in Evansville, and even enough that I was able to go back to work 20 hours a week, mom and dad would drive me back to Evansville on Sunday night. Then, they would pick me up again on Friday afternoon and bring me home with them. It was great to be able to spend weekends with them. I wish that I still could! Eventually I worked my way up to working 40 hours a week again. But I still came home on the weekend, even if it was just Sunday.
Several years later, in 1997, dad had a stroke. When we finally brought him home from the nursing home, I moved back home to help my mom take care of him. Again, I worked 20 hours a week and spent as much time as I could with dad. As he got a little better, we found someone who could help mom during the day and I went back to work full time.
Trying to keep my house in Evansville was too much of a burden. I would stop every morning, put on clean clothes for work and feed my cat. Then I would stop in the evening after work, visit with my cat and do a few necessary things before I would head back to spend the night with dad and mom. When my brother would visit mom and dad on Sunday, I would go to Evansville, do laundry, clean the house, sit with my cat for awhile, then head back to Grandview and start the week over again.
I finally bought a double wide home and moved it in next to mom and dad, and connected the two houses with a two car plus extra room garage, so that we would have plenty of room for a wheelchair to maneuver around when the two cars were parked. After about a year I was able to sell my Evansville home. Now, I was able to spend time with mom and dad, but also able to sleep in my own bed with my cat! I got a baby monitor that we set up in mom and dad’s bedroom with the base monitor in my bedroom. Whenever there was a problem at night, they could let me know, and no matter the weather, I could run over to take care of them without donning outerwear.
Every night I would go over to help put dad to bed. One of the dearest memories I have is that as I would turn the light off to leave the room, I would tell him,”Good night.” His response was always, “Good night, doll baby.”
Another precious memory, as my cat aged, she was 18 years old, and had many problems, I elected to have her put to sleep to escape her many problems. It was the hardest thing I had ever done at that point in my life. I was devastated. That night, knowing how upset I was, my dad said, “Why don’t you spend the night here. You don’t need to be over there all alone.” His offer was just what I needed at that moment. Bless his heart!!!
Even though dad was in a wheel chair, we still continued to do some of the things my parent had done before the stroke. They always went to New Boston on Saturday evening to eat at the Tavern. They had great food. We still went there. That’s when they added the ramp to get in the front door. They would see mom and dad’s car drive up and would start frying the mushrooms that they knew dad loved. That extra special service was just one of the reasons that the whole family loved about meeting there.
We went to church every Sunday. They took me while I was in a wheel chair from my stroke. There were steps to get up to the sanctuary. There were several men that would help carry my wheel chair up those steps before the service, then carry me back down after the service.
By the time that dad had his stroke, they had put a ramp up to the church’s study, so we were able to push dad’s wheel chair up into the church.
Dad hated being in that wheel chair and not being able to do things for himself. He had always been an active man. From the time he was old enough, probably 10 to 12, he took care of things around the farm while his dad was out doing other things. Since you didn’t have a drivers license back then, he did most of the driving when the family got a car.
He went to Grandview High School and graduated in 1932. I know that he played basketball when he was in high school, and there was (not sure if it’s still there) a picture of the 1932 basketball team at the Grandview library.
He and my mom, Helen Parker Held, were married in 1937, a year after she graduated from Grandview High School. They spent 63 years together before my dad passed. 63 loving years, I might add.
My dad was a very special person to me, and to many others. He passed away in January of 2000, and I have missed him every day since then.
One of my biggest regrets I have is that my dad didn’t get to meet the second, only to dad, most special person in my life, my wonderful, loving husband, Frank.
Loving Memories, Dad.
I love you.
My Special Memories
By Ruthann Held Wike
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