Terri Schiavo is dead. After 13 days without food or water, the shell has finally expired. Thank God. Thank God for having the mercy, finally, to put her out of misery. That’s not to mention putting those of us who have endured the media circus out of ours. Unfortunately I don’t think we’ve heard the last of it, but at least Terri has some peace.
Right now Terri’s having a grand old party up there in Heaven with a lot of people, I would imagine; her grandparents, aunts, uncles, her childhood pets, perhaps a friend or two. I bet she’s mighty pissed at her parents, though. I know I would be.
See, I’ve made it clear to my family that they are not, under any circumstances, to keep me alive by artificial means. Maybe I’ll put it in writing, but I don’t really think I need to, since everyone in my family pretty much feels the same way. None of us want to be kept alive or to keep each other alive if it involves permanent confinement to mechanics, tubes, or wires. Maybe it’s because we’re vain or proud and have a problem with someone else feeding us or wiping our asses. Maybe it’s because we’re all chatterboxes and live in fear of not being able to talk. Maybe we’re cheap and don’t want to spend the money on all that hospital/hospice/home health/nursing home care on someone who can’t appreciate it. Maybe we don’t really like each other very much and are looking for any excuse to bump each other off. But seriously, maybe it’s because we have a security about death, security in our faith that helps us understand that the body is a vessel, leased from God, within which our souls reside – and when God decides it’s time to terminate the lease, there is no clause for renewal.
I’m not talking about paralysis or amputation or disfigurement. I’m not saying that if I should suddenly lose the ability to walk that I should be shot and sent to the glue factory, or if I lose my sight I want to be guided off the nearest cliff. What I mean is that if I cease to be me, if I am nothing but an incoherent body in a bed, my involuntary functions being artificially performed by external means, then I have no business taking up space. And who is anybody to tell me I have to stay like that?
Oh wait a second – those are the same people that can tell me whether or not I may reproduce and can tell my gay friends that their commitments to their partners aren’t “real.” Sorry, I forgot. *rolls eyes*
But I digress.
The battle continues now with what to do with Terri’s remains. Michael, the husband, wants the autopsy done one way. The parents want it another way. Both want to prove that they were right; Michael wants to remove the vilification branded upon him, the parents want to prove that her death was wrongful. The husband wants to cremate her. The parents want to bury her. For the love of God, please, someone make it STOP! Enough already! We DON'T CARE ANYMORE!
And now, as if I didn’t already dislike the Schindlers enough, we find out that they have authorized a conservative direct-mailing firm to sell a list of names of all the kind (albeit foolish) folks who sent them money during the years of their legal battle. These people can now brace for a steady stream of junk mail, solicitations, and propaganda from every right-wing nutbag group out there. Of all the underhanded, selfish things to do…what in the HELL is wrong with you, Bob and Mary Schindler?! First you keep your daughter alive, bleeding your own bank account, then you bleed the system, and then you accept financial help from strangers for your court case to continue bleeding Medicaid for all it is worth, then you lose your case, your daughter dies the merciful, peaceful death you denied her for over a decade, and now you are SELLING YOUR SUPPORTERS’ NAMES TO A MAILING LIST?!?!?! And who wants to take bets that these media whores appear on the cover of “People” magazine within a month? They probably already have interviews lined up with supermarket rags and talk show hosts from here to next century. And I haven’t even touched on the fact that the Schindlers were willing pawns in a frightening, convoluted effort by the Moral Majority to take over the country. *shudders*
So Terri’s dead, but the battle for her "legacy" continues. At least until the Pope dies.
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1 comment:
Well yeah, it's no secret that her heart attack was related to the electrolyte imbalance brought about by her eating disorder. But the point is she should have been allowed to die when she actually died, not 15 years later.
Ess Bee, we all know you are protected by the little pieces of Jesus in the caramel pecan tarts - just remember, YOU BITE IT YOU WRITE IT! :-)
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