On aging: Daybreak breaks hope, even in the toughest of personal times

This is a commentary by Mark Murphy, a local author and physician. He is a longtime contributor to the Savannah Morning News.

This is not the column I expected to write.

On the heels of the Georgia Bulldogs’ annihilation of TCU in college football’s national championship game, I began a piece delineating the ascension of my alma mater to the pinnacle of college football. But then a tragic automobile accident claimed the lives of football player Devin Willock and Georgia football staffer Chandler LeCroy. Suddenly, the celebratory tone of that article rang hollow, and I never finished it.

A series of family crises had boiled over in our household during the past month. Jerry Dillon, my mother-in-law, was hospitalized in late November after she fractured her back in a fall. Larry Dillon, my brother-in-law, died on Dec. 15 of complications from chemotherapy he received for bladder cancer. And on the day after Christmas, my father, retired surgeon Jack Murphy, was hospitalized at St. Joseph’s for an out-of-control cellulitis of the left leg.

It was enough to give anyone pause.

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As I write this, it’s early Sunday morning. The world outside is still dark, everyone else is asleep, and there’s a pervasive chill in the air. If ghosts exist, this is the hour they’d be about.

I’ll admit this much: Despite my medical training, which is deeply rooted in the data-driven mindset of science, I have an almost Victorian sensibility about the supernatural and the mysterious. I once wrote an article about my father-in-law’s ghost haunting the Sixpence Pub, which he used to own. I visited the Sixpence once with an open mind, almost wanting the ghost legend to be true—a validation that we really don’t know everything, that there’s still room in the margins of the hard-boiled universe we live in for the things we cannot explain.

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My father-in-law’s spirit didn’t make an appearance that day. I suspect that his “haunting” of Sixpence is the by-product of a convenient legend, a mythological construct which ultimately helps sell more beer.

Still, my medical training has shown me that there are things we don’t know. During over 30 years of medical practice, I’ve witnessed numerous events which defied logical explanation. Indeed, the very idea that a handful of dust could somehow become animated and form individual cells which then aggregate into a functioning sentient creature with hopes and dreams is itself a miracle.

There’s God to reckon with, too. After all, I was raised Baptist.

But instead of ghosts, I find myself dealing with the harsh reality of time.

The fragility of the human body

Neil Young once wrote that “rust never sleeps.” It’s true. Human beings are fragile creatures. Gravity and osteoporosis take an inexorable toll on our bones. Sunlight corrupts our skin. Aggregated damage gradually wears us down and we all eventually erode away, our bodies wearing out.

Jack Murphy was a raw-boned farm boy. Back in the 1940’s, he built a split-rail fence across his family’s property in North Georgia. That fence, although weather-beaten, still stands. He grew up poor, raised by parents whose ambitions did not include a college education — and yet he persevered, parlaying his drive and intellect into a medical career that made him an Army surgeon during the Vietnam War, culminating in his being named chief of staff at both St. Joseph’s Hospital and Candler.

His work did not go unrecognized. In 2006, he was given a Healthcare Heroes Award by the Georgia Medical Society for his contributions to the health care community of coastal Georgia.

Jerry Dillon taught elementary schoolchildren in Savannah’s public and private schools for 46 years. She persevered ever after her husband, the love of her life, died at 50. Jerry was selected as the very first Chatham County Teacher of the Year over 30 years ago.

My dad, who was nicknamed “Happy Jack,” will turn 86 this year. His mind is still sharp, but the years have taken a toll on his body. It’s been a bitter pill for him to swallow. My mother-in-law, at 92, is wrestling with the orthopedic limitations imposed by nearly a century-long tussle with gravity.

'A small measure of immortality'

Still, the legacies of Jack Murphy and Jerry Dillon will not be constructed upon any material foundation. Instead, their legacies are built upon elements which transcend the mortal plane: Love, family, and the many tangible things they’ve each given back to society. In that sense, although their bodies are not as strong as they once were, they both will have a small measure of immortality.

As I write this, the first rays of sunrise are igniting the horizon’s edge, burning away any stray ghosts which may remain. With the new day comes new hope: Hope for a better tomorrow. Hope for lasting peace in the world. Hope that somehow, someday, someone will remember a kind word I’ve said, or a favor I’ve done them, and smile.

At daybreak, that’s enough for me.

This article originally appeared on Savannah Morning News: Daybreak brings hope when old age robs man of his strength, mobility