Mama Irene

We spent this past weekend watching Sis play in one of the last tournaments she'll have as a Lady 'Rider. Since she was a little girl she's played softball. This may be surprising to Coach Arthur but Sister didn’t pick Crowder because of the softball program. Since she was five years old she’s always said she would attend Crowder. That’s because from the time she was five she loved Mama Irene’s (Irene Cooper) hamburgers.

One of the ways I’m certain I’m growing older is that I never miss reading the obituaries or the Dear Dr. Gott column. I check my latest mid-life malady against those listed in the Gott column, count myself lucky when it’s something I haven’t experienced yet, grimacing when I read something I dread experiencing.

The obituaries are something all together different. I love to see pictures of elderly ladies when they were young, the 40s glamour head shots are so pretty. I read with pride the gentlemen’s military or career histories. Easily I imagine the “dash” for these people – the space between the year they were born and the year they passed… the “—“.

Too often the words used in obituaries don’t even begin to sum up the wonderfulness of the person they honor. When “Mama Irene” passed away this winter her obituary listed “food service administrator” as her occupation. That doesn’t even begin to describe it. She fed countless students and faculty. She fed their stomachs. She fed their hearts. She fed mine.

I’ve always been a klutz, but never more so than when I was pregnant with twins. It was hard for me to walk across a room without tripping, front heavy with two babies, I fell off ladders in the museum, I slipped on icy sidewalks. Mama Irene would have none of it. She insisted on bringing lunch across the street to my office whenever the weather was iffy that winter.

Over the years she employed many friends and family. It was always hard distinguishing who was part of the family by blood. We all so wanted to be part of her brood. Her table was always near the entrance to the buffet line. She kept an eye on the warming trays, watching over the cash register, and was always ready to share a cup of coffee and simply listen.

I often celebrate our 20 years of friendship by using a crystal vase she had given me as a gift when I left Crowder. I enjoy selecting the largest, brightest bouquet I can find. Everyone who steps into our house comments on the vase, the lovely flowers. With each compliment I get a chance to praise and remember Mama Irene.

It's easy to picture Irene, now a guest herself, seated at a heavenly banquet table, a gracious lady who’s resting after devoting her life to helping God fill up countless others.