Life, Death and Politics: A Memoir of Courage

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It's the week after Easter, and Congress along with much of official Washington is on recess. We had taped an "evergreen" (a show that didn't play off the week's events and in theory could run anytime) to air on this weekend's "McLaughlin Group." But the passing of Terri Schiavo plus the approaching death of Pope John Paul II make it too big a news week to go with the pretaped show. John calls me to see if I feel up to doing a show at our regular time on Friday afternoon. I don't see much point in staying home with the flowers and the cold cuts, much as I appreciate the expressions of sympathy. I welcome the chance to do what for me is normal—bat around the issues of the day in a highly charged political environment.

Admittedly, it's not standard fare for the grieving widow, and a friend who calls to see how I'm doing counsels me against popping up on television so soon after Tom's death. "It will further the impression of you as somebody with ice water in your veins," she says. Is that what people think of me? Because I get in there with the big boys and express my opinion, that I'm heartless? Maybe she's right; maybe I shouldn't do the show, I think. My son Woody, wanting to bolster me, goes to the Internet and plugs in two words—bereavement and widows—and downloads an article that tells me I'm okay, that grieving is individual, there are no rules. I see my son's reaction, which is basically, Go for it, Mom. If it's okay with him, how bad could it be? The incident reinforces my own instinct that for me, continuing my work life, my normal routine, is my salvation.

Terri's saga is issue 2 on that Friday's show. "Perhaps everything that can be said about Terri Schiavo's pilgrimage to death has been said," says John. "But more can be said about the impact of the Schiavo saga on public policy and politics. Question: What will be the impact on public policy and politics?"

Lawrence O'Donnell, who often takes a contrarian view, says, "There will be none. The story will disappear in the coverage of the pope and we won't get anything out of it," with one caveat. He would like to see an adjustment in marriage law. He says it's "utterly preposterous" that a spouse in name only like Michael Schiavo gets to decide whether Terri lives or dies.

Tony Blankley, too, is with the parents in the Schiavo case, but he's not with O'Donnell on shifting away from spousal rights. "For some of us who trust our wives more than anyone on the planet, I would want to have it there," he says.

I point out the debate is already under way in state capitols, and that President Bush when he was governor of Texas signed a law that allows hospital officials to remove a feeding tube over the wishes of a family if they conclude the treatment is futile. The debate is not new, but it gains momentum both to advance such remedies and to resist them, as we saw in the Schiavo debate. "Technology ensures that about 85 percent of us will face a decision something like this. And I think there is a continuum between life, when you want to prolong life, and when you want to begin to end it. And it's a very personal, individual decision."

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No, snarkopolitan, that's not the source of my "harshness," as you call it. I held my father's hand as he died of colon cancer at home, in his own bed. I found my mother dead of a heart attack. I have lost many other family members whom I have mourned deeply. I have also mourned many patients over the years, and am still in touch with many of their families, years after the death of their loved one.

After my father died, I couldn't believe that life went on, that the sun came up, that other people were going about their business when my father was dead. How could they not see that the most important person in the world (to me) was dead? Why were the flags not at half-mast, why were others not crying?

I have attended literally thousands of patients in my career, and, as I noted below, worked in ICU, Hospice, and oncology, where patient acuity is high and deaths are frequent. I have also led grief support groups. (So much for "the tiny amount [I] know.")

I read Ms. Clift's article several times, as one who has experienced loss and from a professional perspective. And my assessment of her behavior is the same. Having seen and experienced as much grief as I have over mant years, I can honestly say that I have never seen a reaction like hers.

I feel sorry for her because one day she will die and may be abandoned in her last moments as her husband was. I'm sorry for her because she will regret her behavior. And because she is such an unfeeling person.

I am sorry for your loss. Your pain is evident in your posts, in their confusion and anger. It's understandable, given that your loss is so fresh. And people often take their disbelief and anger and pain on others, because they can't take it out on the loved one who is lost. That's OK. You need to get rid of it somehow.

You had the guts to be with your father when he died, in an alien environment, surrounded by strangers, instead of sleeping comfortably in your bed at home or simply refusing to be with him because it was too painful for you. That is one of the most difficult acts one will ever do in life. Ms, Clift, is known for her "toughness," yet she fled death when it came to her husband, letting others assume her duties as a spouse. Tough? I think not. Compassionate? No. Cowardly? Yes.

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Posted By: M. Smith @ 04/01/2008 9:04:33 AM

Which woman?
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Posted By: Toni Kamau @ 04/01/2008 6:30:56 AM

Sorry, forgive me, but this woman is a monster in my eyes.
Is such a behavior normal in the USA?
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Posted By: M. Smith @ 03/31/2008 1:06:45 PM

No, snarkopolitan, that's not the source of my "harshness," as you call it. I held my father's hand as he died of colon cancer at home, in his own bed. I found my mother dead of a heart attack. I have lost many other family members whom I have mourned deeply. I have also mourned many patients over the years, and am still in touch with many of their families, years after the death of their loved one.

After my father died, I couldn't believe that life went on, that the sun came up, that other people were going about their business when my father was dead. How could they not see that the most important person in the world (to me) was dead? Why were the flags not at half-mast, why were others not crying?

I have attended literally thousands of patients in my career, and, as I noted below, worked in ICU, Hospice, and oncology, where patient acuity is high and deaths are frequent. I have also led grief support groups. (So much for "the tiny amount [I] know.")

I read Ms. Clift's article several times, as one who has experienced loss and from a professional perspective. And my assessment of her behavior is the same. Having seen and experienced as much grief as I have over mant years, I can honestly say that I have never seen a reaction like hers.

I feel sorry for her because one day she will die and may be abandoned in her last moments as her husband was. I'm sorry for her because she will regret her behavior. And because she is such an unfeeling person.

I am sorry for your loss. Your pain is evident in your posts, in their confusion and anger. It's understandable, given that your loss is so fresh. And people often take their disbelief and anger and pain on others, because they can't take it out on the loved one who is lost. That's OK. You need to get rid of it somehow.

You had the guts to be with your father when he died, in an alien environment, surrounded by strangers, instead of sleeping comfortably in your bed at home or simply refusing to be with him because it was too painful for you. That is one of the most difficult acts one will ever do in life. Ms, Clift, is known for her "toughness," yet she fled death when it came to her husband, letting others assume her duties as a spouse. Tough? I think not. Compassionate? No. Cowardly? Yes.