This past Friday I told my five-year-old son that when Mommy got home from school, he and I would go outside and play, perhaps toss a ball around, play tag, whatever way the wind blew. Looking at the radar on Friday, it appeared that the wind was going to be blowing some rain showers and thunderstorms our way. This meant that we had to hurry, that we wouldn't have much time to play.
So, out we went, down the steps and onto the sidewalk. I got the mail out of our mailbox and remembered I had to also pick up the neighbor's mail. "No sense in waiting for the fun to commence," I told myself, so I threw the ball into the side yard. "Go ahead and play, David. I'll be right back." My son picked up the ball and proceeded to romp as most kids have a tendency to do, while I gathered the lonely mail for my absent neighbor.
As I make my way back to my front porch, my son runs closer to me and says, "Daddy, I tried to wake Peanut-girl up, but she won't wake up." I already had all the information I needed. Approaching the large dogwood tree, walking beneath a canopy of white blossoms and small green leaves, I see Peanut lying motionless in a little hole she'd dug and in which she liked to spend her time. I took my son by the hand and we walked back to the house. "Why won't she wake up, Daddy?" "Because she died, Bubby." Then the question I knew was to follow: "How do we fix it?" I looked down and said, "We don't, Son."
My wife's mother passed away a few months before David turned three years old, but he doesn't remember the events, the emotions of the moment. While being somewhat exposed to the passing on of people through my own position as a pastor, this is the first time my son has been truly "emotionally connected" to death.
I was about the same age as my son when I lost my first dog. I remembered those emotions, over a quarter-century later, as I dug the grave for Peanut (I should say that Peanut had a cancer-like ailment for most of the six years we owned her which caused her to experience several painful episodes, so her sudden and easy passing was a blessing). With shovel in hand I realized that for the rest of the evening, and probably much longer, I would be confronted with questions I could not answer: Why did she die? Will we see her in heaven? How will Jesus wake us up when we get there? Does Jesus have breakfast?
There were tears, laughs, more tears, moments of comfort and of grief. It's hard for a child to have to confront death, especially the death of a beloved pet that has been around his entire life. But as I sat contemplating the whole situation, I realized that for most people's first experience with the real "facts of life" is dealing with the fact of death, and usually that of a pet. As parents we often fret about that inevitable day we'll be forced to explain the birds and the bees, but it's probably far harder to explain that which even we as adults don't fully comprehend.
The fact of human life is that it comes to an end, and many times there are no answers, nothing to make everything okay. It's just something that everyone must face sooner or later, and the best way to get through it is by seeking the solace of the Lord. Searching Scripture, I have found no specific references to "pet heaven," but I know that as my son stood at the small grave with my wife and me, he is the one who referenced Jesus. As a pastor and as a father, that made me feel better, because I realize that as an earthly father, there are questions I can't answer and things I can't fix, things like a broken heart.
We can't always understand fully why things happen the way they do, the reasons behind why and when death comes, and dealing with the pain of that (along with the pain of having no answers) can be almost unbearable. But dealing with the facts of life, all the facts of life, is much easier when you have the Lord to lean on; just knowing there is SOMEONE who DOES have the answers is sometimes enough to make the unbearable just bearable enough.
As I sat typing this message, my son sat down beside me, saw the pictures of Peanut close to the camera, and the both of them playing. He said, "There's Peanut. You know, I'm really going to miss her, but we had some really good times. We'll just have to remember her and see her in heaven." Is it any wonder Jesus extolled the virtues of childlike faith? Our world today says that faith is child-ISH, but it takes child-LIKE faith to find the peace we need in those hardest of times.
This won't be the last tragedy my son will have to face in this life, nor the last we as a family will have to endure. But at this stage, I'm glad I can go to bed knowing that my five-year-old son knows where to turn when Daddy can't fix it. To me, there's no greater knowledge, no greater hope, or no greater peace than that.
So long, Peanut. Thanks for being part of our family, and bringing so much joy to such a special little boy.
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