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.
Anne Stearns Pardun says
Bless you George Merrill, bless you for these words and your uncompromising honesty in facing this last lap. Bless Jo too, who has been beside you all the way. May your journey be as pain free as possible. Know that many of us hold you in the light of Love!!
Sheilah Egan says
I am grateful that you are continuing to write so honestly and openly as you make this part of your earthly journey.
It has provided me with a new perspective and a more honest approach to facing “last laps”for several people in my life. . . As well as a deeper look at my own future.
Thank you
Lee DZmura says
Thank you
Christina Mills says
George Merrill,
We send our best wishes to you in your heroic acceptance, with many thanks for your inspiring, memorable words along the way.
Lad and Tina Mills
Liz Freedlander says
George,
You have turned your journey into Grace by inviting us to go along with you. It is an incomparable gift. Thank you Jo and George. With deepest affection.
Delpha says
Dear George and Jo. My love to you both. You’re in my heart.
Diane DuBois Mullaly says
Thank you and bless you, George and Jo.
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.
Michael Tooke says
You’ve opened the door to hospice for many who will follow you. Thank you. I wish you peace and comfort in your last lap.
Sue Grant says
What a beautiful well written thoughtful message. May this journey exceed your expectations and bring you comfort and peace-
Suzanne Brannegan says
You are an inspiration to so many…thank you for sharing with us during this difficult time….you are in my heart.
Carol Parlett says
Thank you for your honesty and your courage! May your journey be peaceful and serene.
Brian H. Childs says
Jo and George. Te Deum.
Lauren Bogue says
Thinking of you and Jo as you finish the race! Lauren
Marg iovino says
This is very distressing because it would seem to mean we are losing you. This community does not want to let go of you.
Cheryl Kramer says
Thank you! How brave of you to continue to write about your true feelings throughout this journey. I wish you peace.
robin stricoff says
May compassion, peace and comfort accompany you on your last lap.
Thank you for your many gifts.
Ellen Villa says
Wishing you a sense of peace and serenity. You are a brave person and so very generous to share your journey.
Janet Larson says
I have read you George from start to finish, watch daily for your next piece, get anxious when I don’t see it for a bit, and always forward to my closest friends and family when you post. George, you put into words what I could hardly understand under duress nor describe until now. That is, you put in perspective my experience with my mother’s similar process. As well for friends, for the hospice patients and families I’ve witnessed as a hospice volunteer, and (selfishly, but come on not!) for me down the road as I am trying to understand the big transition. I hope to be aware and hopefully, though doubtfully, be less fearful when it comes my way. That’s the hard part–we don’t get a primer on this, there are no instructions, and as a caregiver I wish I’d known more when it was my job to hold the hand. While I can make excuses like, “it was a difficult time”, “I was exhausted”, “My heart was breaking and I was running into furniture”, in retrospect I felt like I could, should have done better. Until you! You are helping us all. It is so generous for you to share this gift of illuminating, putting into words the struggle, the process you are going through now. And PS you are just a brilliant writer!!! I’ve never read anything that is so pointed, honest, and has touched my heart so deeply as your work. Thank you is not enough.
Scott Smith says
George:
Thank you for sharing your life with us. Writers and other artists achieve a form of immortality in their work, and in your case, in your words (and photos). I hope we meet again in some form or another – you may recognize me as a younger brother. I’ve enjoyed sharing small parts of the journey with you, and I trust your journey will lead you home. Peace, friend! Scott
Meg van den Berg says
All the blessings of Easter to you and Jo. The stories of your health journey and reflections on questions of mortality have sparked a new awareness and many deep conversations, a gift beyond measure. Thank you. It seems to this reader that while your body has weakened, your spirit has strengthened. May that strength bring grace and peace to you and Jo for the last lap.
Patricia Agnew says
I absolutely love you George & Jo-I hope you know you also meant the world to my father & just being with you helped him immensely ..XoxoPatty
Mary Hunt-Miller says
God Bless you George and thank you for these words of inspiration leading us on our human journeys. May your journey be free of pain and strife.
Hilary Klein says
Blessings to you both on sharing your journey with us. It reminds me of a similar one Dan and I took 20 years ago. He died on Shrove Tuesday and a day or so before he said this was the hardest thing I have ever done. Peace and comfort be with you and family in the coming days.
Marian says
You have given us so much to reflect on since we all will run that final lap. We can lean on your words for the help we’ll all need at that time. Your most powerful story for me was about the uncle who didn’t seem able to accept the limitations of aging but clung to his images of his past. I can use that story as a reminder of learning to “let go” and learn to accept the inevitable as you have done. Such a gift you’ve given us, thank you.
Elizabeth Fisher says
With tears in my eyes I write this. As my own mother descends into dementia, not wanting to accept her limited circumstances, I have just read George’s final article of the ultimate acceptance. What a gift his essays have been. I wish the best for his wife and family as they face life without him.
Deborah Bridges says
God bless you George. Thank you for your wisdom and your appreciation of the earth’s beauty, and your ability to share it with l of us. May God’s peace be with you Jo. We will all miss him so much!
Scott Sullivan says
Such an eloquent expression of your spiritual grace.
Amelia Steward says
George:
We will miss your wise words. I have always loved and revered your writing – your spiritual pondering has always inspired and challenged me. Thank you for sharing your last days with us in such a beautiful way. And most of all thanks for being a friend and writing colleague. Godspeed my friend.
Kitty Allen says
My husband died on Maundy Thursday 1987, so I, like you, Jo, will never travel through Holy Week again the same way as before. My daughter, who lives in Easton, has linked me to George’s posts reconnecting us since our paths at Grace Church Baltimore diverged. His writings, his photographs are lasting memories. So many of us have been blessed.
Patricia Reynolds says
My Heart ached as I read this, George’s last essay…..and the journey is now over, leaving us Easter Sunday…..You have shared this journey with dignity and love, we will miss you and now we keep you in our heart….
Trish
Dee Rein says
Jo, May you know the comfort of so many caring people in our community.
One of them
Eugene William Stetson III says
George’s words are beautiful, and I am sure, healing for you, cousin Jo. I am touched that he mentioned my dear father.
Much love,
Bill
Stacy Fox says
George you will undoubtedly be missed by many. I loved Reading the last lap. I can hear you speaking it.
I am so happy I had the honor of meeting you.
Thank you for all of a us to know and learn from your heart.
Bill F. Todd says
Jo, Joy and I wish you the best in the time ahead as you transition to a different life. Fortunately, you have family and friends to offer comfort along the path ahead.
George’s finally essay leaves us much to think about . We are happy for him that his last essays will be published along with your art. That would be comforting to both in the time ahead.
Love you always, Joy and Bill Todd