Don't hesitate!

For the last few days, watching the sad soap opera of Terri Schiavo's last days on tv, I've been thinking so much about the death of my dad. Though Daddy and I were of different faiths, I totally admired, no -- revered -- the way that he faced his oncoming death. He had no doubt whatsoever that he would be in God's loving presence. We talked about how maybe, somehow, he would see his father (who died when he was four) and his beloved brother Wayne (who died at 19, in front of my dad, when a small plane crashed on their farm). One day, we went up to visit and Dad distributed some nice bags and cameras to my family. There was no reason to deny it -- he knew he was going. And he handled it so well. And so did we, I think.

Part of the goodness of those last days was Pastor Dave. My parents' minister at Mt. Olive Lutheran Church in Greenwood, he has a big heart and a huge amount of tolerence and openness. When we gathered one night around Dad's bed, Pastor Dave prayed and only read from Psalms -- nothing from the New Testament. Later, Mom told me that he had not wanted to hurt our feelings, knowing that we were Jewish. I was astounded at his generosity of spirit.

And those days were sad, they were hard, but they were also so good, because as a family, we really came together. We shared the time of letting-go together.

Everywhere, families face death, all the time. Of course, it is especially sad when a young person dies. But I just can't help but wonder what led that poor family of Terri Shiavo to be so blind? If they could have accepted that she was never going to recover, and shared the grief, it would have been so much better.

I've always felt that it is wrong and selfish to pray FOR something. The only real prayer, I think, is "Thy will be done." Or maybe "Give me the wisdom to see what is right, or the strength to deal with it." To be so deep in denial of Terri Shiavo's condition -- and all those right-wingers proclaiming and grandstanding -- is, to me, a denial of faith.

Now, we Jews don't claim to know what happens after death. We do think there is some kind of afterlife, but we just don't define it, I think.

But I know that whatever happens, I will have learned some lessons from this life and I will return to God's loving embrace.

I think, instead of paying thousands of dollars a month to keep me alive artificially, you should let me go and give the money to people who are hungry, or to something worthwhile. Don't waste it because of some obsessive feeling that the doctors must do everything in their powers to thwart fate. I'll know that you love me enough to be strong for me. PULL THE PLUG!