The Tube of Terry Schiavo

I find myself disgusted. In the course of this day I have listened to a plethora (too many) of talking heads and columnists talk about this poor unfortunate Terry Schiavo. I have cringed more times today than I did this Sunday listening to John Michael Montgomery sing the national anthem at the Atlanta Motor Speedway.

This is a person who I know nothing about. I have been told by several news reporting agencies that she is in a vegetative state. Some have purported that she responds to people. Others say that this is not a sign she is cognizant of the facts. People are going as far as accusing her husband of wrong doing, because hey, why assume the best? Why not go on for hours on end speculating about this man? Still more are reporting that her parents should just move on. Why did the President of these United States wake up at 1:00 A.M. on Palm Sunday to sign a bill to save her, and why did the judges trying the case not put the tube back in?

I am an admitted Republican. Yet I have heard in the course of this story people start to take sides and pretend that this is a political issue, like abortion. Wow! How can you look at this poor woman laying in a bed for the last upteen years, and think, "Boy this is a good opportunity for some political reverie!" Its pretty sick to me. This is such a difficult issue to choose sides on. But if I have to put in my two pennies, this is what I would want:

Put a bullet in my head, or pump me full of morphine until I expire, or put a pillow over my head, or any other means you can think of to kill me. But please do it quickly! Don't take my feeding tube out and make my body consume itself.

I killed a doe whitetail deer a few years back that was obviously not making it any more. You could see all of her ribs, her jaw was broken, and she was just moving very slowly down a trail in the woods. I saw her from about 80 yards off. However, I was conflicted. I knew there was a really good buck working the area, and it was in the middle of the rut, the deer's mating season. Risking a shot was pretty much condemning me to not have a chance at that buck. The more I looked at that doe, the less and less I cared. She was going to die, there was no doubt about that, but when was the key issue. I reluctantly pulled up my rifle, aimed at the apex of her torso and neck and gently pulled the trigger. She never felt the biting pain of trying to chew an acorn with broken jaw again.

Every time I hear the name Terry Schiavo, I think about that old doe. If I ever come to a place in life where my body is here but my spirit is not, I hope someone has the decency to send me on to be with God.

Be good people.....