A Man Named Mervil

Hi farm friends, I am writing with a sad heart this week. This is a difficult time of year for my family and me.  I am one of those fortunate people who grew up with two wonderful, loving parents named Mervil and Dreama. Unusual names for two unique people. When I look back on my childhood it was filled with love and security. I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to grow up in a home where I didn’t have two attentive parents and I am eternally grateful. Tomorrow is the fourth anniversary of my dad’s passing. In honor of his life, love and memory, I want to share a little bit about him with you.

Daddy on the left, his brother’s and sister beside him

As I mentioned earlier, my dad’s name is Mervil Perry. Born in Mingo County W.Va to a coal mining family, his unusual name can be traced to a prisoner of war who served in World War I, according to my grandmother. Also, Mingo County is the home county of the infamous Hatfield’s of the Hatfield and McCoy feud. My dad had eight siblings, but lost two of them early in life, just two days apart. They raised gardens, chickens, pigs and had a cellar and smoke house. He grew up loved and with wonderful childhood memories of his own. His parents made sure they sent their kids to college and my dad, as well as most of his brothers and sisters, became a school teacher.

Daddy in his 20s
He met my mom in college and they married and had two girls--my sister Anna and I. Life was good--pretty much always. Daddy had a big personality and always entered a room with a smile and booming voice. He was my hero, softball coach, teacher, biggest fan, role model and disciplinarian. I remember as a small girl walking to the bank with him one day and the lady at the bank called him “honey.” I didn’t like that one bit and I promptly let her know “he is not your honey.” He got a big kick out of that and so did my mom. 

Daddy and his girls

Dad, Mom and their 3 grandsons

About nine years ago he was diagnosed with colon cancer-stage V--the worst case, the awful kind. This was not a man who didn’t have good medical care. He did. He had gone regularly for his colonoscopies as prescribed for men over fifty. As a matter of fact, he had a colonoscopy one year prior to the cancer diagnosis and was given a clean bill of health--which wasn’t really the case. They missed the lumps in his colon. One year later he was at the last stage.

He was a strong man and a fighter. He had three young grandsons and wasn’t going to go easily. He went to Memorial Sloan-Kettering in New York for major surgery. He was on chemotherapy and for the next five years fought the "Big C" with everything in him including experimental therapy at Duke. However, after a few experimental trials, which were no longer working, he sat us down and said he wasn’t going to do anything else.

Our immediate family one summer

In 2006, we had a great Thanksgiving and Christmas. We were thrilled. He seemed to be eating better and taking everything in. Still, we felt as if he knew he was spending his last holiday on earth. A week later we would start to believe and know it, as well. After the new year, daddy quickly went down hill. One morning my mom called and said he couldn’t get out of bed. Richie and I went immediately to help and get him up. I knew that day the cancer had spread to his brain. He knew what he wanted to do, but was unable to make his body do it.

My sister and I went to kiss him goodnight on the evening of the 17th and we both looked at each other in horror. Both in the medical field, we knew his labored breathing meant he was dying. His family came quickly and we all surrounded him through the night. We sang hymns he liked and rubbed his hair to comfort him. He knew we were all there to see him go. My husband tells the story of watching tears falling down his cheeks as my sister, mama, and I got on his bed, clutching him, telling him how much we love him.

In the early morning of January 18th, he left us. It was the hardest day of my life. My sister, mom and all our family will always live with a void in our hearts and lives--forever missing his booming voice, his large presence, his grandiose generosity--him.

He was an incredible man, and I wanted you to know a little bit about him today.

Mervil C. Perry 1938-2007