The following was read at my grandmother's memorial service. Rest in peace, Grammy. You are dearly missed.


Hello everyone. I’d like first to introduce myself. My name is Dylan Maxwell Bullock and I am Ruth’s
grandson.  I want to thank you for giving me a few minutes of your time to share some of my thoughts. I’d also like to thank you all for coming to honor the life of my grandmother, Ruth Maxwell. Or as I always knew her: “Grammy”.

You’ll also have to forgive me. First, for not being there with you. My life in Baltimore has held me back from being in attendance. And second, I’ve never done this before. I’ve never had anyone close to me pass away, so I haven’t quite known how to handle it. Grammy’s passing has caused me to reflect much, on both her life and mine. And for days I’ve wondered what to share. I thought about things big and small. I found old birthday and postcards with her phenomenal penmanship.  I found photos and read through her letters, children’s books, emails, and blog posts. And if anyone would understand this, it would be her: I’ve suffered from writers block. It’s not as if there has been a shortage of substance, I simply don’t know how to put into words how much I’ve enjoyed being her grandson, or just how much of an impact she has had on my life. When Grammy first passed away, I somewhat publicly wrote this:

“I lost one of my most favorite people this weekend, my grandmother, Ruth H Maxwell. She was many things to many people, but to me she was larger than life, and my hero. Rest peacefully Grammy, you will truly live forever in my heart.”

That is all true. As a kid, I remember sleepovers at her house in Pasadena, magazine subscriptions for Christmas, and trips to the Children’s Museum. But when I started to reach adulthood, I truly gained such an appreciation for who she was. She helped me through some of the most transformative years of my life. She helped me to feel comfortable and confident in my own skin. She encouraged me to be the creative person I’ve always been deep down inside. She inspired me to be adventurous. She encouraged me to persevere. She was always listening intently. We used to joke about when she would visit, because she, from the other side of the room, would kind of squint her eyes and just stare at you. It sometimes scared me a little, but as mystical as it may seem, I think she was connecting with us. Reading us. Learning about us.  She was my first mentor.  She was my life coach. She was my “compass”. She had the most refined soul of anyone I ever knew, and I held on to every word, spoken or written, that she could share.

In closing, in our last conversation, she encouraged me to pursue one of my favorite things: Writing. And I PUBLICLY promise that I will. Like most of you probably feel, I’m so lucky to have known her, and if she can hear me now, “I love you Grammy. Thank you for your courage, and for being a part of my life.”

Thank you.