Fighting for Dear Life

by David Gibbs

  According to the regulations set up by Michael—who, incidentally, was provided a comfortable, private room at the hospice for his convenience during Terri’s final two weeks4—we couldn’t linger in the room or hallway for very long. We didn’t want to be removed from the visitors list. In light of this, for just a brief minute I looked at Terri and offered a prayer committing her into the care of Jesus. For her part, she looked back at me with those dark, sunken eyes. A desperate plea seemed to settle on her face, as if she were saying, ‘‘Isn’t there anything you can do to help me?’’ I assured her I was sorry and that we were still doing everything we could to fight for her life.

  With a sadness in my heart that defies definition, I joined Mary out in the hallway. She hugged me and put her head on my shoulder for just a moment. ‘‘David,’’ she said, ‘‘I can’t go back. It’s just too hard. I can’t bear to see her like this. I’m no lawyer, and I’m no doctor, but I just don’t understand why they have to kill my little girl.’’ I said, ‘‘Mary, I am a lawyer, although I’m not a doctor. I don’t understand either. It doesn’t make any sense.’’

  I think that’s the troubling moral dilemma. Why, with a family wanting to give love and provide help, did Terri have to die this horrific death?

  To her credit, Terri was a remarkably strong and healthy woman. She fought to live, to hold on, and to beat the odds. Her inner strength and stamina enabled this brave woman to exceed the expectations of those who predicted a quick death. Indeed, Terri fought until the end—a death that would finally come only a few days later.

  THE WORLD WAS WATCHING

  The media in the United States treated Terri’s last few days much like a deathwatch. They wanted to know all the details about Terri’s condition, the family’s emotions, the feud between Mr. Schiavo and the Schindlers, and, of course, the money. Rarely was I engaged to debate on a more substantive, big-picture policy level.

  By contrast, the international media didn’t care about all those details. Keep in mind that I had the opportunity to conduct interviews with members of the media representing Europe, Africa, Central and South America, Australia, Canada, and Asia. Many of these interviews were translated into numerous foreign languages around the world.

  Most of these foreign journalists admitted that they didn’t understand our court system or our laws regarding the matter. Nor did they really want all of the details. About all they knew was that an otherwise healthy disabled girl was being intentionally dehydrated and starved to death by order of one of the lowest level courts in America. And when the president and the Congress tried to stop this miscarriage of justice, they couldn’t do it. That was the essence of what they understood.

  Their interest lay outside the family tragedy.

  Almost universally, the foreign press was puzzled about the inconsistency between how America, as one of the most compassionate nations in the world, acted on behalf of others around the globe and yet treated one of our own so barbarically. Here’s a somewhat typical set of questions they’d ask, along with my responses:

  ‘‘Mr. Gibbs, is America in Iraq because it’s the right thing to do?’’

  ‘‘Yes, our president and leadership thought it was the right thing to do; for human rights, justice, to fight terror, to end the torture and suffering of the Iraqi people under Saddam, and to further the cause of freedom. That’s why we’re there.’’

  ‘‘Did America go to Afghanistan for similar reasons?’’

  ‘‘Yes, indeed.’’

  ‘‘Did America, in World War II, come to Europe and stop the Nazis and the advancement of these regimes because it was the right thing to do?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ I said, ‘‘that’s the heart and soul of America. In a sense, we’re the voice of morality for the world.’’

  Then they’d ask the question that their international audiences couldn’t grasp.

  ‘‘Mr. Gibbs, by what moral authority, then, does America let this woman die?’’

  You know what? That is a very telling question. For two hundred years our shores were a safe haven for the oppressed, the maligned, and the disenfranchised. We were a country that stood for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. But almost without warning, America appears to be wandering away from the foundations that made us strong. No, I don’t believe there is any moral authority for what happened to Terri Schiavo.

  As this case moves into the history books and the years begin to tick by, I hope and pray that Terri’s legacy will be that her death birthed a revival, that her struggle gave breath and resolve for a renewed commitment to protect all life. I hope that senior citizens and the disabled community will one day look back and say, ‘‘Terri, thank you. We have rights too. We may be a people without a voice, but because of your sacrifice, our lives are now protected once again under American law.’’ If that happens, Terri’s death will not have been in vain. And I know there’s nothing that would bring more joy to her mother’s heart.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN

  Today, millions of Americans are saddened by the death of Terri Schiavo. . . . I urge all those who honor Terri Schiavo to continue to work to build a culture of life.

  —PRESIDENT GEORGE W. BUSH1

  On March 30, 2005, as Terri’s life was hanging by a mere thread, Bob and Mary Schindler, Bobby, Suzanne, and I were gathered at the hospice. Just before midnight, a phone call delivered heartbreaking news: Our final appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court had been denied. Though we had always known that most of the cases appealed to the Supreme Court are not heard, we had been praying for a breakthrough, a miracle.

  We had argued in the federal courts that the removal of Terri’s nutrition and hydration was unconstitutional because it deprived her of her constitutionally protected right to life. We had asked the high court to issue a temporary restraining order requiring her feeding tube to be reinserted so that we could have time to file a further appeal and have the federal court take another look at the facts of the case.

  But with this unwelcome turn of events coming from our court of last appeal, we knew the Schindlers’ fight to save Terri was over—at least as far as the courts were concerned. We were always open to a miracle. That evening we lingered at the hospice until almost one AM, when yet another curveball was hurled at us. At that time, Bobby and Suzanne were abruptly asked to leave Terri’s room so that Michael could visit.

  Keep in mind, this was a son-in-law who had once lived with Terri in the Schindlers’ home—rent free for several years when the young couple’s money had been tight. Now, as their daughter entered the final stages of death, Michael refused to endure the family’s company under the same roof for a few hours, not even as Terri’s death was fast approaching.

  Rather than making a scene, I had earlier encouraged Bob and Mary to head home and get some rest. Bobby decided to stay across the street at the thrift store all night because we knew the end was near; he was hoping to get back into Terri’s room at the first opportunity. Suzanne, emotionally drained, left to be with her family and planned to return at daybreak.

  Just after seven on the morning of March 31, I received a frantic call from Bobby and Suzanne. Hospice officials had just barred them from seeing Terri—at Michael’s request. My call to the hospice paved the way for them to return to their sister’s side at seven-thirty. At eight-forty-five, my phone rang again. Bobby and Suzanne had been thrown out of Terri’s room by Michael once again. When I asked why, Bobby, who was almost frantic, said, ‘‘Michael just wants to see her and doesn’t want us in the room at the same time. Please, Mr. Gibbs, please. . . . I’ll be in the room with him and I’ll do whatever. . . . I just don’t want to be away from her when Terri dies.’’

  My heart ached for them.

  I said, ‘‘Bobby, they should let you in there. There’s no earthly reason why you shouldn’t be by your sister when she dies. The legal battle is over. Let me call the hospice attorney and see if we can’t get you in.’’

>   I quickly called the hospice attorney and described their predicament. She sounded sympathetic and promised to check on the situation and call me right back. She felt confident something could be worked out so that Bobby and Suzanne could be in the room together with Michael. Meanwhile, I jumped into my car and headed to Woodside. About ten minutes past nine, the attorney called me back and said, ‘‘Mr. Gibbs, I need to tell you that Ms. Schiavo passed away at 9:05.’’

  Terri had been dead for five minutes.

  I arrived at the hospice five minutes later. I joined Bobby and Suzanne at the makeshift office across the street. They rallied around me as hope filled their eyes. Bobby said, ‘‘Can you get us in to be with Terri? We don’t want her to be alone when she dies. I don’t care if I have to stand next to Michael. . . . I’ve just got to get to Terri.’’ I said, ‘‘Bobby, I can get you back in, but I need to let you know that I got a phone call on the way over here. . . . Terri’s already passed. I am so sorry.’’

  Although not a complete surprise, Suzanne began to cry. For his part, I could see the hope drain from Bobby’s eyes. His eyebrows knotted in desperation. ‘‘How can we get in, Mr. Gibbs? The police won’t let us through.’’ I said, ‘‘She’s dead now, they have to let us in. I’ll personally see that you get in there to be with her.’’

  We hurried across the street to the hospice, and thankfully, Bobby and Suzanne were admitted to go see Terri’s now lifeless body. After we walked inside, they asked me to wait at the front of the hospice for the arrival of Bob and Mary. Suzanne had called her mom at home and told them to come to the hospice as fast as they could.

  Several minutes later, Bob dropped Mary off out front while he parked the car. The fact that I was standing there and that Bobby and Suzanne had asked them to come spoke volumes; Mary already understood that Terri had died. I gave her a brief hug and said, ‘‘I’m so sorry, Mary.’’ She covered her mouth with her hand and burst into tears.

  Being with Mary at that moment was one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do.

  Composing herself, she clutched my arm and said, ‘‘David, I’ll be okay. I just want . . . to be with her. Can I see her?’’

  I said, ‘‘Yes, Bobby and Suzanne are there right now.’’

  Sobbing, she asked, ‘‘Will you let Bob know?’’

  I told her I would and that we’d catch up with them in a moment.

  She dabbed her tears with a tissue, turned, and silently made her way inside to grieve with her remaining two children.

  Several minutes later Bob shuffled toward me. I could tell that this father, who had crusaded so valiantly for so long, was drained yet remained determined to fight to the finish. Although he was physically weary and emotionally depleted, the fire in his eyes was unmistakable. I wasn’t sure, looking at him, if he really comprehended that Terri was gone.

  I said, ‘‘Bob, we’ve lost her. . . . Terri is with God now.’’

  Bob seemed startled. ‘‘When? Was Bobby with her? Was she alone?’’

  I was struck by the fact that it mattered very much to him, as a dad, that Terri not die without her family surrounding her. Michael had won what he wanted in terms of a positive press release for him upon Terri’s death; but to deny her family the opportunity to be in the room while she was taking her last breath was beyond the pale.

  FAREWELL, TERRI

  When Terri passed away on March 31, 2005, the security protocol seemed more relaxed—to a degree. But when I reached the door to Terri’s room, the police were under instructions, apparently from Michael, not to permit anybody but the immediate family inside. That was odd. I had been on the visitors list for months. Why the abrupt change? The officer, however, informed me that now that Terri had died, I was no longer permitted inside.

  Complicating matters was Mary’s crying out and Bob’s insistence, bordering on screaming at the guards, to allow me to come in to comfort the family. All they wanted was a supportive hug and a few words of encouragement in their hour of great loss. Instead, we were shocked at the news that I had been banned from the room.

  Standing just outside the door, I could see Terri’s still form. Before her feeding tube was removed, it would have been impossible for me to see her from the doorway. She had been situated out of sight so as to avoid any human contact with the outside world. Once the dehydration/starvation process had begun, however, her bed was repositioned so that the armed guard posted at the door could keep an eye on her at all times—for security reasons.

  As I looked over his shoulder at Terri’s now lifeless body, my mind drifted back to the first time I’d met her. No longer was she the animated woman whom I had come to know. I couldn’t help but notice that this time when Bob went to kiss his daughter, she no longer made her ‘‘lemon face.’’ I had so hoped and prayed that we could have prevented this miscarriage of justice even though I knew the case, realistically, had been lost before we were ever asked to get involved.

  My heart yearned to reach out to the Schindlers. Watching Bob and Mary wail over their daughter’s senseless death was almost too much to bear. As I watched from the doorway as the family continued to weep over their lost loved one, I felt something deep in my soul—I felt a profound loss for our country. As Congressman Mike Pence (R-IN) would say later that day, ‘‘With her death, America lost not only a precious citizen, America lost its innocence.’’

  He added, ‘‘Although Terri Schiavo’s life may be over, the debate over the rights of incapacitated Americans is not over. Congress must right this wrong by ensuring that incapacitated Americans may not be deprived of their inalienable right to life without the assurance of the due process of law that our federal courts were established to protect. This will be Terri Schiavo’s legacy.’’2 I couldn’t agree more.

  Still standing at the door, Mary’s sobbing filled the air as she embraced Terri for the last time. Bob Schindler continued to plead that I be permitted to come in to comfort the family. The police stationed around her bed refused to grant his request. In fact, orders had been given by Michael through his lawyer that I was to leave immediately. I said, ‘‘But they’re obviously very upset. Can’t I go in for a few minutes?’’ The police stood their ground and said, ‘‘No.’’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  Terri was dead, right?

  I asked if I could at least pray for them. Thankfully, we reached a compromise: I could pray as long as I didn’t set one foot inside the room. As I prayed from the doorway, my arms literally outstretched over the officer blocking the door, I was not able to offer the comfort that the Schindlers needed in that very sad moment. It was . . . heartbreaking. The instant we finished praying the police officers said, ‘‘We have our orders. Mr. Gibbs, you need to leave—now.’’ I was escorted out of sight to a side room down the hall. There, I waited for the Schindlers while they, too, were rushed by the security officers to say their final good-byes.

  About ten minutes later, the Schindlers walked into the room where I had been waiting for them. We hugged and prayed, and I tried to offer some degree of encouragement. We arranged for a minivan and a motorcycle police escort. The vehicles met us at the rear entrance of the hospice to shuttle Bob and Mary home. After all, the news helicopters were circling overhead trying to capture the first picture of the weeping mother. I’m sure the media frenzy out front would have been devastating.

  Right now, this couple needed to be left alone.

  They had suffered enough. Media coverage could no longer help Terri.

  The family asked if I’d go outside and make the announcement that Terri had died while they headed home. I was honored to help. After ensuring that the transportation was in place, I exited the hospice by the front door to speak with the press. I said, ‘‘This is indeed a sad day for the nation; this is a sad day for the family. Their faith in God remains consistent and strong. They are absolutely convinced that God loves Terri more than they do. They believe that Terri is now ultimately at peace with Go
d himself. They intend to comfort themselves with their faith and with their family at this time.’’

  Later that afternoon, we worked together on a more complete family statement. My father always told me in any conflict, you should always do three things:

  1. take the right stand

  2. the right way

  3. with the right spirit

  I appreciated the fact that the Schindlers were in full agreement with the spirit of that approach. Here, then, is a portion of the Schindler family statement as read by Bobby and Suzanne at four o’clock the day Terri died:

  As you are aware, Terri is now with God and she has been released from all earthly burdens. After these recent years of neglect at the hands of those who were supposed to protect and care for her, she is finally at peace with God for eternity. We are speaking on behalf of our entire family this evening as we share some thoughts and messages to the world regarding our sister and the courageous battle that was waged to save her life from starvation and dehydration.

  We have a message for the volunteers that helped our family:

  Thank you for all that you’ve done for our family. Thank you to the hundreds of doctors who volunteered to help Terri.

  Thank you to the fifty doctors who provided statements under oath to help Terri. Thank you to the lawyers who stood for Terri’s life in the courtrooms of our nation. From running our family’s Web site, to driving us around, to making meals, to serving in so many ways—thank you to all of the volunteers who have been so kind to our family through all of this.

  We have a message for the supporters and people praying worldwide:

  Please continue to pray that God gives grace to our family as we go through this very difficult time. We know that many of you never had the privilege to personally know our wonderful sister, Terri, but we assure you that you can be proud of this remarkable woman who has captured the attention of the world. Following the example of the Lord Jesus, our family abhors any violence or any threats of violence. Threatening words dishonor our faith, our family, and our sister, Terri. We would ask that those who support our family be completely kind in their words and deeds toward others.