Irene's death

I have been preoccupied with thoughts of a woman I have never met. For most of my life, everything beyond ten years of age actually, I have missed her, felt empathy for her and felt anger on her behalf. She lived and died long before I was born.

Irene was from poor Irish-Canadian stock, she was a devout Catholic whose parents never quite forgave her for marrying a lowly Irish-Canadian Protestant who was just as poor as herself. She had moved down the social ladder, but - alas, she was a young woman in love.

Bless her sweet groom though, he at least agreed to be married in her church, which back then required that all possible future children be signed-off to be raised Catholic.

...Easy to do before you have children.

...Impossible to reverse.

But, I am getting ahead of myself - more on that later.

As it turns out, Irene and the love of her life (they called each other "Buddy" affectionately) were extraordinarily fertile - numerous pregnancies followed their marriage.

There was not enough food to go around by the time there were only 4 people in the family. Very soon, however, there were a half dozen children and the rent could not be paid. Irene was often sick or in hospital. She had become weakened and sickly because she, as many women had done in the Depression, gave her own food rations to her children. Her weakend state lead to at least three late-in-the-pregnancy miscarriages.


The family was in dire straits, and being the devout Catholic she was, Irene went to the only place she knew for help. The church.

Irene wanted to know if there was anyway she could avoid pregnancy - just for awhile. Maybe she had heard about condoms, there was a woman handing them out in the city at that time who has since become an icon of the reproductive rights movement in Canada. Or maybe Irene was hoping the Priest would give his blessing to the couple choosing temporary abstinence in order to gain some ground health-wise and money-wise in their lives.

She pleaded with the Priest that it broke her heart whenever she miscarried and she also implored him that a weakened, sickly mother couldn't care for so many children. She explained about her husband having to take time off work to care for the children when she was sick: and that meant there would be no money coming into the household at all during those times. She also shared the one thing that she feared the most: her doctor had told her that she might not survive another miscarriage.

All the Priest said was "you must be subject to your husband", and he suggested she spend more time praying her rosary.

At that time, (unlike now), there was no acceptance of natural birth control methods for Catholics. Nowadays there are "Serena Seminars" held in parish basements for Catholic couples wanting to space their children naturally. This includes education about basal body temperature sampling, vaginal mucous change observation, and temporary abstinence during times of ovulation.

Not so then. Not for Irene.

So who knows what happened after Irene went home. Maybe they abstained for awhile, maybe not. But they were in love, and they recieved no education about the timing of ovulation. With the rent unpaid, six children asleep in the next room, and worries aplenty, my guess is that the physical comfort of their love beckoned loudly.

So eventually, Irene became pregnant again.

I can only imagine how frightened she must have been. I imagine her pondering her situation for days on end. Holding her children in her arms with a fierce love and desperation and then going quietly through the daily routines of caring for them in a cold house with little food. I imagine the despair that she must have felt when she thought about her doctor's warning that she may not survive another miscarriage.

So Irene made a decision to save her children's mother's life. She made this decision on behalf of her living childen, so they would continue to have a mother.

It would have been the most difficult choice because of her devout Catholic beliefs. Irene may even have believed that she would go to hell for her decision.

You see, Irene had decided to terminate the pregnancy.

She purchased something called Orange Lily from the corner drugstore, a product that was known for its purgative effects and use in homemade abortions. I don't know if she had some help, or if she was alone. I don't know if she drank it or applied it vaginally, but Irene ended up with blood poisoning and died in hospital days later

She was refused last rights by the hospital clergy.

Today she is buried under 3 other people in an unmarked pauper's grave.

I cannot get my mind off of this woman, my Grandmother. I think about her feelings of love for her children, her love of God, and her dying thoughts that she had betrayed both.

I imagine how strongly she must have struggled against the death that eventually overtook her, and my heart goes out to her soul in ways I can't understand. I want to soothe her somehow through the time continuum. But I can't.

So I say prayers to Irene, that her soul might be comforted somehow knowing that her children survived and that I, one of her grandchildren, are right here, loving her still. I listen intently when my mother tells me stories about her mother's laugh, her beautiful hands, her white and blue apron, and her remembered advice to "drink warm water for a tummy ache", or "put a fig on a sore tooth".

When I think about Irene, I smile and I shed a tear, but mostly I long to meet this woman who was taken from this earth too soon. I look at the same 2 pictures of her over and over again. One with her husband before they were married, and another shortly after they were married. Yes, they do look like they were so very much in love, and hopeful. Crazy kids.

I am saddened that she was shown cruelty rather than love in her last moments of life: Her request for last rights should never have been denied by the hospital clergy. This summer I will attempt to find my Grandmother's unmarked gravesite, and tell her how her wee black-Irish granddaughter feels about her.

I may write more details later on the rest of the story:

After Irene's death, the children, were removed to be raised in a Catholic orphanage as per the wedding-day signed church document, and not allowed to remain with their father even though his sister agreed to come and help with the children. This was because the sister was a protestant. Years later when Irene's husband remarried, his children were still not permitted to come live with him because the woman he married was protestant.
Some of the children were frequently beaten and/or sexually assaulted by nuns and others while in care at the Catholic orphanage. Some of the children were there for all of their childhood years.

But there is always an observed bright spot, a grain of beauty or hope in any life circumstance, especially an Irish one:

#1.Father O'Brien, a Priest who restored Irene's eldest daughter's faith in a God that could truly love her Protestant father enough to allow him into heaven.

#2.Peter, the orphanage custodian, who sprouted wings and a halo one day. He ran shouting and brandishing a broom in order to stop a nun that was threatening to beat Irene's youngest daughter, a small girl who couldn't speak properly.

Irene's eldest daughter stated very matter-of-factly at 70 years of age with a twinkle in her eye "I know what Angels look like!, I have seen one. They look JUST like Peter, running down the corridor to save my little sister.

________________________________________________________
In closing,

Irene's eldest son recalls overhearing his father saying the following words on the day that all the children were taken to the orphanage:

"I'm sorry Buddy", he muttered in remembering his wife, "I tried my best, I am so sorry" It was the first time the boy saw his father weep. It wouldn't be the last.





*these pictures are representative of the era and are not the actual individuals discussed.

Praying with Walter.

Today I was watching 100 Huntley Street.

The "girls on the couch" are the type of women I'd like to hang out with. Mind you, I'd suggest politely that they cut down on the Tammy-Faye make-up and hair if we were friends. It would be "just an idea".



Never-the-less, I like what they have to say, and I like the positive "Jesus-focussed" spin they always put on the topic of the day. Today I felt compelled to call their prayer/talk line to chat with "Walter" (the guy answering the phone today). The show's topic today was our societal tendancy of living in isolation and how we are culturally moving away from "other-focussed" or neighbourly living to a more isolated, self-reliant and sometimes dangerous way of life.

The case in point was an interview with the Pastor who lived on the same street as Allan Schoenburg (the fellow in Merrit, B.C. who allegedly killed his 3 children a week ago). This gentleman & man of God, claimed to have met Schoeburg briefly when he introduced himself over the fence that separated their properties. The Pastor said he offerred his help to Mr. Schoenburg if he "ever had a need" but that in retrosprect, he wish he'd done more, been more open, noticed more.


The "girls on the couch" discussed how they too have noticed that neighbourhoods are less friendly now than they were when we were growing up. There was discussion around how things could change and be more supportive again - how an individual could make a change.

I thought about the woman left behind: the children's mother. I thought about her desperation, her sadness, her self-blame, her hatred, her guilt, I thought about all the ways that she might be feeling about the terror that had descended upon her life.

And then I wondered if she had reached out for help in the days and weeks preceeding the attack, and found that there was none.

When I was at a very desperate moment early in my separation with my husband (who is an atheist and is capeable of horrible things) I yearned to be closer to God. At about 4pm one work-day afternoon, I went looking, in tears, for a church. (I didn't want to go to the house of a friend, I didn't want to show up with a tear stained face on a work-day just as Madge was getting the family's supper ready). I wanted a church because I wanted to be enveloped within a house of God-I wanted to cry in his arms and not have to explain, describe, or be socially appropriate at someone's kitchen table.

I found four different churches. All of them locked-up with no one anywhere to be seen. I cried in my car instead - went home, and was accused by my husband of being out on a "date".

I wondered if the mother of the Schoenberg children went to the doors of locked churches too.

So Walter prayed for me and I said "Amen" with him at the end.

Walter - an elderly fellow who must be an eternal optomist because he asked if I was divorced yet. I said no, I was legally separated. At that moment I thought "Oh God please don't let Walter pray that my ex and I should get back together".

But thankfully Walter didn't do that, he prayed that God would work on my ex, break though the strongholds and touch his heart with the spirit of the Lord. Walter also prayed for the woman who lost her children. But mostly he prayed for me, that I might be consoled.


Thanks Walter, I like that prayer about God working on my ex, it is one of my favorite prayers since he is the father of my children.

God bless the mother of those three children. God bless each of the children and Mr. Schoenburg too.

And God bless the women out there tonight seeking Divine intervention for their loved ones, may they find unlocked doors and open hearts.