Ruth Faulkner

RUTH MARIE FOSS PROCTOR FAULKNER

September 17th, 1932 – July 11th, 2026

Ruth Marie Foss Proctor Faulkner was born into a world of wide skies and hard work, a world where families were shaped by land, seasons, and love. She grew up in an Illinois farmhouse with her sisters Joan and Jeannie, learning early how to be steady, responsible, and kind. Childhood brought chores, laughter, and the kind of mischief families remember forever—including the day her sisters rolled her up in a rug and nearly baked her in the summer sun.

As a young woman, Ruth worked as a typist and bought her first camera with her own wages. She carried that camera into the barn one night to photograph newborn twin calves, accidentally startling the horse she feared. It was a memory she carried quietly for decades—one of innocence, fear, and growing up.

In 1951, she married Jim Proctor, beginning a life of travel and change. They lived in Flint, North Carolina, New Mexico, and St. Louis. Their first two children, Ron and Donna, were born in St. Louis. During one of Jim's deployments, Ruth returned to her parents' home, where Donna took her first steps. Afterward, the family moved back and forth between St. Louis and New Mexico, making homes wherever they landed.

New Mexico became a chapter of adventure. Ruth camped with her family in an old army tent, visited Carlsbad Caverns, crossed into Juarez, shopped at reservations, hiked for Christmas trees, and traveled as far as Yellowstone. At White Sands, she famously had to vacuum sand out of everyone's hair—even the dog, Cindy.

Eventually the family settled in St. Charles, where Ruth's youngest daughter Joyce was born in 1969—on the same day as her sister Joan's son Brad.

Ruth lived her life with quiet courage. She endured the loss of Jim in 1982, carrying that sorrow with the strength prairie women have always known. In 1987, she remarried Dempsey Faulkner, beginning a new chapter of companionship and steadiness in her later years—and the name Faulkner became the name she carried for the rest of her life.

Many years afterward, in 2024, she faced another deep sorrow with the passing of her eldest son, Ron. She held his memory close—remembering his childhood, his laughter, and the family he raised—carrying that grief with the same quiet grace she had shown all her life.

Her hands were always busy creating beauty. She was an expert seamstress and quilter, loved embroidery, cross-stitch, and crochet, and played piano and organ at churches and nursing homes. She taught herself to paint by watching Bob Ross, filling her home with landscapes and waterfalls—her favorite places in the world.

She camped with her sisters and their families in Wisconsin, keeping her love of the outdoors alive. Even later in life, she traveled with Jeannie and Jerry to New England, Niagara Falls, and other places where the land rose and fell in ways she loved.

In her final years, Ruth was cared for lovingly. Her granddaughter Natasha moved in to help her and Dempsey, and stayed to care for Ruth until she needed assisted living, and later nursing care. Her daughter Donna lived close by and was able to visit her at least twice a week, often together with her husband Gene, bringing comfort, familiarity, and family into Ruth's days.

Her legacy grew wide across the years. From her son Ron, she welcomed two grandchildren: Chan, Justin, father of Julien. From her daughter Donna, she welcomed four granddaughters and their families: Angie and Paul, parents of McKenna and Cheyenne. Becky, mother of Allyson. Kelli and her husband Danny, parents of Autumn and Samuel. Kori and her husband Billy, parents of Braelynn and Paisley

• Donna's first husband, Kevin, passed away many years ago—a loss that shaped her life and her family's story—and in time she found companionship again with Gene, who became part of Ruth's later-year circle of care.

From her daughter Joyce, she welcomed five grandchildren: Natasha, mother of Domino. Heather and her husband Tom, parents of Miles and Samuel. Jan and his girlfriend Melissa, parents of Ian. Fionna and her husband Luck. Tara—the name Ruth knew and loved—and her fiancé Nate These children and grandchildren were the joy of her later years and now, as Ruth's long journey comes to rest, we remember her as a quiet light that warmed everyone around her.

Her life was stitched together like one of her quilts: scraps of childhood calico, the strong denim of hard years, the soft flannel of motherhood, and the bright squares of laughter. All sewn with a steady hand, all held together by love.

Her life was a long walk toward waterfalls—toward beauty, toward peace, toward the places where the world opens and the heart feels small in the best possible way.

As her favorite author once wrote:

"The last goodbyes are not forever. They are not the end. They simply mean I'll miss you until we meet again."

And so we will.