Thursday March 31, 2005

Back to more serious things

Fresh off the baby high, I spent the last day or two back in my usual routine of working at my job and complaining about my job. My brand-spanking new niece, though a joy to finally have hanging around, has done little to change how crappy I feel driving to work every morning. I really have to find a new job. Or heavily bribe some desperate psych professor into taking me on as a grad student.

The news coming out of Florida this morning have also helped squeeze the last bit of slap-happy out of me. Terri Schiavo, despite the onslaught of outraged activists and nasty political rhetoric, died at a hospice in Pinellas Park.

The last two weeks have likely been filled with grief for those close to Terri, and with stress for the rest of us. Right now people across the nation are probably feeling some pretty intense emotions, regardless of what opinions they hold. Things may not have been easy around here, but as is the case in many of life's more difficult times, there is a silver lining.

In the last two weeks, I've had conversations with friends and family about the same end-of-life issues that we usually avoid like the plague. Few people like to think about death, especially their own. But unless we want this circus-like madness to tear apart our own families, we're going to have to do some talking.

Myself included.

I made the personal decision a long time ago that if my mind had left for greener pastures, I wanted my family to let the rest go with it. God put no burden on me to computerize my body, and it's a burden I won't put on myself.

To me, there is a difference between using medical technology to prolong one's life, and abusing it to prolong one's physical existence. And I don't want a machine to do for me artificially what my brain can not do for me naturally. And for that reason, I'd want to be let go.

Considering my own death doesn't scare me like it does so many others. Death itself is not a tragedy; it's a chance to move on to bigger and better things. And although I do appreciate the fantastic awesomeness of this life, I feel no moral obligation to stay in this mud-hole longer than my body lets me.

Whether or not my family follows through with this is up to them. I imagine that my parents wouldn't. If it eases their distress to have my body around a little longer, that's fine. I'm not going to force anyone to let me die; that, too, is a burden. But I want to make it clear that it's not my wish to hang around, so don't do it for me.

There are better things on my agenda.