Terry Schiavo died one year ago this Friday, thirteen days after the removal of the feeding tube that had sustained her since 1990 in what her doctors diagnosed as a “persistent vegetative state.”
As all but the most media-averse will remember, Schiavo’s husband, Mark, and her parents, Bob and Mary Schindler, disagreed bitterly about removing the feeding tube. Their dispute – which had been played out in the Florida legal system for over a decade – exploded in the court of public opinion last spring, when finally the Schindlers’ appeals were exhausted, and Mark Schiavo was granted legal authority to order the tube removed.
The plight of Terry Schiavo and her family sent shivers of recognition across America – almost everyone could imagine their own family torn over what to do if a young loved one were cut down by illness or accident before having spelled out explicit end-of-life instructions.
Schiavo’s tragedy also captured the public imagination because her family’s differences of opinion seemed representative of the larger cultural divide on which the mainstream media was increasingly focused in the aftermath of the 2004 presidential election.
Politicians, pundits and religious leaders weighed in on both sides of what became a national debate. Some aligned themselves with the Schindlers, deploring Mark Schiavo’s decision to unhook the feeding tube as a heartless violation of his wife’s “right to life.” Others saw the decision as a tragic but entirely commonsensical – even compassionate – choice, given the reality of Terry’s condition. In her dying days, Terry Schiavo became a political football.
One year later, the memory of Terry Schiavo presents us with a fundamental challenge: can we envision an American way of death that would bring us together as families and as a nation?
To talk about an “American way of death” may, at first, sound puzzling to the modern ear. But for most of western history a good death or “happy death” – in which the dying were perceived to be spiritually prepared to die – was understood to be the crowning achievement of a life well-lived.
The search for a happy death led our ancestors to prepare themselves – practically, emotionally and spiritually – to die. For this reason – and not just because they had fewer medical options to choose from – they struggled much less than we do with decisions at the end of life.
A broad-scale conversation about what constitutes a good death in the 21st century might not eliminate entirely the tensions and competing concerns that so often present themselves at life’s end.
Such a conversation would, however, encourage people to be pro-active throughout their lives in communicating what they hoped for in their dying days. In doing so it would dramatically reduce the number of people who end up in Terry Schiavo’s predicament.
A renewed search for an American way of death would lead us all to do more than merely lament the agonizing choices faced by families like Terry Schiavo’s. Instead this search would challenge us to ask and answer questions like these:
What kind of death do I aspire to? What kind of death do I desire for those I love? What can we learn about dying from people who finish their lives with grace and dignity? And what can we begin doing now that will prepare us to die the kinds of deaths that will make our families – and our country – proud?
Some day we may look back upon Terry Schiavo as the harbinger of things that were simply destined to come. The first baby-boomers turn 60 this year. With advances in modern medical technology continuing unabated, it is easy to imagine a future in which legions of older Americans live for decades hooked up to breathing machines and feeding tubes, while their families fight over their fates in hospital corridors and courts of law and the halls of state and federal legislatures.
I believe that few Americans want to see this future come to pass. If we are to avoid it, we have some hard talking to do.
As all but the most media-averse will remember, Schiavo’s husband, Mark, and her parents, Bob and Mary Schindler, disagreed bitterly about removing the feeding tube. Their dispute – which had been played out in the Florida legal system for over a decade – exploded in the court of public opinion last spring, when finally the Schindlers’ appeals were exhausted, and Mark Schiavo was granted legal authority to order the tube removed.
The plight of Terry Schiavo and her family sent shivers of recognition across America – almost everyone could imagine their own family torn over what to do if a young loved one were cut down by illness or accident before having spelled out explicit end-of-life instructions.
Schiavo’s tragedy also captured the public imagination because her family’s differences of opinion seemed representative of the larger cultural divide on which the mainstream media was increasingly focused in the aftermath of the 2004 presidential election.
Politicians, pundits and religious leaders weighed in on both sides of what became a national debate. Some aligned themselves with the Schindlers, deploring Mark Schiavo’s decision to unhook the feeding tube as a heartless violation of his wife’s “right to life.” Others saw the decision as a tragic but entirely commonsensical – even compassionate – choice, given the reality of Terry’s condition. In her dying days, Terry Schiavo became a political football.
One year later, the memory of Terry Schiavo presents us with a fundamental challenge: can we envision an American way of death that would bring us together as families and as a nation?
To talk about an “American way of death” may, at first, sound puzzling to the modern ear. But for most of western history a good death or “happy death” – in which the dying were perceived to be spiritually prepared to die – was understood to be the crowning achievement of a life well-lived.
The search for a happy death led our ancestors to prepare themselves – practically, emotionally and spiritually – to die. For this reason – and not just because they had fewer medical options to choose from – they struggled much less than we do with decisions at the end of life.
A broad-scale conversation about what constitutes a good death in the 21st century might not eliminate entirely the tensions and competing concerns that so often present themselves at life’s end.
Such a conversation would, however, encourage people to be pro-active throughout their lives in communicating what they hoped for in their dying days. In doing so it would dramatically reduce the number of people who end up in Terry Schiavo’s predicament.
A renewed search for an American way of death would lead us all to do more than merely lament the agonizing choices faced by families like Terry Schiavo’s. Instead this search would challenge us to ask and answer questions like these:
What kind of death do I aspire to? What kind of death do I desire for those I love? What can we learn about dying from people who finish their lives with grace and dignity? And what can we begin doing now that will prepare us to die the kinds of deaths that will make our families – and our country – proud?
Some day we may look back upon Terry Schiavo as the harbinger of things that were simply destined to come. The first baby-boomers turn 60 this year. With advances in modern medical technology continuing unabated, it is easy to imagine a future in which legions of older Americans live for decades hooked up to breathing machines and feeding tubes, while their families fight over their fates in hospital corridors and courts of law and the halls of state and federal legislatures.
I believe that few Americans want to see this future come to pass. If we are to avoid it, we have some hard talking to do.
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