by Holle Abee

Created on: November 17, 2008

As a Christian, for many years I felt that suicide was an unforgivable sin. I felt that the decision of life and death should be left up to God, who has a plan for all of us. We had no business in interfering with His omniscience.

My father, also a devout Christian, always took the opposing view. He reasoned that suicide, when done for unselfish motives, is justified. He believed that if a person were terminally ill and was draining his family either emotionally of financially, or both, God would understand if that person took his own life. I never agreed with Dad, however, until I was forced to contemplate the issue face to face.

At the age of 85, Dad had Parkinson's disease, severe spinal arthritis and stenosis, and regular bouts of congestive heart failure. He suffered two back-to-back heart attacks on top of his other health problems. Always an active man, he was finally restricted to a hospital bed at home.

My brother and I worked full-time jobs, so Mom was left with most of Dad's care. And at the age of 81, she was no spring chicken herself. She had her share of physical ailments, too, and being my father's caregiver was taking a toll on her frail body.

Dad loved my mother desperately. They had been married for 60 years. I honestly don't think I've ever known a man who was so in love with his wife. She was his entire world. He hated the fact that his infirmities were destroying her health, especially when he knew that he would never overcome his illnesses.

One Sunday night, just before Thanksgiving, Dad took his .38 pistol, placed it to his heart, and pulled the trigger. The blast woke Mom up, and she rushed from her room to check on Dad. He was still alive. When she asked him if he was okay, he slowly pulled back the sheet that was covering him to reveal the wound. Mother called 911 immediately.

The ambulance took Dad to the nearby hospital, where doctors performed an emergency operation. Dad's shaky hand was not able to make a perfect aim, so instead of the bullet hitting his heart, it ricocheted around bony structures and took out part of a lung, part of his intestine, a piece of his liver, and the top portion of his stomach before exiting through his back.

I can't imagine the horror Dad must have felt when he realized that the "magic bullet" failed. Instead of ending his pain and suffering, he had just made things worse. He lived three weeks on a respirator and all kings of tubes and gadgets in ICU, losing ground with each passing day. When the doctors gave up all hope, they asked the family about "pulling the plug."

I never hesitated. I knew that if my beloved father could have reached down and torn the life-forcing attachments from their power source, he would have happily done so. He was tired...tired of struggling for breath every day, tired of being in constant pain, and tired of killing my mother, slowly but surely.

By the time the doctors removed all the life support, Dad was unconscious. My sister-in-law, who was head of ICU, said he breathed one last breath before his soul left his poor old body.

I believe, with all my heart, that God welcomed my father with open arms. He understood. His capacity for love knows no bounds. He knew that my father was acting out of love and concern for his wife and family. Daddy had been a wonderful man his entire life and a faithful servant to the Lord. I just can't believe that such a loving God would deny my father's entrance to Heaven under such dire circumstances.

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