There are many positive human traits that transcend generations, compassion and selflessness are among them. Often, personal connections are made in ways that one would never imagine becoming of great significance. When one is a child, one sees through the lens of an innocent mind. As an adult, one sees through the spectrum of reality.
My Morrisville High School home economics teacher, Ruth Graves, was a formidable woman in my 13-year-old eyes. In her suite of classrooms, she taught me, or tried to teach me, what Riboflavin was. She showed me how to use a sewing machine: “Ok class, say it out loud… down up, down up for the bobbin.” I handed her the completion of my washcloth slippers. She returned them with a “see me” note with a D clearly written in red ink. Evidently as I write this article, I have not gotten over the trauma of that low grade.
Many years later, I walked into my high school as a certified English teacher. I stood outside the teacher’s lounge, frozen from youthful fear of touching that doorknob. However, I opened that door and saw Miss Graves standing there. My washcloth slippers flashed in my vision. My teenage mind was bracing for a lecture on why I did not backstitch my final seam correctly. Instead, my teacher welcomed me with a smile, and I knew that I was accepted. I became her “colleague”; she never treated me as a child, only encouraged me as an equal.
Many years later, I was invited to become a member of Delta Kappa Gamma’s Alpha Nu Chapter in Pennsylvania. DKG is an organization that promotes excellence in education, the success of young educators, and community support. I walked into my first meeting at Peddler’s Village, and the first two people I saw siƫng in the front row were my former math teacher, Betty Lee, and Ruth Graves. I learned that both my former teachers held challenging positions throughout their many years in Alpha Nu. They were devoted friends, dedicated members, and strong mentors for young educators.
It is impossible not to regress when one thinks about teachers in one’s youth. When I saw Mrs. Lee, I instantly remembered sitting in the second row, second seat in her math class. When I saw Miss Graves, I remembered being 13-years- old geƫting handed back my “see me” note. Once again, I questioned this woman’s rubric for grading. She told me many times to “get over it.”
Loss always has a way of redirecting our lives. Ruth Graves died on May 5, 2015. As I read her obituary, I discovered so much more about her than I did during her 30 years of teaching at Morrisville High School. She was a devoted member of the Morrisville Methodist Church. Miss Graves bequeathed funds to build a room in the church where young people could sew and gather, complete with a full kitchen. She gave endless hours volunteering at local food pantries.
After that, I read one line that redirected my life, “she had made over eight thousand pillowcases to benefit kids with cancer.” Not understanding what that entailed, I went to her best friend, Betty Lee. She told me about her friend’s involvement. Ryan’s Case for Smiles, formerly ConKerr Cancer, was a non-profit organization for which Miss Graves spent a great deal of time sewing pillowcases.
“Growing up Morrisville” comes with memories that are understood only by other small-town residents. Therefore, I called my friend Cheryl Judy, who I met in kindergarten and one that shared the “Graves Experience.” Together, we researched this facet of our teacher’s life because we were very curious about her community service.
Ryan’s Case for Smiles, caseforsmiles.org, was founded in 2007. Its purpose is to bring comfort to young patients facing life-changing illness and injury. It supports families around the globe. There are 100 chapters comprising thousands of volunteers, over 362 hospitals participating. Over 75,000 children are helped annually. It began when Cindy Kerr, a Delaware County resident, was facing the challenge of her life: her 12-year-old son was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma, a type of bone cancer. Although Ryan fought courageously, he lost his battle with cancer in 2008 at the age of 17. He had only one request for his funeral: no one was to wear black, only bright colors.
What I learned from Miss Graves’ life solidified my belief that acts of kindness do not have to be grand to be wonderful. Ryan’s mom wanted to simply make her son feel a sense of happiness. Cindy’s first pillowcase was made from cheeseburger fabric to cheer Ryan in his hospital room. That pillowcase turned into one made for each of the patients on the cancer floor. News of her home-made pillowcases spread. Before Cindy knew it, random bags of pillowcases were delivered to her home.
For more than two decades, what began as a simple act of kindness has grown into something extraordinary. Through the organization’s signature Pillowcase Program, more than 3 million handmade pillowcases and counting have been sewn, washed, packaged, and delivered with love to children facing hospitalization.
Today, approximately 1,200 pillowcases each month are delivered to children at various hospitals, where every admitted child is invited to choose a colorful pillowcase of their own. For children navigating repeated admissions, procedures, and uncertainty, these pillowcases often become cherished collections, with many excited to select a new favorite fabric at each visit. More than a handmade gift, the program recognizes that while medical care treats the body, emotional support is essential in helping children and families cope, adapt, and heal together. In an environment that can feel clinical and overwhelming, the simple act of choosing a pillowcase offers comfort, familiarity, a sense of control, and a reminder that each child is seen as an individual, not defined by a diagnosis.
Coping Space, copingspace.org, is an online resource designed to support the families and caregivers of these children. This extension of Ryan’s Case for Smiles helps parents to navigate what comes next after a cancer diagnosis. To ensure quality care, Coping Space has partnered with PTSD
experts at CHOP of Philadelphia and Nemours/Alfred I. duPont Hospital for Children, located in Wilmington, Delaware, a leading pediatric facility.
Ruth Graves taught me a great deal in my youth and a great deal more in my adulthood. I took the sewing skills that she taught me, the kindness she demonstrated, and I contacted Ryan’s Case for Smiles. My kindergarten friend and I became dedicated volunteers, working toward our individual goal of 1,000 pillowcases.
Looking back, I don’t know if my 13-year-old self would have believed that my life would be so enriched by Miss Graves, or that Miss Graves would believe that I could sew a pillowcase and backstitch correctly. Ok, maybe I should listen to my teacher, my colleague, and my friend and just “get over it.” Maybe I would, if I could just get a look at that grading rubric.
