Doris Raisbeck, RIP

Somewhere in the night of May 21-22, Doris Raisbeck passed away peacefully.  My great-aunt, who had lived to the age of 93, was my last link with previous generations; as of now, I’m the eldest Kleppinger I know.

She was a woman of many gifts and talents; most notably to those who visited her, was her great skill at needlework, most often crocheting.  Afghans, various doilies, and kitchenwear (hot-pot holders, tea cozies) abounded in her home.  She was also a gracious hostess who ensured we always left happier than we arrived.

Some years ago, after Uncle Albert had passed, I had sent a note saying that if it came to a point where she were willing to do so, I would be happy to take Albert’s handmade train layout and give it a home in our new rec room.  At the time, she demurred, but a couple of years later, I received word that she had reconsidered, that the time had come, and if I wanted it it was mine.

Adam, Mike and I made arrangements to be there over a weekend, to dismantle the layout and to bring it to its new home to Virginia.  On arriving, they were as awestruck as I had always been at being admitted to the holy-of-holies, the basement with the train set; it was a glimpse into a level of craftsmanship that no longer exists.  Aunt Doris was gracious as always, and we were careful to respect how difficult a decision it must have been.  We took her out to dinner the first evening to a nearby Chinese buffet she enjoyed.  It was there that her wit was on display: at one point Adam made some remark about whether this buffet was where all her gentleman callers brought her.  She chortled and said that at her age, “the men are all like spaces in a parking lot.  All the good ones are taken; all that’s left are the handicapped.”

I drove up to the funeral on Thursday, May 24, leaving the house at 5am and made it to the Ashton Funeral Home in Easton six minutes before the 10am service. The dark woodwork, the faded Pennsylvania Dutch designs in the ceiling—nothing had changed since the last time I was there, my grandfather’s funeral months before David’s birth.  It was one of the quickest services I had ever seen: perhaps thirty minutes, then filing past the casket to our cars for the drive to the cemetery.  Intriguingly, many references to the need of the living to forgive the departed; I clearly had no idea about the extent of the feelings between her and her son from her first marriage.

Aunt Doris was buried in the same cemetery as the rest of my relatives, the Northampton Shrine in Palmer, right next to Albert.  Again, a very rapid graveside service, after which I wandered around looking for relatives.  Easily did I find Elmer and Helen Kleppinger; with more difficulty the Harry and Agnes Smith gravesite, at the foot of William and Laura, Harry’s parents.  It’s a lovely space to spend and eternity. Before I left, though, I saw how quickly Aunt Doris’ funeral had truly been: the dump truck was already filling in the hole with dirt.  I had to chuckle as they tucked her in one last time.

The day left me once again acutely aware of mortality; both my own status as the eldest Kleppinger I know, and also since Mary and I have made no arrangements whatsoever for our own place to spend eternity together.  It was in a rather grey mood that I returned to Virginia that afternoon.