The Elfin Blog

Yesterday I found out that Skippy’s mom passed away on Sunday evening. Scott has been a friend of mine for years. He is, in fact, one of my oldest friends. It ocurred to me that I’ve known Scott’s mom for almost as long as I’ve known Scott. And while I am most certainly saddened by my friend’s loss, I am also struck with grief at the loss of Mrs. Merrill.

Mrs. Merrill and Scott’s dad were almost like surrogate parents to me while I was in high school. It seems now, looking back, that there were times when I spent almost as much time at Scott’s house as I did my own. And always Mrs. Merrill was there. She was a very different mom than my own mother. Mrs. Merrill was kind, direct, and patient with me at all times, even when I know she questioned whether or not I was a good influence on Scott. (I occaisionally played no small role in getting Scott into hot water).

Mrs. Merrill never openly judged me, despite the fact that I would often show up at her house wearing all manner of offensive t-shirts or other decorations. When I wore a jacket with the robotic rape scene from the cover of the album Appetite for Destruction splashed across the back, she merely shook her head and sighed calmly. And even when I wore a black t-shirt emblazened with the whitty slogan Drunks Against Mad Mothers, Mrs. Merrill only asked me if I thought it was a really good idea to wear a t-shirt like that to church. When my friends and I would sneak over to Scott’s house at like two in the morning to steal the pink chicken (really a flamingo), and Scott’s dad would yell at us out the bedroom window, she never said boo about it, except to later suggest that perhaps we should not do that anymore. Now Scott’s experiences may have been very different. I’m sure he got a bit more of the stern side than I did. Still, I can’t help think that the woman had the patience of Job.

In college, Mrs. Merrill didn’t seem to mind that I was basically the reason her son had a liver the size of Michigan, or should have. She even welcomed me on a trip with her family to Scotland for crying out loud. And she never once judged me for being basically pickled the entire time I was there.

Later, after I was an adult, whenever I had occaision see Mrs. Merrill, she would engage me in real, meaningful conversation. She would ask my opinion on things. She would argue with me about issues we both found important. We would share our outrage at the corruption of certain organizations and governments. She is the only one of my friends’ parents to ever do that. She always made me feel completely welcome and at ease. And though it has been many months since I have enjoyed a good chat with Mrs. Merrill, I know I will regret not getting the chance to have just one more.

Goodbye Mrs. Merrill and thank you.