Decision Point

My Prince and I looked at each other last night after the network news ended. I asked: "So do you have any questions about my intentions regarding my living will?" He said: "Nope. Pull the plug. Do you have any questions about mine?" And I said: "Nope. Pull the plug."

The ongoing spectacle surrounding Terri Shiavo is disturbing on a number of levels, but it has committed me even more firmly to my belief that death is a part of life. We are born, we live as best we can, and then, like all good things, it comes to an end. I am not yet ready for that end, but I know that it will come sooner rather than later. I would prefer that it come suddenly and not be the long, drawn out affair that it could be under the circumstances. But, if it becomes that long, drawn out affair, I hope My Prince will have the courage to know that the time to end it has come and will let me go.

I say this will full understanding that I am suffering from the loss of so many that have been dear to me. I looked up from my computer at my office yesterday and realized that the bulletin board that hangs in front of me is full of pictures of dead people. My house is filled with mementos of loved ones. I cling to my father's tools, cherishing even a screw driver, because he worked with it. This all probably contributes to a fair amount of depression, I would guess.

But I know from my own experience that there is a time to let people go. It's their memory that I cling to--I would not hold them to a life of pain and suffering.

In about three weeks, on April 15, we will face the ninth anniversary of my father's death. I still vividly recall the day. The morning phone call. The frantic drive to Houston. The race through the halls of the hospital. And standing in the waiting room as my mother handed the phone to me so that I could talk to the doctor. She could not make the decision that needed to be made, so she gave the responsibility to me.

My father had had a massive stroke. If he lived, he would be unable to speak. He would not be able to feed himself. He might not know anyone or anything. He likely would have to be confined to a nursing home. These were things that I knew my father would not want. He was always the caregiver; were he aware of what was going on, he would hate to be the one being taken care of. He would hate the weakness, the helplessness, the loss of dignity.

The doctor wanted to know if we wanted him to continue to try to keep Daddy alive. In the end, I was the one consoling the doctor, reminding him that he had already kept Daddy alive for years with drugs and baling wire. Daddy was worn out. I think he had been waiting to die for some time. And I told him to let Daddy go.

I sat beside my father then. I talked to him, telling him that we would take care of Mama, that he didn't need to worry any more. I suppose that we fool ourselves about the things that we want to believe. He never regained consciousness, so there is no way to know that he heard me or that it mattered what I said. Still, not long after I talked to him about taking care of Mama, he drifted away. Sometimes I feel it was the words as much as the medical decision that let him go in peace. He'd given so much of his life to taking care of my mother, it was almost as if he wouldn't let go until he knew that someone else would take up where he left off.

I cannot judge Terri Shaivo's parents. I shouldn't anyway. But I cannot see myself being so selfish that I would want someone that I loved so very much to live in pain or suffering just so I could cling to them.

I do, however, judge those who have tried to intervene in this family's agony. When the day comes that I or My Prince has to make a decision regarding the other, neither of us would take very kindly to having the courts or Congress having an opinion much less taking any action regarding our decision. I know that much of the intervention has been for political purposes, and the media circus is just that--a circus. Still, there seems now to be some possibility of all this right-to-life nonsense spilling over into yet another area of personal decision making. That's not right.