She was born in July of 1894, the oldest of five children. Her homeland was the hills of the Deep South. Irene inherited her father's German genes, and she was a pretty child with milk white skin, naturally platinum blonde hair and sky blue eyes. She was the oddity in the family for her sisters and one brother all inherited her mother's genes; small boned, dark skin, black hair and black eyes. Her mother was an Indian. Irene was a half breed.
She grew up in the country on the outskirts of a small factory town; the kind that were so typical of the South. In the ninth grade, Irene was taken out of school and put to work in a hosiery mill in that town. In those days, hosiery was knitted from silk, and she was a knitter. As the oldest, she was expected to work and help support the rest of the family. She did. She worked as a knitter for many years until her eyesight became so bad that she could no longer see the fine silken threads.
It was during these years that the Great Depression hit, and the South suffered greatly. Irene was put to work in a Federal program called the Work Program America (WPA), and worked in a loft making clothing. As the Depression eased and work became available again, she went to work in a furniture factory on the production line. She "tailed a ripsaw" and worked a "bander". I have no idea what those machines are, but they sound like the very worst kind of physical labor. Irene was caught in the movement to bring labor unions into the South, and fought against it. It was seen as a form of disloyalty. The unions were kept out of the furniture factory for years with a company picnic once a year, a turkey at Thanksgiving, and a fruit cake at Christmas. Those were the rewards of loyalty. The same man who owned the hosiery mills also owned the funiture factory. Irene worked for him her entire life. The most money she ever made was 90 cents an hour.
Irene's life was not easy. In her mid-years, she met the love of her life...an Indian man...and bore him a child. He was killed in an accident, and they were never married. She was left a single parent in the days when that was the worst form of disgrace. She saved money diligently, even when she had none to save. Her bankbook shows deposits of every kind from 10 cents up. She always believed that if you had two pennies, you saved one. Irene fought cancer and won. She had several surgeries on her eyes for cataracts. Glaucoma finally settled into her eyes, and she lost one as a result. She asked no quarter from anyone. Irene lived alone and cared for herself until the last year of her life.
In 1991, at the age of 97, Irene closed her eyes and slipped into her final sleep. She was not ill. She was finished. She was tired. Even at this age, all her faculties were fully intact, and her mind as sharp as ever. Even though there was a space for her in the family plot in the family churchyard, she was not allowed to be buried there.
Irene was my mother, but I never knew her. I knew nothing of her except the hurt and pain; the bitterness and the anger. She never spoke of herself or her life and, when questioned, I was bluntly told that it was none of my business. She kept the last name of the family, but changed the spelling. I never knew why. I never knew her favorite color, or what kind of music she liked, or what she liked to read, or what her dreams were. I knew nothing about the spirit of this woman who bore me. She never crossed the Mason-Dixon line; she never flew in a plane; she never did any of the things we take so for granted. The only dream I'm aware of was her longing to "go West". She never did.
Irene was buried in a pale pink dress trimmed in white lace. It was time she had a party dress. She had surely earned it.