Doris Moore - 1936 - 2024: The Rule of Firsts

 

Doris Moore

December 13, 1936 – April 9, 2024

 

 Best I can tell, I met Doris Moore on September 5, 1967, the day I walked into John M. Clayton School for my first day of the First Grade.  That’s roughly 56 ½ years ago. According to Doris, she took an immediate liking to me based on the fact I parted my hair on the right side. 

Doris had moved to Sussex County from North Carolina soon after she graduated from college. Her landing of the job at John M. Clayton was a bit of a fluke, as she was actually on her way to explore a position in a different location (as I recall). She forever spoke with a distinct southern drawl.

Firsts are almost always memorable, which is science, based on the fact that there is no previous information embedded in our brains for that particular experience.  Therefore, a lot of information is deposited, given the fact this is the first time one has encountered this particular situation.

The byproduct of that process is that I can almost visualize some of the worksheets Miss Doris would pass out to us in the morning.  Their number was roughly 10-12, and they smelled of mimeograph ink, an odor that was not only unique, but which created the irresistible urge to hold the paper under one’s nose.  Any possibly damaging effects of inhaling that ink odor has never been discussed, as this was the age before lawsuits.

Fast forward to my senior year in high school.  Although I had not remained in close contact with Miss Doris, I sent her an announcement of my graduation in June of 1979.  I felt it was important for her to know I had managed to finish school.  She responded by showing up at our house with a gift.  That red Igloo cooler was perhaps the most memorable gift I received for graduation.

Fast forward again to about 1998.  We had started having Christmas Open Houses in our home, and for reasons which escape my memory, I invited Miss Doris to come.  To our delight, she arrived with her life-long housemate Myra. While they visited, the type of work I do came up in conversation, and Doris and Myra immediately asked that I come over to discuss some work they needed done.

Once that work started, it continued for years. We worked on many big and small projects around the house, including a new roof, new windows, and new vinyl siding.  We added windows to their front porch. We converted their tub into a shower and updated the rest of the bathroom. We updated the kitchen. 

We also did some unconventional things.  We built outdoor enclosures for a few of their outdoor cats.  Doris would often comment that I had probably never been asked to build such housing for cats.  I hadn’t, but the effort seemed to bring her great pleasure.  Her cats apparently were pleased as well.

That was just work though.  Doris and Myra needed work done, and I needed the income.  We all got those things. 

Mostly though, we got each other. The work was just an avenue to share our lives. 

Doris and Myra were both retired by the time I started working on their house. Their summer trips in their RV had also come to an end. They had time on their hands, and I had the privilege of occupying some of that time. In all the things I have done regarding work, this was easily some of the most satisfying. I always looked forward to it, I always felt I had met a need, and I always felt appreciated.

 At some point early on in this period, I wrote Doris a letter.  I can’t recall the specifics of that letter, but I do recall her response to it.  She made a point of telling me how well I had expressed myself, and encouraged me to write more often.  I took that advice to heart, and her words may in fact be responsible for helping develop my love of communicating through the written word.

Eventually the bulk of the work on the house was completed, and Doris and Myra would call me less frequently for smaller jobs.  I was especially pleased if this coincided with the Christmas season, as Doris loved to bake cookies, especially chocolate chip, which fed her love of chocolate.

Often in conversation, her love of cars and driving would come up. She would tell me about the cars she drove as a youth.  She had to stop driving a year or two ago, which irked her to no end. She would comment about this, and about other inconveniences with “Well, it was good while it lasted.”

A year or so ago when I came to the house, Myra pulled me aside to discuss Doris’s health.  She was beginning to show signs of dementia. At that point I began to make occasional trips to visit apart from any work. As her health began to decline more rapidly, I stepped up the frequency of those visits.

Doris always knew who I was, even towards her latter days, but over time I would need to remind her of things.  She once said “Do I know you from way back?”  I reminded her of our relationship, showed her the picture of the two of us I had given her, and grabbed the mug I had given her with our picture.  The jolt always brought back the memories.

I believe the last time I spoke to Doris was while sitting in her living room on March 14.  She asked me about my family, and wanted to know the sum total of our kids and grandkids.  I reminded her, several times in the same conversation. During that visit, Myra commented that Doris had asked about me, and when I would return.  She referred to me, not by my name which I’m sure had escaped her, but as the “tall white haired good looking guy”.

On Friday, April 5, Myra called to tell me Doris was in the hospital.  Myra was going over that morning.  When I arrived, she was in Doris’ room.  I waited outside, and decided not to go in, as by that point Doris was barely coherent.  Instead, I sat with Myra and another friend of hers, and we talked about the current state of affairs. 

I got word through my brother that Doris passed peacefully early in the morning of April 9. I immediately called Myra, and we talked about our old friend and the fact she was finally at rest.

It occurred to me that in all those years, I had never told Doris that I loved her. But honestly, while I wish I had, there is no doubt in my mind that Doris knew I did.  I may not have used the words, but I told her as much over our long life together.

I told her through the work I did for her and Myra.  I told her through the little gifts of pictures and mugs and cookies.  I told her through the short visits to catch up. I told her through sitting and listening to the stories of her life. It was also obvious to me that she loved me as well. She told me through her questions about my family, through her thank you notes, and through the delight I could clearly see in her at having me in her home.  Sometimes, after I had done something, she loved to say to me "As my daddy would say... you done good, son."

It was no fluke Doris and Myra landed here in Sussex County. They were meant to be right here.

For the written record Doris… I love you.  Rest well my old friend.