Two flowers for a life cruelly ended.

The Dies Irae below is not what Terri's memory deserves. I am left with two scenes from Tolkien, one from the end of the novel The Lord of the Rings, and the other an especially-apt screenplay adaptation of the same scene that appeared in Return of the King. In his sub-creation, brother John Ronald Reuel expresses the blessed hope beautifully:

And the ship went out into the High Sea and passed on into the West, until at last on a night of rain Frodo smelled a sweet fragrance on the air and heard the sound of singing that came over the water. And then it seemed to him that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.

* * *
The screenplay:

Pippin: I didn't think it would end this way.

Gandalf: End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path...one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all changes to silver glass... And then you see it.

Pippin: What, Gandalf? See what?

Gandalf: White shores... and beyond: the far green country under a swift sunrise.

Pippin: Well, that isn't so bad.

Gandalf: No... No, it isn't.
* * *


Goodbye, Terri. Remember us as you take your place with the rest of the white-robed army.

[Update: The title has been changed (everything after "for"). The original ("the departed") sounded entirely too Felosian upon further review. Now it captures the reality better--"a life cruelly ended". Which it indisputedly was, right down to the morphine suppositories.]

Not for her. For us.

Dies irae, dies illa
solvet saeclum in favilla:
teste David cum Sibylla.

Quantus tremor est futurus,
quando judex est venturus,
cuncta stricte discussurus!

Tuba mirum spargens sonum
per sepulcra regionum,
coget omnes ante thronum.

Mors stupebit et natura,
cum resurget creatura,
judicanti responsura.

Liber scriptus proferetur,
in quo totum continetur,
unde mundus judicetur.

Judex ergo cum sedebit,
quidquid latet apparebit:
nil inultum remanebit.

Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?
Quem patronum rogaturus,
cum vix justus sit securus?

Rex tremendae majestatis,
qui salvandos salvas gratis,
salva me fons pietatis.

Recordare, Jesu pie,
quod sum causa tuae viae:
ne me perdas illa die.

Quaerens me, sedisti lassus:
redemisti Crucem passus:
tantus labor non sit cassus.

Juste judex ultionis,
donum fac remissionis
ante diem rationis.

Ingemisco, tamquam reus:
culpa rubet vultus meus:
supplicanti parce, Deus.

Qui Mariam absolvisti,
et latronem exaudisti,
mihi quoque spem dedisti.

Preces meae non sunt dignae:
sed tu bonus fac benigne,
ne perenni cremer igne.

Inter oves locum praesta,
et ab haedis me sequestra,
statuens in parte dextra.

Confutatis maledictis,
flammis acribus addictis:
voca me cum benedictis.

Oro supplex et acclinis,
cor contritum quasi cinis:
gere curam mei finis.

Lacrimosa dies illa,
qua resurget ex favilla

judicandus homo reus.
Huic ergo parce, Deus:

Pie Jesu Domine,
dona eis requiem.

Amen.

[Translation here.]

Yet another stupid meme.

"I wouldn't want to live like that."

Really? From what the experts say about it, a patient in that state couldn't care less. More seriously--doy. No one would choose to be in that state. The issue is what is the proper response of a just society to people who end up in such a condition.

Then there's another problem--"I" wouldn't want that. What--better the last memory you burn into your loved ones' brains is that of your grotesque living mummification, even if they want otherwise?

But the greatest problem is that it's really a statement that translates out to "I wouldn't want to live as something less than fully human"--as defined by the phobic secular standards of early 21st Century America. That's what sets the disability activists off, and rightly so. Because it's a not-so-subtle comment on the value of their lives as well. And with the killing of Terri Schiavo, the distance between the "right" to die and a duty to do so gets a little bit narrower.

My modest proposal for your Catholic advance directive.

"Furthermore, as a faithful Catholic in full communion with Rome, I hereby offer a bounty of $25,000 (in 2005 dollars) for the literal scalp of every self-styled Catholic who proposes to testify in any way whatsoever in favor of the removal of food and water, regardless of how I may be receiving it."

That way you don't have to worry about the views of "Catholic" bioethicists like these guys.

"What good does it do to kill this woman?"

As all can see, but nobody can stop, the killing of Mrs. Schiavo, for all the legalisms and philosophies blown in to obscure the simple fact of her death by starvation, the stark answer is:

'It does no good at all.'

'It does no good at all.'

The discussion now and in the days to follow until the last stroke of doom will not cancel out one word of that answer.

Read the whole thing.

[Link via the Anchoress.]

The occasional devout stupidity of the pro-life movement.

Can be seen in stark relief here.

Never--repeat, neverneverneverNEVER--ever spurn an offer of help and a sign of solidarity from someone who is normally on the other side of the issue. I'm normally no fan of Rev. Jackson, but his presence on the side of the Schindlers has done more to "depoliticize" the battle than anything else so far. When a Tom Harkin, Ralph Nader or Jose Serrano is willing to stand on the same side as you--with exactly zero benefit to himself or his natural allies--be thankful.

Fulsomely so.

That, and if you didn't object to the presence of Randall Terry, then really--do shut up.

Some of the "oh no--not him!" reaction is more than a little like the embattled soldiers of Minas Tirith reacting to the arrival of Theoden's forces with: "Eeewww--the Rohirrim?!? Not them--those guys smell like horse s**t!"

Good Friday.

I have no idea if I'll blog anything else before Easter. I'm exhausted, to be honest. I guess we'll see.

I'm going home to hug my family and pray.

Without changing the subject, I'll leave you with a book recommendation: Death on a Friday Afternoon, by Fr. Richard John Neuhaus. A remarkably devotional turn for a public policy-minded priest, it is a meditation on the Seven Last Words of Christ from the Cross. Disregard the controversy on "universalism"--Fr. hasn't gone all goo-gooey on us, though I will admit that the chapter in question is complex.

The book is a very thoughtful contemplation of the importance of Good Friday, and why Christians can't skip past it to the Resurrection.

We are a Good Friday People first.

If the past week hasn't driven that home, I don't know what will.

Take and read.

It's a peaceful, dignified way to go.

Of course it is:

Saliva becomes thick and foul-tasting; the tongue clings irritatingly to the teeth and the roof of the mouth .... A lump seems to form in the throat ... severe pain is felt in the head and neck. The face feels full due to the shrinking of the skin. Hearing is affected, and many people begin to hallucinate... [then come] the agonies of a mouth that has ceased to generate saliva.

The tongue hardens into what McGee describes as "a senseless weight, swinging on the still-soft root and striking foreignly against the teeth." Speech becomes impossible, although sufferers have been known to moan and bellow.

Next is the "blood sweats" phase, involving "a progressive mummification of the initially living body." The tongue swells to such proportions that it squeezes past the jaws. The eyelids crack and the eyeballs begin to weep tears of blood. The throat is so swollen that breathing becomes difficult, creating an incongruous yet terrifying sense of drowning.

Finally ... there is living death, the state into which Pablo Valencia had entered when McGee discovered him on a desert trail, crawling on his hands and knees: "His lips had disappeared as if amputated, leaving low edges of blackened tissue; his teeth and gums projected like those of a skinned animal, but the flesh was black and dry as a hank of jerky; his nose was withered and shrunken to half its length, and the nostril-lining showing black; his eyes were set in a winkless stare, with surrounding skin so contracted as to expose the conjunctiva, itself as black as the gums...; his skin [had] generally turned a ghastly purplish yet ashen gray, with great livid blotches and streaks; his lower legs and feet ... were torn and scratched by contact with thorns and sharp rocks, yet even the freshest cuts were so many scratches in dry leather, without trace of blood."

[Link via Mere Comments.]

Lileks has weighed in.

I was not disappointed:

In short: err on the side of life is not a bad motto to keep in mind. This seems simple enough. I respect those who nod, count to three, and offer a soft “however” so that we may refine the particulars.

But I don’t have much time for those who hear “err on the side of life” and automatically bristle, because they hear the voice of someone who, damn their black and God-addled brain, once sent $10 to a politician who opposed parental notification law that did not have a judicial review.

You may not always agree with that sort of person. You may have no need for them. But you never think you have need of any chocks until you're in the truck, and you realize it's rolling down the hill. Backwards.

Eight little words. Eight heartbreaking little words.

Just before going to sleep last night, my eldest asked:

"Daddy, can I have a drink of water?"

With a catch, I said "Of course, honey."

I wonder how many times Bob Schindler got up at night to get his little girl water. And now a band of total bastards says that's "illegal."

Should people ever try to do this to one of my children, may Almighty God have mercy on them.

For I will be inclined to apply their standards of "mercy" instead.

Zach Frey notes another stupid meme.

I caught a snippet on the radio this morning, chatter about Terri Schiavo, and heard this:

"What about the right to die with dignity?"

My response:

"What's so 'dignified' about starvation?"

Good point.

So, the next time I see famine victims on TV, I can at least console myself with the knowledge that they have their dignity?

That's good to know.