The Hardest Choice A Parent Has to Make

Today was the hardest day I’ve ever faced as a parent.  It was also my daughter’s twelfth birthday.  Some decisions we make about and for our children are so easy, some are more difficult, and then a few are like ripping our own hearts out. 

Our daughter, Hannah, was born with a gift.  She loves animals—to her, they are people, maybe even superior to people.  She’s the only one in our family that has this gift, and as you know, when you have a special gift that not many share, you sometimes feel alone.  Occasionally I wish she didn’t have this gift (mostly because I see the isolation it brings her).  But more often than wishing God had not given her this gift, I wished that someone else in our family shared it with her—maybe even me, so I, her mother, of all people, could give her heart something that I fall so desperately short of.

It is so difficult as a parent when you feel like you can’t give something to your child.  I don’t mean the coolest pair of sneakers on the shelf, but to give to their hearts.  In this way, I can only try to imagine the agony that parents of chronically ill or terminally ill children must feel.  May our Lord bless these families with glory and riches beyond our imagination upon His return!

Hannah’s best friend was a 4 year old, 65 lb, wet nosed pit bull—Dixie.  Dixie was hit by a car about a year ago.  The accident was terrible.  She had three fractures and we didn’t think she was going to make it.  Dixie and Hannah share the same steady as an oak stubbornness! Dixie pulled through and made a full recovery.  But as time went on we began to notice subtle changes in her personality.  She was increasingly protective of Hannah—to the point, we, her family, were the one Dixie felt the need to protect Hannah from.  She seemed to be less patient with the other children in the home nipping at both of them and started showing aggression to other animals, including her fur-siblings who had been in the home for years.  After two very aggressive attacks on some of our country yard animals, the choice we had to make was not a choice at all.  But the only option meant breaking our daughter’s heart.  You pray, if there is any other way, God—please let it be. 

Last night after the most aggressive attack Dixie has made, Paul and I sat down to pray.  We knew it had to be done.  Dixie could no longer even be given to another home—she was too dangerous a threat to other animals and people.  Paul made the call to the vet and they told us to bring her in tomorrow first thing in the morning.  When he hung up the phone, we both stared at each other—tomorrow is Hannah’s birthday.  How do we break her heart and what kinds of parents do that to their daughter on her birthday? Our hearts were broken too—for Hannah. 

Neither Paul nor I slept too well last night.  We snuggled tight, silently, and just prayed.  This morning we tried to pretend it was a normal Saturday morning.  We solemnly drank coffee as the children silently slept; knowing the task ahead was not easy.  At last, Paul set down his coffee cup and headed to wake Hannah.  My prayers hastened in their fervency; thanking God for the husband I had, for his courage and boldness, for his faithfulness in the Lord, for his fruits of long-suffering and peaceful nature, and for my daughter—that God would hold her heart in his hands.  I opened my bible, then I heard her tears, and mine own flowed—into my coffee and onto the pages of my bible.  I tried to quiet my sobbing as to not wake the two Littles on my bedroom floor, but as Hannah’s crying continued, I couldn’t control my weeping.  My heart broke for my daughter, and I was glad I didn’t have to be the one to tell her.  A few moments later, Paul exited her room.  He had invited Hannah to go to the vet’s office with him but wasn’t sure if she wanted to go.  In divine manner, God gave me courage to enter to my little girl’s room.  My core was shaky, my hands were sweaty, but in an instant I had the ability to speak without choking on tears.  I held her and reminded her that God was in control and how much I loved her.  I didn’t, I couldn’t, say Happy Birthday to her.  I helped her throw on some  dirty jeans from her bedroom floor, a gray hoody from her most recent church youth weekend trip, and a camo ball cap then I walked with her down the hall to the living room.  When she saw Dixie in her kennel, she immediately stopped, turned around, buried her head in my shoulder, and began weeping again.  We went to the bathroom and tucked a roll of toilet paper into her hoody pocket.  There were little or no words as she and Paul put the leash on Dixie and loaded into the truck.  As they pulled away, I thought I might throw up but my knees were too weak to move my body.   Sobs rang from my soul again as I prayed passionately that God would please hold my daughter’s heart and heal her.

The day ahead is long and weary.  The path we travel is not always easy.  Through this moment of deep grief in my family, I am reminded of how much God loves us; so much that he gave up His ONLY son so that we might have eternal life with him in heaven.  The anguish of giving up your child to a world of pain and suffering for the sake of pure, unconditional, faithful love is the most powerful act imaginable.  Today, as a parent, I experienced the most imeasurable hint of that—it will never compare to the love our Creator has for us. 

I've thanked God continuously all day for his love for us and I pray that all of my friends know His saving grace.