There was a memorial service for Terri Schiavo at Our Lady of Good Counsel Church in Upper Southampton Friday evening.

The church, which Terri attended as a child, was full. The eulogies from friends were tender. Eight priests officiated.

Terri's parents, Bob and Mary Schindler, were there. So were Terri's brother, Bob, and sister, Suzanne. Many who came were strangers.

Among them was Lucille Reale, who stood at the rear of the church, her hands gripping the handles of the wheelchair of her profoundly disabled son, Vincent, 22. Mrs. Reale, who also attended the service with her daughter, Kristin, 26, drove from North Jersey to get to Southampton, a place they had never been.

"I felt we had to be here," Mrs. Reale said.

Terri Schiavo was in a persistent vegetative state in Florida for 15 years and had no hope of recovering, doctors said. Her husband, Michael, won a court order to have her feeding tube removed. Terri died March 31.

The impact this had on the Reales is deep. "I see my son's face in Terri," Mrs. Reale said.

She wanted to introduce the Schindlers to Vincent. "They will see he is a sweet young man," she said. When Vincent was born, he suffered seizures resulting in severe cerebral palsy, the Reales said.

"Terri was much more functional than he is," Kristin Reale said of her brother. "He doesn't really react to the family, but she did."

"I think she could have come back. But that's not the reason why they shouldn't have pulled her feeding tube," Mrs. Reale said.

"All people should be valued for just their life, for who they are and not based on what they can do," Kristin said.

"There's tremendous value in suffering," she said. "The disabled bring simple joy that a lot of us who are healthy miss. There's innocence. When we take care of them, we fall in love. My brother taught me unconditional love. I'm not saying it's easy, but I'm very grateful for it. He has a purpose. I've grown a lot as a person because of him. I know that God had a reason for him being the way he is.

"Every life matters," she said.

They worry that an emboldened "right-to-die" movement will target the medically helpless.
"This is going to be commonplace," Kristin said. "They're going to come for the severely disabled, then where is the line going to be drawn?"

"I used to have a sense as a kid that I lived in a country where my elected officials were going to do right and that people were gonna do right. I don't feel that way anymore," Lucille said.

"Vinnie brought me into a beautiful world. More love. More kindness. It's hard for me to understand Michael [Schiavo] and the others. I pray for them. It's a very scary movement. It's the culture of death," she said.

The Reales walked to the parish hall where the Schindlers greeted guests.

Bob Schindler spotted Vincent. He came over. Lucille Reale introduced them. Schindler knelt on one knee in front of the wheelchair. He looked intensely into Vincent's dark eyes.

"Hey, Vince," he said. "Hey, Vincenzo. Vinnie. How are ya, pal? How are ya, buddy? Come on, buddy. How are you?"

There was no visible reaction from Vincent. Schindler held his gaze for a long while, then he smiled.

"You've a beautiful son," he said.

Mary Schindler came over, too. She said hello to Vincent and smiled at him.

She leaned over and gently kissed him on his head.