For Terri

I was asked to put together a few words, sort of a memorial, for Terri Schiavo. This young woman died today, March 31st, 2005. She was murdered. Oh, yes, I know, strong words, but I can think of no other way to put it. I suppose I could dig into whatever archives there are, and find some really fine things to say about Terri. I’d have to, you see. I don’t know her, and her plight only recently captured the national attention. So, like most of America, most of the world, I came into Terri’s life a bit late.

Sadly, too late to be of any help. There’ll be retrospectives, to be sure, and some network or another will do a mini-series about her life and death.

I wonder who will be the villain? You know, there’s always a villain. Will it be everyone on her husband’s side? Or everyone on her parents side? Or perhaps, to keep from offending anyone living, some writer will make Terri herself responsible for her death. Lawsuits will ensue, and the polarization that began when her story became public will continue, widen, and grow stronger.

It would be easy to say her husband was only following her wishes, but troubling questions arise. He is the only one who heard her wishes. So the Hospice, the state of Florida, and the United States took his word for it. So they pulled her tube. Disconnected her. Stopped providing services. All euphemisms for “They murdered her.”

Terri, in her last days, was confined to a bed, almost totally unable to move, denied food or therapeutic exercise, but somehow she stood. She stood tall and straight. She beckoned with unmoving arms to all that would be just and true. She smiled a smile of forgiveness, as her body withdrew into itself, and began the process of shutting down. And she was not alone.

The guard there, assigned to deny her even the water to moisten her parched lips was not the only one who stood in the room. There were angels there. Unseen, unmoving, their wings folded in sorrow, tears flowing freely down their cheeks, as they observed Terri’s soul. They waited for its release from the body that held it captive, ready to escort her to Heaven, to the Throne of God.

Terri, when you died a little part of me died with you. The world seems a place a little colder, now you’re gone. I suppose some sort of memorial will be planned, something to commemorate your life. A statue perhaps, or a plaque in a garden, surrounded with flowers that would bloom each spring around this time, symbols of the eternity of life.

My faith in God, my belief in His Son, comforts me. It helps, knowing that you are safe now, away from all who would do you harm to satisfy their selfish interests. Have you turned your back on all that goes on in this world, or do you peek down at us, and wonder at our sorrow? Eternity is the gift for all that believe, and I cannot help but believe that eternity was the gift that God gave you, when you came to His Throne. Knowing that someday I might meet you in Heaven is a comfort.

Your parents now grieve at your passing, and your loss is deeply felt by them. It’s hard, losing a child, it seems so unfair. I know, dear Terri, it’s a road down which I traveled. It’s harder still, because you were murdered. It would have been a simple thing, to acknowledge your right to live, but it seems a right that becomes more in question with each passing day.

Terri, if there is to be a Memorial to your life, your death, let it not be flowers. Let no statue be raised to adorn some corner of a park. Let no granite or marble memorial be engraved with passing details, to be forgotten with the passage of time. Let it be that we vow “Never Again!”. Let the longest, strongest memory of you be that we took action to prevent the horror that happened to you from ever happening again.

Terri, we hardly knew you, but we grew to love you, and we will miss you. As you finish your journey, a journey that we still travel on, remember those of us who cared.

To misquote Marc Anthony, “My heart lies in the grave with Terri, and I must pause til it come back to me”.

God Bless You, Terri.

Copyright 3/31/05 by Dave Hoffman
Use granted to all who identify author

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