Figure. Dr. Ben Merrick in May 1999, on his 86th birthday. Photo contributed by Letha Merrick.

Hey, Ben:

Mother asked me to deliver the eulogy at your memorial service tomorrow. Yours is going to be my first, and I only know that a eulogy is oral or written praise. As best as I can recall from those that I've heard, I'm supposed to praise the essence of you in 10 minutes or so. Ben, your essence can't be entirely praised in 10 minutes. . . .

As I look around the room I feel you with me. On top of your desk and file cabinet are the pictures of your grandchildren and great-grandchild. Should I tell those folks how much your grandchildren all loved you? Oh, how they all love you. They have been with me today, laughing, crying, and sharing stories of how you spent time with them, telling them stories you had gathered in your readings and travels, guiding them to the wonders of the creek where plants grew, birds nested, and fish swam and where stones could be hurled from a specially designed sling shot and all could be seen close up with a telescope. You have a special way with children, Ben. . . .

Ben, how could anyone have so many interests, keep up with so many things, and still go at the speed you did until you were 86? Except for this recent illness which took you from us, you never seemed or acted your age. I know. I'll tell them how much you enjoyed family history, Baylor hospital history, plants and gardening, fishing, travel, sports, your church, people in general, and oh, a little medicine on the side. People of all ages enjoyed your company and loved to listen to the stories of life that you would share with them. They were as interested in you as you were in them because of your limitless desire to give of yourself.

Maybe I should tell them about the pictures that surround me in this study. On the wall to the right of me, there is a map of the United States and Texas on one corner and Czechoslovakia on the other. You had an insatiable desire to learn about your family's history. . . .

Around the wall there is another picture of you in your army medical uniform. You served in North Africa and in Italy at Anzio where some of the bloodiest fighting in World War II took place and finished the war in Germany. You are part of the “greatest generation” which Tom Brokaw described in his book. I never told you, Ben, but thank you, for myself and for my children. I hope that they will in time appreciate the sacrifice.

After the war, you returned to Dallas, and I know there were happy times for you with Hattie and eventually your daughters, Celia and Patty. I know that you suffered terribly from the loss of your loving Hattie and from Patty's premature death.

Finally, Ben, right in front of me there are several cards from various doctors. . . . I won't need to tell many of the people that will be out there tomorrow about what a great doctor you are. They know. . . .

Well, Ben, I'm now in your church with a congregation of family and friends gathered together here to celebrate your life. This is a very comfortable place for me. . . . It has been 20 years since I walked Mom down the aisle and with Melissa and Abby celebrated your marriage.

I'm standing at the lectern looking down at the faces of so many people, Ben. Some are weeping and some are smiling, but I believe that all are feeling the same joy of their special memories of you. . . . We are better persons for having known you. . . .