The dash

Mommy, 1935–2024

The average obituary is 200 words.

As I did for Daddy ten months ago, I wrote an obituary last week for my mother. Hers was 361 words; Daddy’s was probably about the same. By necessity, obituaries are extremely shortened versions of a person’s life story, that span of time represented by the dash between the years of birth and death.

Dorothy Ann Schanck Irre, aged 89, passed away peacefully on October 15, 2024. She was a beloved wife, mother, and friend who will be deeply missed by all who knew her.

This says so much and yet so little about what she meant to us. It is impossible to convey the depth of love we had for her in human-made words. It reminds me of the Bible verse that says, “the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.” Sometimes words are too confining to convey what is in our hearts. Our feelings are so much deeper and broader than any man-made language can express.

Dorothy was born and raised in the farmlands of New Jersey.

Mommy grew up on a dairy farm, one of two daughters. My grandfather was always worried that she and her sister were going to get hurt, so they weren’t allowed in the barn or the shop. But they did get to ride on the backs of Brown Swiss cows when they were being brought in for milking. If you knew my mother, that might surprise you. She was as proper as they come. It’s hard to picture her riding on a cow. Daddy always said she wouldn’t come out in the morning until she was perfect.

She attended Moravian College before becoming a full-time wife and mother. She later earned her bachelor’s degree from Trenton State College and master’s degree from Georgian Court College. She enjoyed a career teaching English and science in Brick Township, New Jersey, middle schools.

I remember as a child coming home from school to freshly baked cookies and laundry waving lazily in the breeze when she was a stay-at-home mom. I also remember when she went back to college to finish her degree. She would make supper, usually a casserole of some kind, and leave it in the kitchen for Daddy to put in the oven at dinnertime. She always took care of her family.

On graduation day, photos of her in a cap and gown include her holding my baby brother who was born just a month before. Such a picture of . . . what? Accomplishment? Priorities? Determination? She really did do it all and did it well.

Dorothy was a prolific writer. All her grandchildren cherish framed copies of her poems today.

This was a part of my mother I didn’t pay attention to until I had children of my own and she wrote and illustrated a poem for each one. Some were stories—A Little Bear’s Tale and Lucas the Little Brown Mouse. Others were more philosophical—What It Means to Be a Woman. All are treasured.

While we were cleaning out the house after she and Daddy moved to assisted living, I found multiple notebooks full of her writing, and a manuscript for a children’s story about the Canada geese that wintered in their cove on the Chesapeake Bay every year. She had submitted the story to several publishers, rejected every time. That speaks volumes about her character: she believed in herself and her abilities, she refused to quit, she had a gift to share and share it she would, no matter what.

After retirement, Dorothy and her husband, Edward, lived on the Eastern Shore of Maryland before finally settling in northwest Virginia.

Mom and Daddy were drawn to the water. Our house in New Jersey was on a tidal lake two blocks from the ocean. Their retirement home was on a cove that let out into the Bay. So the decision to move inland was not easy, I’m sure. But at 70, they were smart enough to know they should live near one of their children in their old age. We’ve laughed often that the house they bought in Virginia was not for them—it was for the piano. Not every home has room for a grand, and that was my mother’s baby. There would be no moving without it. I am honored to have it in my living room now.

Having grown up on a farm, Dorothy was a horse enthusiast and spent many of her retirement years volunteering with Talbot Special Riders, an equine therapy project for children with handicaps. She always found a way to contribute to her community.

My parents were givers, not takers. Producers, not consumers. They taught us by example that it truly is more blessed to give than to receive. Daddy volunteered to tutor chemistry students at the local community college. He gave his time and effort to the local Izaac Walton property. Mommy did her “horsey thing” with handicapped children. She baked cookies for every bake sale, every neighbor, every church function. In so many ways we saw—and a lot they kept to themselves—they were always giving.

Going for a ride

More than anything, Dorothy was a devoted mother and grandmother, treasuring her family above all else. She loved spending time with her grandchildren, baking cookies, reading stories, and having tea parties. She always had an encouraging word, no matter what difficulties they were facing.

Mommy was known as the Grandma who gave books. My children had a vast library of children’s books, and when they would come visit, my parents went hoarse reading stories. The girls have treasured memories of tea parties with Grandma in the trailer.

Dorothy was an accomplished musician who began playing piano as a child and continued throughout her life. She shared her gift as a church organist, choir director, school chorus accompanist, and church pianist as long as she was physically able, and it was one of the great joys of her life.

More giving of her talents. She told me recently that she never accepted money for playing in church because that was how she worshipped. Last fall when Daddy was in rehab and I was living with Mommy during the week, we would go home at night and I would make us dinner. Then while I was cleaning up, Mommy would go sit at the piano and play. Sometimes I would sneak in and sit down to listen and we would worship together.

In her free time, Dorothy was an avid reader and chocolate-chip-cookie baker. She loved to gather people around the table, and she was a wonderful cook whether in a fully stocked kitchen or over an open campfire.

Everyone loved my mother’s cooking. Once when she was going to night classes, she made us a big spaghetti casserole and left it on the table. When we came in later, our dog Brutus was standing on the table, straddling the dish, enjoying our dinner. He was so full, Daddy feared to touch him lest he explode right there in the dining room, and somehow Brutus was coaxed outside.

My mother came from a long line of great cooks. There was never a box mix of any kind in our house; every morsel was homemade, and she taught me how to cook the same way. My high school friends were so impressed with my culinary skills, they nicknamed me Betty Crocker. The fact that I could make a pie from scratch—crust included—amazed everyone. That was just part of her legacy to me, and it lives on in all of her granddaughters. We are a pie-making family.

She enjoyed traveling across the country with her husband in their camper, fishing and hiking in the mountains.

You’ve heard me talk before about my parents packing up us four children in a station wagon towing a 15-foot camper and traveling all over the country for three summers. That was a gift we were not smart enough to recognize as such back then, but now we know. My parents lived this quote: “Fill your life with experiences, not things. Have stories to tell, not stuff to show.” My brothers and I are so thankful today for the experiences and stories my parents gave us.

Fly fishing in the Yellowstone River

Speaking of cooking, somehow my mother put delicious meals on the (picnic) table every night, even when all she had was a charred frying pan, a spatula, and a campfire. She was a most resourceful woman, and it helped that Daddy and the boys caught a lot of trout.

Dinner for six cooked over a campfire

Dorothy was predeceased by her husband Edward and is survived by her children James (Carrie), Steven (Harolyn), Karen (Ben Sargent), and Thomas (Phuong), as well as 11 grandchildren and 23 great-grandchildren.

We just lost Daddy last December. It never occurred to me that Mommy would follow so soon, but every time I visited her she commented that she missed him so much. She kept his beautiful wood urn of ashes on her dresser with a picture of him, and she said she would get up each morning and talk to him. She couldn’t stand being apart from him. That’s what happens when you’re married almost 68 years.

Her family was her treasure; she was rich, indeed.

I wish I had counted all the times in the last year Mommy remarked about her wonderful family and how thankful she was for us all. Every time she said it, I was reminded that not only did she grow each of us in her body, she formed our character by her own example and actions. She made the family she was thankful for.

A memorial service will be held at a later date.

No memorial service will ever be enough to honor who she was. My brothers and I say all the time that we hit the family lottery. Our parents were not perfect, but they left a legacy we all want to continue in our own children.

Theologian N. T. Wright said,

“What you do with your body in the present matters because God has a great future in store for it . . . What you do in the present—by painting, preaching, singing, sewing, praying, teaching, building hospitals, digging wells, campaigning for justice, writing poems, caring for the needy, loving your neighbor as yourself—will last into God's future.”

Mommy and Daddy did a lot with their lives here on earth. They were givers. They loved well. They lived so that their children and grandchildren want to be like them.

They made the dash count.