Remembering Terri

One year ago today, Terri Schiavo died, after her family lost a prolonged, contentious battle for her right to live.

My heart broke for Terri's parents, Mary and Bob Schindler, and her siblings, Suzanne and Bobby.

They lost a beloved daughter and sister.

Although it had been fifteen years since Terri collapsed, suffering severe brain damage and becoming incapable of expressing herself the way she once did, I'm sure her death was no less painful and no less devastating for them because of her condition. She was still their Terri.

My grandmother died after a prolonged illness. Toward the end of her life, she was unable to recognize me. She couldn't speak or feed herself. None of that mattered.

Although ravaged by disease, she was still the woman I adored when I was a child. She was still the woman of great strength and wisdom that I cherished as a young adult. My love for her transcended what befell her physically.

Anyone who adheres to the notion that Terri's family really lost her on the night of her collapse is wrong.

The finality of death comes with a jolt, even when there is ample warning and the goodbye is long.

Terri did not die in 1990. That wasn't when she "departed this earth," as Michael Schiavo put on her grave marker.

Her death began on March 18, 2005, when Judge George Greer ruled in Michael Schiavo's favor and ordered that nutrition and hydration be withheld from Terri. They finished her execution on March 31.

If what I experienced with my grandmother is similar, I can say that Terri's physical condition in no way diminished the love her family has for her.

Their mourning was no less intense than if Terri had died fully cognizant. An illness or disability does not extinguish real love.

Tragically, a grave injustice was done in Terri's case. That must make her death, and this anniversary, so much more difficult for her loved ones.

As Father Frank Pavone said:
[Terri's] physical injuries and disabilities never made her less of a person. No amount of brain injury ever justifies denying a person proper humane care. That includes food and water.

A person with a 'profoundly atrophied' brain needs profound care and love. Terri did not die from an atrophied brain. She died from an atrophy of compassion on the part of her estranged husband and those who helped him to have her deliberately killed.

Simply put, Terri was betrayed by a husband, a judicial system, and a culture that brands certain lives worthless and condones withholding food and water from the ill and disabled.

It still makes me sick to think about what she endured.

I recognize the sanctity of all human life, at all its stages, and in all its conditions.

A year ago, President Bush said:
I urge all those who honor Terri Schiavo to continue to work to build a culture of life, where all Americans are welcomed and valued and protected, especially those who live at the mercy of others. The essence of civilization is that the strong have a duty to protect the weak. In cases where there are serious doubts and questions, the presumption should be in the favor of life.

As exhibited by the killing of Terri Schiavo, this goal is far from being reached.

The struggle for life to prevail, when engulfed in a culture of death, is a challenging but morally imperative endeavor.

Although today is a sad day, we can honor Terri's memory by continuing to work to build a lasting culture of life; keeping in mind the words of Cardinal Jose Saraiva Martins, that "an attack against life is an attack against God."

Especially on this first anniversary of her death, I pray that the Schindlers find comfort and peace knowing that while they can no longer hug Terri, she is embraced in God's arms.