jennings rampage

Terry Schiavo must die.

Go read this and this and this. I’ll be here waiting, thanking my lucky stars that I have the Rude Pundit to rant for me when it hurts just a little too much.

I guess I didn’t realize how lucky I was to be able to make decisions for my mother and have them respected without question. Her condition wasn’t quite the same as Schiavo’s — as the tumor consumed her brain, I should hope that no number of machines could keep her alive — but I definitely made the decison to let nature take its course, keep her as comfortable as possible, and not interfere or attempt to prolong her life.

I cared for her in a “minimally conscious” state for about a month; it was difficult and fulfilling and I’m glad I did it (and wish I did more). When I arrived, I wanted to care for her and help her recover. Later that day, it was obvious that I was there to care for her and help her die. I didn’t want to make that decision — it was made for me. I accepted it because I loved her completely and selflessly, and didn’t give a shit about vacuous phrases like “culture of life.”

One of her neighbors was an evangelist who insisted on praying at her bedside for an hour or more a day and distributing flyers exhorting the community to pray for her. We had a tenuous relationship — I needed her help performing basic care functions, and I hadn’t learned to drive yet, so I couldn’t tell her she was a fucking idiot as much as I’d have liked. When my mother began to refuse food, I offered it less frequently, until she stopped taking any food or water. That’s when we fought: “If you don’t feed her, she’s going to die!” “Good!”

She died a couple of weeks later, surrounded by her family and friends, with as much dignity as possible. I’m proud of that — I made some mistakes and have regrets, but in the end, my brother and I did the job right. And now I’m much more thankful that it was possible, and that she wasn’t doomed to be a pawn in the most sickening and hypocritical political game I hope ever to see.