Mary Prudence “Prue” Canham
May 3, 1922 – October 22, 2020
Mary Prudence “Prue” Canham was the long-awaited and beloved first child of Ralph and Edna Bertolin when she was born in Denver, Colorado on May 3, 1922. After moving to Montana for a well-remembered year when she was in first-grade, Prue’s family settled in Seattle, Washington, which became the home of her heart. There she spent a youth filled with roller-skating, traveling with her father on business trips all over the West, and attending school football games. She graduated with a B.A. in languages from the University of Washington in 1944. During World War II she tracked aircraft approaching the West Coast and then worked for the Army Engineers. Seeking adventure, Prue took the train across the country to New York City in 1945. There she met John “Ed” Canham, who was attending medical school with her brother at Columbia University as part of the Army Specialized Training Program. They married in 1947. During a military career of over 30 years, Prue and Ed lived in many places: New York City, San Francisco, Virginia, Würzburg (Germany), Nashville, and Denver. Prue was active in the Army Wives Club and held down the domestic front when Ed served overseas. Upon retiring from the military, they settled in Oakland, California where Prue was a literacy volunteer, enjoyed the symphony and opera, was an active member of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Piedmont, and held every officer’s position in the Alameda Retired Army Wives Club. In 2014, Prue moved to Huntingtown to be closer to her daughter. She became a member of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Prince Frederick where she sang in the choir. Prue loved to sing and to read, especially history, and was an amateur painter. She will be best remembered for her unfailing love and kindness to all who came her way, her sense of humor, and her love of beauty in all its forms. Prue was preceded in death by her husband, Colonel John E. Canham, MD, son Francis A. Canham, and daughter Ann K. Ross. Prue is survived by her children, E. Michael Canham, MD and his wife Susan of Greenwood Village, CO, Mary Canham of Prairie Village, KS, William J. Canham and his wife Maureen of Bethesda, Michele Lyons and her husband Sean of Huntingtown, and Melissa Canham-Clyne and her husband Jake of New Haven, CT, grandchildren Steve, Lara, Atticus, Jane, Aneurin, and Kathleen, and great-grandchildren Julian and Emily. She also leaves a devoted son-in-law, Wilford Ross; sisters-in-law Barbara Bertolin and Del Bertolin; and numerous nieces, nephews, and friends of her children whom she loved. Prue passed away October 22, 2020 at the Caribbean Breeze Assisted Living Facility in Huntingtown.
Services will be held on Saturday, October 31 for immediate family only. Family will provide a Zoom link to those who request it.
Visitation
Services
- Private
Saturday, October 31, 2020
12 Noon
Interment
Contributions
Condolences
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For some reason I’m unable to get into the funeral on zoom, so the only thing I do is take the time to remember what Pru meant to me, here in writing.
I’m so grateful to have someone who became a second mother to me. Like everyone I was nervous to meet Melissa’s parents, and given that one of the very first times was a completely insane — and failed — attempt — to see a World Series game during the 1989 Giants-A’s series that was interrupted by the Loma Prieta earthquake, I always assumed she thought there had been a very strange addition to her family.
I knew Melissa loved birthdays and holidays but never realized that I had fallen in love with the actual Queen of Christmas until my first Christmas in Oakland. Christmas was an important time in my family growing up, but the combination of total chaos and disciplined ritual on Wilton’s mountain was a whole different thing. To see Pru preside over the season, and experience the joy with which the next generation adopted and adapted those same rituals and lived through the chaos each year changed my life and the way I think about my family. And at the very least, I know who is older than whom in our family.
Christmas comes to mind not only because of its importance but because the combination of chaos and discipline remind me of the two qualities I most associate with Pru: warmth and toughness. No one had a brighter smile or more ferocious hug. No one was quicker to offer her hospitality. At the same time Pru was of hardy (and long-lived) western stock, someone who held high expectations of herself and the people around her. She was always ready to dare something new and challenging. Anyone who raised 7 children on two continents and in more than one state must have remarkable strength. Anyone who raises the seven children that Pru raised and must have boundless energy, an infinite reservoir of love, great intelligence and be an efficient administrator.
When we got the news that Pru had died, those two words — warmth and toughness — shined in front of my eyes all day. But they were not in my mouth. I told Melissa that all I could taste all day was black bean soup. It’s difficult to get to know someone who lives 3,000 miles from you when you first meet them. I was incredibly fortunate when, in 2006, my work began to bring me to Oakland frequently. Staying on Wilton’s mountain allowed me to get to know my new mother in a way I hadn’t thought possible.
Having a son-in-law with unusual dietary habits never fazed Pru for a second. No matter what, each time I squeezed my rental car into the absurd excuse for a driveway on Wilton’s mountain, and rang the bell, the door would open and I could smell instantly that what she knew was my favorite would be on the menu again. My schedule on those trips was usually crazy — when commuting to the west coast, I’d always try to get home as soon as possible, which meant 4:30 or 5:00 am departures for the airport. But at dinner, I found out what it was like to set out as a young woman seeking her future, to travel across Canada and the northern US to New York, and hide out in a dorm and find the love of her life, or what it felt like to be a military mom in Germany when your kids run away and hide, or what it meant to come from a family that had tried to scratch a living out of the earth in Colorado.
Pru brought an extraordinary measure of love to everyone in her life, and mine in particular. I miss her terribly.
Sort Comments
For some reason I’m unable to get into the funeral on zoom, so the only thing I do is take the time to remember what Pru meant to me, here in writing.
I’m so grateful to have someone who became a second mother to me. Like everyone I was nervous to meet Melissa’s parents, and given that one of the very first times was a completely insane — and failed — attempt — to see a World Series game during the 1989 Giants-A’s series that was interrupted by the Loma Prieta earthquake, I always assumed she thought there had been a very strange addition to her family.
I knew Melissa loved birthdays and holidays but never realized that I had fallen in love with the actual Queen of Christmas until my first Christmas in Oakland. Christmas was an important time in my family growing up, but the combination of total chaos and disciplined ritual on Wilton’s mountain was a whole different thing. To see Pru preside over the season, and experience the joy with which the next generation adopted and adapted those same rituals and lived through the chaos each year changed my life and the way I think about my family. And at the very least, I know who is older than whom in our family.
Christmas comes to mind not only because of its importance but because the combination of chaos and discipline remind me of the two qualities I most associate with Pru: warmth and toughness. No one had a brighter smile or more ferocious hug. No one was quicker to offer her hospitality. At the same time Pru was of hardy (and long-lived) western stock, someone who held high expectations of herself and the people around her. She was always ready to dare something new and challenging. Anyone who raised 7 children on two continents and in more than one state must have remarkable strength. Anyone who raises the seven children that Pru raised and must have boundless energy, an infinite reservoir of love, great intelligence and be an efficient administrator.
When we got the news that Pru had died, those two words — warmth and toughness — shined in front of my eyes all day. But they were not in my mouth. I told Melissa that all I could taste all day was black bean soup. It’s difficult to get to know someone who lives 3,000 miles from you when you first meet them. I was incredibly fortunate when, in 2006, my work began to bring me to Oakland frequently. Staying on Wilton’s mountain allowed me to get to know my new mother in a way I hadn’t thought possible.
Having a son-in-law with unusual dietary habits never fazed Pru for a second. No matter what, each time I squeezed my rental car into the absurd excuse for a driveway on Wilton’s mountain, and rang the bell, the door would open and I could smell instantly that what she knew was my favorite would be on the menu again. My schedule on those trips was usually crazy — when commuting to the west coast, I’d always try to get home as soon as possible, which meant 4:30 or 5:00 am departures for the airport. But at dinner, I found out what it was like to set out as a young woman seeking her future, to travel across Canada and the northern US to New York, and hide out in a dorm and find the love of her life, or what it felt like to be a military mom in Germany when your kids run away and hide, or what it meant to come from a family that had tried to scratch a living out of the earth in Colorado.
Pru brought an extraordinary measure of love to everyone in her life, and mine in particular. I miss her terribly.