Editor’s Note: George Merrill passed away in the late hours of Easton Sunday yesterday.
We made a significant decision on Monday. I was admitted to the hospice program. This decision was not made without mixed feelings.
I could enjoy all their services at home––and could drop the program any time I wished. There is one caveat: I would have to surrender all present medical interventions designed to cure or sustain my life. The trade-off is I’d be offered a variety of services and individual support comforts for the symptoms plaguing a declining body. Our decision came perhaps more abruptly than I may have wished.
Several months after my diagnosis last April, it became clear that the chemotherapy would not work to stop the disease process. I entered a regiment of supportive medical interventions with various antibiotics and other meds including weekly infusions of blood and platelets. Since December, this regimen kept me functional and feeling reasonably good.
Last week my energy level dropped lower than my socks. I slept a lot. I didn’t write for four days, unprecedented for me. I was not able to make it to blood tests at the hematologist’s office because I simply had no energy for stairs, getting into car and traveling to Easton. The handwriting was on the wall.
It was a good decision, but not without a feeling kicked up when we made the commitment. I thought as though for nine months I had been running a marathon – running for my life. I knew there was a finish line up yonder somewhere but how far and how long would it take to cross it remained vague. A silly thought really, since the finish line has never been established for anyone, and in this kind of marathon I basically run until I drop.
This decision to elect hospice was with the tacit understanding this was the final lap, no turning back. You go to die but with all kinds of services that can turn the agonies of physical and psycho spiritual dying into a merciful process. People may decide to get off the program with no questions asked. I think generally, though, the understanding by signing on is a commitment to the whole nine yards. I would now run without any of the life sustaining measures and finish the race just as I am. A variety of professional services are available to us 24/7.
I had two feelings the moment we made the decision. I felt as if I were a child again. I had been riding my bike with training wheels. Now they were removed, and I was asked to pedal without any medical safety net that I enjoyed over the last nine months. This was a “look, no hands, Mom,” and maybe to stretch the metaphor shamelessly, Mom could not do anything to dictate my course anymore. If I got hurt along the way, hospice, like mom, was nearby to help and comfort when the inevitable falls occur.
I do feel lost as if in a strange neighborhood and my senses are going to high alert, anxious to find some familiar bearing.
A friend once said to me that he was not afraid of dying just he didn’t want to sign up for it, as if his signature was going to make anything happen. Acknowledging we’re on the last lap awakens a feeling of inexorability.
I believe I have shared my thoughts about mortality as honestly as I was able at the time. Looking back, I was not always able.
It was made clear to me when I got my diagnosis I was not going to be cured. I was pretty sure I had embraced that reality as best I could.
If you are anything like I am, my experience with doctors is twofold: I bring my complaint to the physician to be cured and I expect 90% of the time he/she assists in making that happen. One positive visit reinforces the next so I grow confident that doctors can restore broken bodies. When doctors can’t, a new mindset gets mobilized. If a doctor can’t, who can?
Years ago, I had a car mechanic who looked just like Fonzie (of TV repute). He issued pencils to all his customers with the inscription: ‘If I can’t fix it, junk it.’ A scary thought when it comes to my own body. How long can I remain kindly disposed to this body if nobody can fix it? It’s not uncommon to see along our country roads, a small family plot where kin our interred in the same yard and old junks just sitting there. Out of mind, maybe, but not out of sight.
My wife had an uncle whom I idolized. He was a tall, stately looking man with a craggy face, suntanned from years on the water. He had been naval officer during the Normandy invasion. He radiated a masculine charm. It was hard not to listen when he spoke at the table. His voice was mellifluous. We were having dinner with him one evening when he was in his 80’s. He rose from the table stumbled slightly, and his handsome face turned dark with self-contempt. He said, “What an appalling spectacle.” I never forgot the incident.
I assume that our uncle was not ready to accept the limitations that age was imposing upon him. He resented, even loathed, how he’d become as he clung to his image from the past.
I’m not sure who said freedom is living within limits, but I like the thought. I am now living in cramped psychic quarters, limited physical access, a world reduced dramatically while running the last lap, to an uncertain finish.
Our decision to join the hospice program occurred at the beginning of Holy Week. This is Christianity’s time of somber reflection on suffering and death, and what this means for the relationship between our humanity and God’s divinity. In Christian liturgy, Christ’s resurrection is the center of the celebration. In one way of looking at it, Holy Week is the “last lap,” and Jesus Resurrection is the finish line. I did not think of this consciously at the time, but on reflection I think it’s one more instance how the great dramas in religious spirituality become templates for the way we live our lives daily.
Columnist George Merrill is an Episcopal priest and pastoral psychotherapist. A writer and photographer, he’s authored two books on spirituality including The Bay of the Mother of God: A Yankee Discovers the Chesapeake Bay. He is a native New Yorker, previously directing counseling services in Hartford, Connecticut, and in Baltimore. George’s essays, some award winning, have appeared in regional magazines and are broadcast twice monthly on Delmarva Public Radio.
Jamie Kirkpatrick says
Dear George,
Thank you. With you every step of the way.
Jamie
Bettye Walters says
I wish for you peace and God’s grace.
Edith Foley says
Bless you for sharing- it is such a help.
It give me strength, may you know that you are loved.
Wilson Wyatt says
To George: As I read your piece “The Last Lap,” I am reminded of your ultimate spiritual generosity toward others. What better way to touch fellow human beings in a meaningful way than to take us on your final journey, told with grace and dignity. You have certainly provided validity to the old saying “everyone has a story to tell,” and few can tell it as well. All those efforts of yours to provide clarity with pen and paper are helping so many others who are struggling in their last chapter of life…seeking purpose or seeking peace. One beauty of writing is its innate telepathy; your words will touch others for many years to come. Thank you for your gift, my friend.
Alexa Fry says
You must know that many of us are thankful for your sharing and education of the journey we all take is a huge, huge gift. Thank you.
Vic Pfeiffer says
Your ability and generosity to help us understand the human condition – life, death, frailties and all – has been a treasure. I wish for you a second wind on this last lap and a kick finish.
Carol Schroeder says
Dear George, You and I had lunch together in Easton a few years ago so I could show you what a hazelnut looked like. I had mentioned somewhere online that I picked up a hazelnut when I visited Dame Julian of Norwich’s cell in Norwich, England. We had never met each other and yet your sense of life’s fun allowed us to meet and talk of several things, including Julian. Either your previous piece or the one before it mentioned the saying “All shall be well….” At this point I am hoping that, if you hang on to those words of encouragement, then indeed all things will be well, especially as you are well loved. I have looked back on that lunch many times and am so glad you reached out and asked me to lunch with you. For this next life challenge remember that, as Julian wrote,“Ultimately we shall see God face-to-face, and he will be completely familiar when we meet Him.”
May God continue to bless you as I know he will. Carol Schroeder
Carol Casey says
When my time comes, as it does for us all, I hope I face my last lap with the grace that you have.
Leonora Wait says
Thank you for your gentle messages. Your words are of great comfort to so many.
Paula Reeder says
You are a good, thoughtful man, full of grace, George. I am holding you in the light. Peace be with you.
Douglas C. Maloney says
What a wonderful meditation. Thank you and God bless you.
Diane Shields says
Thank you for your writings – from your heart and soul and spirit. I have appreciated them for quite a while, and especially during this past year.
Peace be with you.
Billie Carroll says
Mr./Rev. Merrill,
Your writings have been inspiring to many and have been written with such openess that many of your readers such as myself feel we know you personally. Thank you for sharing with such honesty.
I wish you peace and comfort on your last lap and the same to your family.
Debbie Brown says
Dear George,
I have followed your writings for several years and thank you for your honesty in sharing this journey with all your readers. God Bless.
Beryl Smith says
George, this may be your last lap but for many of your readers I suspect memories will live on and the wonder you wrote about in your life will make each of us more aware of the beauty of the world around us. Thank you for the years of your thoughts and carrying each of us through to the ultimate end.
Deborah Piez says
Dear George, God bless you and keep you.
Thank you for your generosity of words during your dying days, and the thoughtful and loving way you drew us in to hear the real Truth of your experience. It means so much to me ,and I am sure for so many.
I will miss you and your musings.
Its gonna be better than OK for you. I really believe that. And that the spirit/soul lives on, truly
Love to you always,
Deb
Edmund Cowan says
Look at your journey as your last great adventure in this life. Like leaving home, first job, marriage parenthood etc a necessary step to understanding life and yourself. We all hope there is something beyond. I hope to see my recently lost favorite dogfriend when I die. But if not, I will complete the last necessary step to understanding life’s meaning and value. My process is slower but just as sure and, it’s getting closer. I’m ready!
Sally Patterson says
I can only believe that our grief and pain are about to overwhelm this portal. I am so grateful that you will capture his essays. My pain at the loss of this man I never knew is immense. My love and affection to all who loved him. His strength is a gift to us all.
Michael McDowell says
RIP, George. When my son was killed almost three years ago, I read something which really spoke to me in a column of yours. I reached out and we had lunch in Easton at least a couple of times. You gave me a lot of wise advice and comfort. God bless you.
Paula Reeder says
I was very saddened to learn that our veritable angel on earth has departed to meet his maker face to face. Dominus vobiscum, George, et cum spiritu tuo. You are much loved and will be greatly missed.
Cudos to Jo and Dave for joining forces to publish George’s marvelous essays and keep his voice alive to be shared with and deeply appreciated by many far and wide in the days and years ahead.
Frances Miller says
George, you will be sorely missed. My condolences to Jo and your family. You ran your last lap with dignity, grace, & wit. Who can ask for anything more.
Holly Groff says
Gratitude and blessings are forefront for the articles you have written! Humbly I recognize your courage to continue to share your lived experiences that act as a guide. I sending you my intentions for peace, grounding and joy for the light that you are and that beckons you. Safe home!!! xo