Ruth Carol Sheridan, a trucker’s daughter who was born into the Depression and became the matriarch and inspiration for a sprawling family, died on June 19 of pneumonia. She was 91. Ruth Carol Hock was born in 1934 to Irish and German Catholic parents who ran a small transportation company in upstate New York. Carol, as she was known, was the second of six children. She assumed responsibilities early on, helping raise her two youngest sisters at a time when her parents were working and money was tight. She knew what it was like to cover the holes in her shoes with cardboard. Yet for all the difficulties, she had a loving, close relationship with her siblings. Her mother taught her to adore books, and Carol became a librarian.

Her life changed one day when she was on her lunch break, eating a sandwich at a coffee shop in Whitesboro, N.Y., and Bernard Sheridan walked in. He thought she was beautiful. She thought he was fresh. They married on a snowy day in November 1958, on the eve of Carol’s 24th birthday. She wore an ivory-colored satin gown with a hoop skirt; in the pictures, she glows. You might think she was the softer one, with her gentle voice, her passion for home and children, her love of color and fashion. He was a New York City boy, college educated, an army veteran and ambitious young businessman. Yet she had an inner steel, and a remarkable ambition of her own.

In short, she willed herself into a new life. She’d grown up in a family that had endured many struggles, including the pain of alcoholism. She set about building a marriage of respect and love and a happy, nurturing home.

The kids came fast – five in eight years. Carol threw herself into family life – sewing clothes for the girls, baking pineapple upside-down cakes for her sweet-toothed husband, reading to the kids before bed. They lived on a budget but there were trips to the Bronx Zoo and – thanks to a network of strategically placed New York relatives – free tickets to the city ballet and to New York Giants games.

In the mid-60s, the family moved from an Irish neighborhood in the Bronx to a house with a yard in the New Jersey suburbs. It was a land of opportunity for kids. Carol drove the children to sports and Scouts and orthodontist appointments. There were art lessons and piano lessons. In the summer, everyone piled into the wood-paneled station wagon for monthlong cross-country journeys, camping in a tent and touring the Grand Canyon, New Orleans and San Francisco.

Carol was as comfortable heating up Dinty Moore stew on a camp stove as making one of her elaborate Sunday dinners, with the Waterford and the good china. 

Carol was keenly aware that she lacked a college degree – an unthinkable luxury for a girl, back in her day – and was determined her children would get the best education possible. She was a champion coupon-cutter and was proud to never, ever pay full price at Macy’s. Her kids all went through Catholic grammar school, high school and college. 

After nearly 20 years, Carol went back to work – first at an insurance company, then at a real-estate firm. She was surprised to discover how much her common sense and organizational skills were appreciated. The family moved to Connecticut, along with her husband’s job, and she oversaw the construction of their dream home, on a wooded lot that would be cherished by her grandchildren for its sleigh-riding hill and big piles of leaves in fall. It was the site of two of her children’s wedding receptions and countless other parties. 

Then Bern’s job moved to Florida, and a new chapter of her life began. Carol loved art, particularly the Impressionists; finally she took those painting lessons she had always thought about. She volunteered at the church and traveled to Europe and Asia. But her children remained at the center of her life. 

She welcomed a son-in-law and daughters-in-law and doted on her 14 grandchildren, helping care for them when they were sick and inviting them out to movies, the theater and the beach. When her husband died in 2021, after 62 years of marriage, Carol endured a difficult period of grief and illness. But then she bounced back. The final years of her life were a lesson in resilience and grace. She presided over big Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners, telling funny stories and dispensing advice, only some of which the New York Giants followed. She delighted in visits from her nine great-grandchildren. Her kids dubbed her the mayor of Ashby Ponds – her assisted-living center in Northern Virginia – for her initiative in organizing activities, including the Halloween costume party and her series of painting classes. Eventually, she had to start using a walker, due to her Parkinson’s disease. But it didn’t keep her from shopping trips or from dancing at her grandchildren’s weddings. She served as a flower girl in one of those marriage ceremonies last year – dressed in hot pink.

She is survived by five children: Ruth Bolger (Brian); Mary Beth Sheridan; Bernard Sheridan III (Karen), Frank Sheridan (Kristina) and Jim Sheridan (Lisa) – as well as 14 grandchildren (and their spouses) and nine great-grandchildren. She also leaves two sisters, her sisters- and brother-in-law, and numerous nieces and nephews and their children. 

Family and friends may pay their respects during a viewing on Sunday, June 28 from 6 to 8 p.m. at Colonial Funeral Home of Leesburg, VA. A funeral mass will be held on Monday, June 29 at 10:30 a.m. at St. Theresa’s Catholic Church in Ashburn, VA. In lieu of flowers, memorial donations may be made to the Parkinson’s Foundation.