Karol Wojtyla and Terri Chiavo are both dead now. Through our screens, we all waited at their bedsides until they were no more. Both were devout Roman Catholics, both their deaths involved feeding tubes, both seemed to be symbols of something - as every talking head on anyone’s payroll kept telling us. So much separated Pope John Paul II and Theresa Marie Schindler Chiavo, but in our minds it was like they were in the same hospital room – the one with all the TV cameras outside the window. Many have asked me what I thought about them, and the issues surrounding their deaths. I can honestly say that I don’t know. I don’t know that we have enough information, or distance to make much sense of anything yet. I would, however, like to share a few preliminary observations which might, perhaps, stimulate further thought.
Although we have insurmountable theological differences with Roman Catholicism, I think we would all admit that John Paul II was a giant on the stage of world affairs, and that he tried and often succeeded in using his influence for good. He lived compassionate conservatism, refusing to bend to liberal American Catholics, and to be easily labeled as a reactionary. His “pilgrimages” to his native Poland in 1979, and his message, “Be Not Afraid,” lead directly to Solidarnosc, the first domino to fall in the collapse of the Soviet Empire. He continually confronted the West about the way consumerism had made our values and our fetuses disposable. He was consistent, he defied categories, and he tried to assert goodness. Those are important lessons to learn.
Making sense of Terri Chiavo’s life and death is harder. History is filled with good (even great) men and women with whom we have irreconcilable theological differences. But how do we even begin to organize our thoughts around the facts of this young woman’s life?
Theresa Marie Shindler was born December 3, 1963, just outside Philadelphia PA. She was the oldest of Robert and Mary Shindler’s three children. She was an obese teenager, weighing more that 250 pounds at eighteen. Over the next two years she lost more than a hundred pounds. In 1984 she married Michael Chiavo. By 1990 they had moved to Florida and were trying to have a baby. She continued to slim down, while simultaneously undergoing fertility treatments, and on February 25, 1990 she suffered cardiac arrest leading to brain damage. She was in a coma for several weeks, from which she emerged into a “persistent vegetative state.” For nearly 15 years her body, with the exception of her cerebral cortex, has functioned properly. The only “extreme” measure she needed to survive was a tube to nourish and hydrate her. Since 1994, her husband Michael has tried to get the tube removed, and her parents have fought to keep it in. After more than 10 years of court battles, Michael won his case and Terri Chiavo died. This is what we know.
There is so much we don’t know. There was never a PET scan done, so we don’t know what her brain was really doing. We don’t know what her wishes were. I personally don’t know what, specifically, the phrase “persistent vegetative state” means. Does anyone?
I do know a few things. I know the courts are right to give the spouse the ultimate decision. In saying this, I am not agreeing with Michael Chiavo’s decision, but the Bible is clear (Genesis 2.23-24): the marital relationship trumps the parental one. I know that the folks at Hospice don’t let people suffer, and that Terri Chiavo died peacefully.
Most important, I know that quality of life is not defined by the joy we receive, but by the joy we give. One does not have to be able to snowboard, or win at Scrabble to have quality of life. Our own Sarah LeMar, recently gone from us, spent the last year or so of her life in a state not unlike Terri Chiavo’s. Less than a week before she died (at home under Hospice care), I was in her room with her mother Alice, and her father Ross. Alice was sitting by the bed, her face close to Sarah’s, whispering things to her as she stroked Sarah’s hair. I don’t know what she was saying, but the words had rhythm like music. All at once Sarah opened her eyes, locked her gaze on her mother’s, and smiled the widest, most luminous smile. It was the most beautiful thing, next to our own newborn children, that I will ever see. It was a gift that will never be taken away, and no one can tell me that a person capable of giving such beauty, peace and joy to another lacks quality of life.