Irene Eleanor Washburn

1928-2014

This lovely lady passed peacefully on October 7, 2014, with family by her side. Predeceased by her husband of 58 years, Donald. Survived by her children: Donna, Christine, Kenneth, Catherine, James, Donald and Douglas as well as many, many grandchildren and great grandchildren. Irene’s wonderful sense of humour and compassion will be missed by so many. Many thanks to the wonderful, gentle staff at Spencer House in Orillia.

Donations to The Alzheimer Society, 60 Briarwood Avenue, Mississauga, Ontario, L5G 3N6 in her memory would be appreciated.

Condolences for the family may be offered at www.EganFuneralHome.com.

Irene Washburn June 16, 1928 – October 7, 2014

When I think back on my childhood in Irene’s household, I invariably think of a vast Christmas table so filled with treats and goodies, it was a challenge to place them all there without piling them on top of each other.

That and the sound of a laundry tub pump.

My mother just passed away at the age of 86, after succumbing to the terribly thieving disease of dementia. Her last few years were difficult.

But, I think back to Christmas goodies, the laundry tub and the wonderful, goofy sense of humour that defined her life and made her so special.

In a small house, in Nobleton, Ontario, Irene and her husband, Don Sr., raised seven children. Dad worked long hours, six days a week, often not returning home until the middle of the evening. So, it was Irene who was tasked with the incredible workload of raising seven children and keeping the house in order.

That’s, in part, why I think of the laundry tub pump. It seemed like it was almost always whirring away and it did so on almost a daily basis, as Irene had her arms full in keeping up with the dirty clothes of nine people. Seemed she was always going down the stairs to the laundry room, or climbing them to return. The sound of that pump is like a soundtrack from my childhood and whenever I hear something similar, I feel comfortable.

Irene was kept very busy. The laundry, the school lunches, the cleaning and all the breakfasts and dinners meant she was almost constantly working. I won’t report that she did all these things with a constant smile on her face, nor would she have me do that. Irene did like to sing and hum and was often heard doing just that. Sang in the church choir for a time, too. On occasion, however, all of that household juggling could lead to moments of frustration and she would blurt out one of my favourite Irene Washburn sayings: “Shit, mother, I can’t dance.” Playfully, I tried, (unsuccessfully) over the last few years to get her to say it again, I loved it so much.

The Christmas goodies table was a masterpiece of absolute wonder and beauty. Starting almost two months before Christmas, Irene would begin to bake and freeze her marvellous baked goods. Shortbread cookies. Peanut butter cookies. Oatmeal cookies. Squares and brownies, tarts and loaves. When Christmas Eve came, that kitchen table could hardly be seen under the eye-popping array of goodness. On Christmas Day, she would provide the most beautiful turkey dinner and top it off with more baking – a selection of pies.

Dementia robbed Irene of many things, as it so cruelly does. Her devilish personality and wonderful sense of humour were not among those things. For that I’m truly grateful. About a year or so before she passed, I asked mom how a new pair of shoes felt. She looked at me incredulously and asked me to repeat the question. “How do your shoes feel, mom?”

With comical mockery she replied: “I don’t know, I haven’t asked them.”

Even as she’d lost the ability to speak coherently, Irene’s sense of humour abounded. The playful personality that we have forever captured on old home movies, where she so often looked at the camera and mugged a goofy face, remained into her 87th year, even if we could no longer be sure exactly what comedy she was sharing with us. She’d string together a few sentences of unrelated words or, more recently, some mumbles and murmurs and then laugh. Mom had reached the punchline of another funny observation. We’d laugh, too, because she had that kind of laughter.

Irene’s strong sense of comforting and sympathy remained, too.

I clearly recall that when I was about eight years old, that I was mad as hell because she absolutely refused to let me climb a pole in the backyard to rescue a cat that had climbed up to the top and obviously could not get down. There were others – adults I supposed – who could take care of it, she told me. Furious, I plunked down in a chair and refused to eat dinner. Irene said not a word further, but leaned down to kiss me on the forehead. I thought it confusing at first. Then, I understood. She was happy to have a son that felt strongly about helping another creature. She rewarded that compassion and cemented it for me in that moment.

Forty some odd years later, I heard mom singing a lullabye in the next room, as we visited the home of my wife’s parents. I came around the corner to see her gently rocking a chair that had a stuffed animal perched on it. She didn’t know that it wasn’t a living being, but that’s hardly the point. She thought it was, and her instinct to comfort and nurture just naturally emerged again.

When we were called to the nursing home to say goodbye to Irene, it was thought that she may have only hours to live. Maybe a couple of days. Despite that, it was eight full days later when she passed.

Her big, beautiful heart made me proud one more time.

Thank you for your life, laughter, singing and sympathy, Irene.

Thank you for your love, mom.

Rest in peace.