Death

My husband and I made the difficult decision to have our German Shepherd euthanized yesterday. Though we felt a great amount of turmoil about doing it, we knew in our hearts that it was the best thing for him. He had been diagnosed with degenerative myelopathy last October, an insidious disease that slowly left his hind quarters paralyzed. While his mind was alert, his body had failed. And as the paralysis gripped him, we knew the decision to have him humanely euthanized loomed every day. In his final days, he relied on us to help lift his back and help him move from place to place. We could see his frustration when he wanted to play, but chose to lay instead. It had become too hard.

Having a beloved pet euthanized is traumatic for its humans. We personify our feelings of grief onto them. Our vet was kind and gentle in those last minutes, and Bear passed peacefully in our arms as if going to sleep. The hurt is deep and our love for him carries us through the days that follow.

I also lost my father five days ago. He had lived and suffered the effects of heart disease and failing health for much of my adult life. I watched him wither from vitality to weakness. Unlike our boy Bear, Dad's failing health took its toll on him for decades. We lived in the knowledge that one day the medical technology and medications would not be enough, and he would succumb to death. That time came in the form of hospice care and daily caregiving from my sister. He wanted to die at home with his wife and children surrounding him, and we honored his request by keeping our phones near and going each time we were called. The last time I saw him alive, I sang a special hymn in his ear, assuring him that all is well and the peace of the Holy Spirit is attending our souls. It was one of the few times I'd sung since losing my hearing. He died peacefully in his sleep a few days later.

A parent's death follows the natural order we anticipate. Grief is magnified when we see our parents' fear. But the sweetness of our memories balances the loss we feel. Our faith in God assures us that death is only the end of our time on Earth, and we will live again with those who've passed. The hurt is quiet, and we are calmed. He walks with Jesus.

I have noticed that death often visits us in clusters, as if it helps to grieve that way, too. But this I know: God is good. And in this time I will hold those I love and those I've lost near to my heart and mind.