Life Legacy of Ruth Sanjenko
In the days leading up to my mom’s transition, I told her over and over again: “I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”
Ruth Sanjenko lived a simple, yet profoundly significant life over her 94 years. She was kind, gentle, and endlessly giving. Throughout her life, Ruth cared for more than 30 foster babies—while also raising her own young family. I was the last of those babies, and at the age of four, the Sanjenkos adopted me as one of their own. I am forever grateful.
She raised her children on a minimal budget, with creativity and care. With growing boys and multiple mouths to feed, she planted a generous garden, preserved fruit and vegetables, baked her own bread, and cooked nearly every meal from scratch. I still remember those grey lunch kits and stainless steel thermoses lined up along the kitchen counter each morning, like a little assembly line – dozens of sandwiches, homemade cookies, and pieces of fruit prepared with quiet devotion for my dad and brothers.
From an early age, witnessing her resourcefulness and resilience shaped my values and sparked an entrepreneurial fire in me.
My mom also modeled something I now see as sacred: rhythm. I grew up in a home anchored in faith. Our weekly pattern reflected that. Fridays were for preparing. Saturdays for rest and reflection. Sundays for pancakes, family, and laundry – getting ready for the week ahead.
Often, my mom acted as a bridge between my dad and me. She was our steady go-between – gently translating, softening, and seeking shared understanding. I can only imagine how exhausting that role must have been at times, and I’m deeply grateful for her patience.
Fiercely loyal, my mother gave thousands of hours in service to others. Whether knitting sweaters for children overseas or preparing supplies for church programs, volunteering was woven into the fabric of her daily life.
Mom was a woman of few words. Her eyes, however, spoke volumes. They danced with joy when music filled the room, clouded with concern when something was amiss, or sometimes looked right past you – as if she had something to say, but chose instead to hold it quietly in her heart.
She prided herself on her independence and sovereignty, living by her own values, making her own choices, and walking her path with quiet authority. She chose to remain in her own home, living with dignity and agency. To those who supported her in making that possible, thank you from the depths of my heart.
She lived for her family. And she was so proud of ‘her boys’ and their families.
I was fortunate to spend time with Mom in the hospital. She rallied for a few sweet days, and these hours together were precious. I called it our little “co-working”. She would work on her circle-word puzzles. I would type on my laptop. And when she felt like talking, I’d gently invite her to share.
“Mom, what’s your favorite memory you can think of right now?”
She smiled:
“When your Dad and I worked at a logging camp. One day, he had to go into town and said he’d stop in to see my mom, who lived along the way. When he came back, he was smiling and said, ‘She said I could ask you to marry me!’ And so he did.
And he gave me such a BIG KISS…”
Even in the hospital, that memory lit her up. It was as if she could feel that kiss all over again.
—
Until we meet again, Momma.
Thank you for the gift of my life, for all you’ve done for our family, and for the quiet strength you showed us every day. Rest now, and give Dad a big hug – and that big kiss – for us.
We’ll miss you deeply. And we are so, so proud of you.
