“No one’s death comes to pass
without making some impression, and those close to the deceased
inherit part of the liberated soul and become richer in their
humaneness.”
— Hermann Broch, novelist (1886-1951)
I have been wondering about the impression
Terri Schiavo’s life and death will leave on those of us
touched by her parents’ battle to keep her alive. Many people
who share their religious convictions believe that the Schindler
family is right. Others believe that Schiavo’s husband knew
that she would not want to live as she is and feel that he has the
right to let her die.
This year both of my parents were close to
death, and I faced the choice of trying to keep them alive or
letting them go. Many people make such decisions every day.
I’m willing to bet that they do not see the Schiavo case in
the black-and-white way it appears in the headlines. If you had to
pick a color to paint such moments, it would more likely be gray.
Last May my father was admitted to the hospital
with pneumonia, his third bout that year. He was in the final stage of
Parkinson’s disease, which had been diagnosed 12 years earlier.
He could no longer walk. Talking was difficult, dementia common. No
longer able to swallow properly, he aspirated food into his lungs. The
doctor spoke to my sister and me, explaining that although our dad was
very ill, the possibility existed that he could recover but the chances
were good that he’d be back in the hospital in three or four
weeks with the same thing. We could hook him to a ventilator, the
doctor said, or let the illness run its course naturally. He said that
if extreme measures weren’t taken, death would probably occur
within three days.
My father was a stubborn guy. It took 10 days
for him to pass, and we were with him constantly. After day five I
began having second — and third and fourth — thoughts
about whether we had made the right call. I believe in God, and I
prayed — a lot. With the perspective of time, I know (as well
as one can “know” about such things) that it was my
father’s time to die. Prolonging his suffering by sticking a
tube down his throat would have been wrong. But if it had been
someone else’s father and they had chosen a different course, I would never say that they
should have done as I did. Decisions such as these just aren’t
that simple.
My mother was in the same nursing home as my
father. At the time of his death, she weighed 92 pounds and was
unable to keep any food down. Major surgery was followed by a
bacterial infection. A feeding tube was suggested. My mother was
lucid. She told me that she wanted to live but not if it meant
lingering in a nursing home and being fed artificially. We agreed
to try the tube feeding but promised that if it didn’t work
— if she didn’t start to gain weight and recover
— we would have it removed. The tube was inserted nearly a
year ago. She started to improve. In late summer it was removed, and in
October she went home. Today she is visiting my sister in Arizona and
going to the racetrack.
Two lives. Two decisions. One happy ending. A
lot of soul-searching, common sense, and prayer. I learned many
important lessons from my parents’ illnesses. I know the
importance of having an advance directive and of appointing someone
to oversee your health care in the event that you are incapable of
doing so.
I also learned that it isn’t easy to let
go of someone you love.
I pray for Terri Schiavo’s parents. I
pray for her husband, and I pray for her. I am not hopeful that the
country will reach any kind of agreement on this issue in the near
future. We have thrown it into the political arena, where it will
be treated like the latest circus act. But perhaps this
woman’s death will renew the discussion. And perhaps that
discussion that will filter down to the dinner table, where we ask
one another, “When the time comes, what do you want?”
Talk about it. Then write it down.
This article appears in Mar 31 – Apr 6, 2005.
