I learned recently that it was doubtful that continuing medical treatment would prolong my life. It was hard to hear but no surprise.
My wife, Jo, and I have made a deliberate project of tending my illness and preparing for my death. Time seems shorter. The great grief is upon us. We are in the remaining stages of embracing the reality that upcoming bumps in the road present.
Many of you who have read my columns have commented on how helpful you’ve found them. I’m pleased about that. I’ve written only what I have experienced in the hope that by candidly sharing some of what’s happened to us and the thoughts I’ve had about it, this might be of help to others who grapple, not only with mortality, but those myriad losses that plague us through life. Reading the posted comments has kept my spirit buoyed at a time when it goes up and down like a yoyo.
I have no advice to give. I say that because this whole business has been a first for me and I can’t say I know that much. Well, some, I guess. My work with others as a priest, therapist, and spiritual guide, even as a hospice chaplain has informed me some. However, that was with others. There’s a huge difference between knowing about something and understanding it for yourself. As I live into dying, I understand life more clearly, particularly love, the power of human and divine presence, and the blessing of community.
I’ve been both delighted and surprised about discovering more of my heart in the process. It’s been a good heart for the most part, but like the Grinch, three sizes too small. My spiritual heart has kept me going for 87 plus years. I’ve related to my spiritual heart more as a casual but dependable acquaintance rather than an intimate friend, a friend much too selective in his openness. In the spiritual life, an enlarged heart is the only way to go; absolutely guaranteed to keep the spirit vibrant and resilient while maintaining the soul in peak condition; my heart stays in top form when it’s curious about others, wanting only the best for them, having others gently on my mind including some whom I really don’t like . . . that’s been one of the perks of this stage in my life.
Giving up old claims is like traveling without baggage. Death makes it clear that I’m always welcome but can’t bring anything with me. Just as I am; those are the house rules.
I’ve experienced love in its several iterations and enjoyed them all. I imagine most of us are launched into the experience of love by our first romantic relationships. They are lovely. In young love, never will the sky seem as blue, the clouds so white and the flowers so vibrant. Definitely a great way to get started but, unfortunately, romantic love is notoriously fragile. But of course, we have to start somewhere.
Most of us love our parents but we really don’t know them. Mine spoke little of how they felt or thought about relatives, friends or even the state of the world. So much of what I remember is mostly circumstantial. I never recall they ever revealed any curiosity or discussed what they felt even about the political affairs of the time when we were about to enter WWII. This is why I feel so passionately about letting my children know how I feel about my life in general and specifically my present situation. I want to go out with them knowing more than they may want to. Better that way than knowing too little. I noticed that when my parents were long gone I slowly understood them better through memories I assembled like scattered pieces of a jig saw puzzle. It was hard work. Strangely I grew to love them more deeply than I did when I knew them only through the eyes of my needs. This maturation of love, like wine, reaches its best bouquet with time.
I say I love certain things and I do; the pleasures of darkroom photography or sailing, the smell of pines, watching dipper ducks that vanish under and then reappear on top of the water, writing essays and a good martini ice cold with two olives.
As time grows shorter, I’m more acutely aware of the presence in the many people of my life who, by their presence, have sated my spiritual hungers. I’d put it this way: I’ve dealt with others kindly. I know I had a need to be a good guy. The hint of posturing lingered doggedly in my relationships. I don’t need that anymore. I understand love and presence, not as an exchange of needs or being mutually entertaining, but as the universal tissue of our human and divine connection. I know the pleasure offered and received by being there as others have been there for me. Love is wanting everything good for people who come into my presence, even some I’ve never seen. This describes love as I’ve come to know it.
When I consider love now in reflection, I understand it differently. Maybe not love as necessarily a tender feeling –– although that may often be there –– but as a deepening appreciation of the presence that another brings to my life. Their presence makes me feel safe and releases a kind of a soft energy in my soul, as if being infused with ambient light glowing somewhere in the core of my being. This presence communicates to me what Julian of Norwich, the Christian mystic once wrote centuries ago when she said that it was given to her to understand that “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”
Columnist George Merrill is an Episcopal Church priest and pastoral psychotherapist. A writer and photographer, he’s authored two books on spirituality: Reflections: Psychological and Spiritual Images of the Heart and 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.
Kristen Greenaway says
Thank you, George. You and Jo are deeply appreciated.
Eugenie Drayton says
I read tbis to Dot as we were headed to CC St Michaels for their concert. Wonderfully put. Thank you
Howard Freedlander says
You have blessed the lives of many. Your words, your phrasing and your authenticity are magical and mesmerizing. We’re all part, thankfully, of your web of relationships and loving nature. Thank you, George.
Susan Kemp says
THANK YOU1
Dick Deerin says
Martinis have miraculous healing powers. Thanks for sharing this. God be with you.
Carol chisholm says
At my age, I am so grateful to find fellow travelers willing to discuss the hard topics. This was excellent and kind. God is there for us always, as you know, and the love he has lavished on me is often unbelievable. I wish you joy in your continuing journey!
Annabel Lesher says
Thank you for the classes you led for ALL on various topics of thought and analysis. I frequently think back on those, and wish I could remember more of what I learned and what we discussed. You have been a valuable asset to me and, I suspect, to many others in that role. Thank you for being there. I do not have your email, or I would have written this directly to you.
Clare kettell says
George, I just read ur very poignant. & touching article in the Spy. It seems to be the way to stay with u in ur journey. I don’t want to bother u or Jo with calls, letters or emails but want u to know that I am with u as u continue ur journey. You’ve been a good friend & inspiration through the years.
Thomas kicklighter says
Beyond beautiful.
Thank you for sharing.
Lyn Banghart says
“As I live into dying, I understand life more clearly, particularly love, the power of human and divine presence, and the blessing of community”.
This pretty much says it all, George. You are a special human being! Thank you for being here and making others lives better.
With great love, Lyn
Al Sikes says
George, Blessings, that is the message—our greatness gift! Al
Corrie James says
Dear George, Your words are strong and beautiful and remind and encourage the reader to believe in powerful, strong and never failing love. Thank you and may God Bless You .
Katherine Herbert says
Thank you for sharing your beautifully expressed thoughts …you give great HOPE….THAT IF YOU CAN SEE IT THROUGH…… PERHAPS, I TOO!
Michael Tooke says
You have given so much during your life, but perhaps not more than you are giving us now. My hope is that your readers will also find the grace to treasure each final day with love and not fear.
Samantha McCall says
Wow! What a potent essay, George. Indeed it’s one of your very best! My heart aches that your journey on earth is coming to a close but it is lightened knowing you know what you know. To be aware of where you are on this path, approaching the last exit on the highway of life, and with such mindfulness and exquisite prose, is a gift to all who are fortunate enough to read this. I’m printing this out for sure as I know I will need to read it again and again.
Bravo for your courage to speak aloud in a public forum on a topic few discuss with any intimacy. Death comes to us all so why are we so reluctant to not talk about it?
Big, heartfelt blessings to both you and Jo, with fondest memories of your photography and spiritual mentorship with Tom. All the best, Samantha
Marty Sikes says
Beautiful!! Thank you for sharing your heart.
susan e delean-botkin says
Thank you for sharing, George. May you have peace and even more love. And if it is all right with you, I would like to copy this beautiful love letter of the soul to share with others.
Sally Woodall says
I am a George Merrill groupie. I eagerly sought his column in The Star Democrat for years, and I realized that the personal essay was what I also loved to write. When I saw that he was presenting at the annual Eastern Shore Writers’ Association conference, I wasted no time in signing up, and I went to every one of his workshops. He proved to be accessible, forthcoming, gracious… and I’m tryng to remember if there was any hint of posturing. I don’t think so.
In subsequent years, any time our paths crossed, he asked, “Are you still writing?” I usually was, but the year I told him that I wasn’t, he urged me to get back to it. “You should,” he said. It’s not that he ever read anything I wrote, but he knew so well how writing enriched his own life. So, thank you, George Merrill.
Sheryl Southwick says
Thank you, George.
Tom McCall says
Go in peace. We share a fascination with light and black and white photography. You have helped me to see more deeply into a print. You have even helped me out of a couple of photographic jams. For that I am grateful. Lots of love.
KAY H MEYER says
Amen and Amen and Amen! Much love and many prayers for you and your Jo.
Chloe Riven says
George, this is a beautiful and incredibly touching piece of writing. I am blessed to have you and Jo in my life! Sending loads of love, hugs and prayers. ❤️
Brian Childs says
Te Deum
Mary Hunt-Miller says
Dear George,
You touched my heart when I took your course through ALL. You are again touching my heart and teaching me through your beautiful writing about what we all must go through. I hope the knowledge of how much you have enhanced the lives of those you came into contact with will comfort you and ease you on your path. I am very grateful for your willingness to share your soul and your journey. God bless!
Mary
Noelle FilionPowell says
“We are all just walking each other home” Ram Dass
Thank you for sharing your take on living into dying. May the calming love and still presence be always with you. I know just a glimpse of your heart but I love someone who knows much more of it. Love and peace to you and Jo.
Fondly, Noelle
Scott Smith says
George: thank you for being authentic. Peace. Scott
Al Sikes says
George, let me add the words of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: “Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of God with us. There lies the land of song; there lies the poet’s native land.”
Amy Kimball says
Thank you George. Your words will stay with me.
Anne Stearns Pardun says
You have such a gift George Merrill for casting a light on the corners of your soul. Your words and your courage in facing your mortality provide a clarity and such beauty to those of us blessed to read your words. Reading this opened me up to feel both the joy of life and the grief in its passing. I thank you for your vulnerability and for showing us the path you travel! Sending you love and light…
Jim Richardson says
Dear George,
As I was sitting in my car this morning waiting my turn to be let in the local Jiffylube, I came across your essay in the Spy. So one thing I did before writing this was to read all the thoughtful replies at the end; I counted twenty-seven not including mine, more total words in the replies, I imagine, than your own piece of extraordinary writing.
I remember years ago you asked me if you could take a picture of me jogging along the road to be used for an illustration for one of your essays. That was a long time ago; (I stopped running before I reached my seventieth birthday.)
I now wonder what was the subject of that essay. Could it have been about the journeys we all are on – the journeys of our lives? I’d like to think so. And although a devoted walker now, I still consider myself jogging through life.
Every runner needs a few rest stations along the way for nourishment and encouragement, like taking my car into Jiffylube this morning for an oil change. You are one of my rest stops and for countless others by the look of things. Thank you for being there for me, and for being one of my mentors all these years. Peace.
Liz Freedlander says
You have helped so many “be well,” George. And I hear true wellness in you through your words. It makes my heart glad and grateful that this is where you are in your spirit.