Ecclesiastes 3. 1-8
A
few hours after Doris died, I drove to West Caldwell to share the news with her
older sister, my mother Jean, who at a few weeks shy of her 101st
birthday, frequently asked: “Have you heard any news about Doris.” Surprised by
my appearance in her room in the early evening, she demanded to know what I was
doing there. “I have news about Doris,”
I replied, and proceeded to pass on what I knew. She sat in silence a while,
characteristically asked for details I couldn’t provide, reflected on being the
only one left, and then she said of her sister:
“She loved to talk!” Mom recalled
how, on many Saturday nights, the two aging sisters, long widowed, and no
longer able to be out and about, spent time talking on the phone. She said she
would miss that. Truth be told she had missed that for some time already.
Sadly, the time for that season had already passed. The “time to mourn” of
which Ecclesiastes speaks, began for many of us when our family’s storyteller
went silent and could no longer hold the floor humorously recounting something
that happened to her or the people she loved.
That said, we can move beyond “the
time to weep, to embrace “the time to laugh,” and leave the “time to mourn,”
and welcome “a time to dance,” which I’ll come back to later.
One of my earliest memories is of
Aunt Doris, the storyteller, seated across the dining room table on a Sunday
afternoon telling of her adventures on a cruise on the Queen of Bermuda, or a
ski club trip to Vermont. Across the years the stories grew to include Uncle
Dave, and the arrival of Linda and Sue and the joy they brought to her
life. And we looked forward to hearing
the latest chapter in the escapades of Tippy and Snoopy, chewing a hole in a
sport coat to get at some chocolate in a pocket, or ripping out the headliner
of Dave’s big, green Chevy.
Until a few years ago, I could count
on a phone call on an evening in February. She’d start by thanking me for
flowers sent for her birthday, tell me not to bother next year, and then launch
into a fresh batch of stories that now included Randy and Sarah, Carolyn, Dave
and Brett. The dark winter night always became brighter as she told a story on
herself of a recent incident that presented a challenge.
Doris knew well the pendulum swings
presented by Ecclesiastes. Born into a
happy family in 1928, the Great Depression descended in 1929, cast a shadow,
and brought about changes she was too young to remember. Her father’s place in
a family business ended. The family moved from Jersey City to Montclair,
residing at times in a double block with Uncle Jim and Aunt Grace and her
cousins on the other side. At other times they moved into a house owned by her
grandfather, which had been vacant for a while. My mother recalls that the windowsills
had to be replaced because squirrels trapped in the house had chewed them in an
effort to escape. Their father’s health deteriorated, and he didn’t live to see
Doris graduate high school. Nevertheless, she thrived, entered the working world
and received training at Katie Gibbs, providing the skills she would put to
work again after David’s illness and death in 1979.
Those days in the last years of the
1970’s, a time when David’s health was breaking down, became a time for Doris
to build up and persevere, embracing the “for worse” and “in sickness” of the
wedding vows that had replaced the “better” and the “health.” They too were times when mourning began long
before a last breath brought a time of peace.
Before that life was pleasant and
memories were made on Woodlawn Terrace in Cedar Grove and at Lake Hopatcong. I
began crewing for Dave in his Comet, and later, a Thistle, as we sailed in
Regatta’s from North Jersey’s little lakes to the Shrewsbury River. One summer
Doris welcomed two 8th Grade Boy Scouts to pitch a tent by the lake
for a couple of wonderful days and nights. Life for the Bretts moved to
Montclair and the rotation of holiday gatherings had a new location to hear
Doris tell stories.
It is worthy of note that Doris’ service to the church addressed the needs of others as they made their way through the seasons of life: teaching in the Learning Centers and organizing receptions for grieving families. A paragraph in Doris’ obituary tells a story of its own, as “a time to sew” offers a clue to how she coped with the various times life presented. It reads “No one can think of Doris without thinking about her love for sewing and many types of handwork. She sewed her own clothes, clothes for her daughters, and clothes for their dolls. She also did cross stitch, embroidery and knitting. Her homes and the homes of family and friends contain many examples of her beautiful work.”
Those words reminded me of a story found in the ninth chapter of the Book of Acts. It is the story of Peter being summoned to Joppa after the death of a woman named Tabitha. Often referred to by her Greek name, Dorcas, Acts tells us “She was devoted to good works and charity.” When Peter arrived, her friends showed him “tunics and other clothes” she had made when she was with them.
It is a resurrection story. Peter
restored her to life. We gather here today in the belief that our dear Doris
has been raised to new life. Some of you may have examples of her handwork to
remember her by. All of us have memories to cherish of one we loved and who
loved us. Someone once said:
“You never lose the ones
you love if you love the ones you lose.”
Savor
the last lines of the poem Sue read:
“Let memories surround you, a
word someone may say
Will suddenly recapture a time, an
hour, a day,
That brings her back as clearly
as though she were still
here,
And fills you with the feeling that
she is always near.
For if you keep those moments, you
will never be apart
And she will live forever
locked
safely within your heart.”
At Sue and Rich’s wedding, the DJ
cued up a song. The first notes of a familiar tune reached my ears. I stood up, walked over to Aunt Doris and
said, “We have to dance to this.” She
gave me a puzzled look, but joined me on the dance floor, asking what was so
special about the song. I explained that it reminded me of one of the records
she played in that apartment on North Fullerton Avenue when I was very young
and thanked her for being part of so many special memories. As we danced, Nat
“King” Cole and his daughter Natalie sang
“Unforgettable,
that’s what you are...
Unforgettable,
though near or far...”
Yes, she is unforgettable and always
will be.
Thanks be to God.
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