What does Terri Schiavo mean to the disabled?

By Peg Moore

has been more than a year since the death of Terri Schiavo. I realize that this experience has changed me forever.

I’m a 40-something wife and mom of four who happens to be totally blind and has a hearing impairment. I’m tempted to recite a litany about how I am a valuable member of my family and community and a productive member of society. But why should I have to justify my existence?

Well-meaning people often say to me, “I couldn’t live being blind. I couldn’t do it.” I step back, little alarm bells go off, and I think, “Because you couldn’t, then I shouldn’t?”

Being handicapped, I am around a lot of folks who are handicapped. The vast majority of us want to embrace life to the fullest -- even while some of us face huge struggles on a daily basis. I believe Terri Schiavo “spoke” volumes by clinging to life for as long as humanly possible.

There are a few handicapped people who say they don’t want to live because their life has no purpose. Where, or whom, have they heard this from?

We as an American society, have choices to make. How will we treat our unborn, our handicapped, our unproductive, our poor, our homeless, our mentally ill and our elderly? I think the choice is simple; we treat them either with unconditional love or disdain. Love promotes life, fosters compassion, unites family and, if I dare say, creates a communion of people. If we choose disdain, this breeds distrust, division and eventual destruction. The choice is life or death

Since March 31, 2005 (the day Terri Schiavo died), I have had an underlying, lingering fear of somehow not being protected. My foot steps are no longer steady and sure. I am walking on shaky ground, on the edge of that slippery slope. I turn and “look” directly into the eyes of the American people, or more directly, into the eyes of my friends and neighbors, the good people of Monroe County, and ask, “Am I next?”

Back to the table of contents