hero or villain?

I saved a raccoon’s life the other day. Or did I just prolong its agony?

I hope it’s the former, but fear it’s the latter.

My quiet time with the Lord was interrupted as the raccoon floated by in the swollen creek next to me. I was close enough to hear it gasping for air as it bobbed up and down in the water.

I jumped to my feet, found a broken tree branch and reached out to try and snag it and bring it to shore. My plan seemed to work as I was able to drag it next to some tree roots, but the raccoon wasn’t able to climb ashore and continued floating downstream.

Discouraged but not willing to give up, I sprinted down the path until I got ahead of the floating animal, slid down an embankment, and then stretched out a second time to snag it with the branch.

Once again I got it near the shoreline, but now it was completely underwater and no longer struggling. Fearing the current would sweep it away yet again, I did what I really didn’t want to do: I reached out and picked it up by the scruff of the neck and laid it on the bank next to me.

Once ashore it began clicking its teeth and shaking all over, and I could see that its eyes were wide open. I was absolutely elated thinking I had actually saved its life. But after a minute or two it fell on its side and kept shaking and rattling its teeth.

Thinking it might need a little CPR, I gently pushed its belly with the side of the branch, hoping it would expel any water and help with the whole breathing thing. Things didn’t change, however, and after several minutes of watching it laying on its side and struggling I decided there was nothing else I could do.

As I headed back to my car, I was on cloud nine, thinking I had actually saved the thing’s life. But my glee quickly turned to concern as I began wondering whether the thing was shaking because of rabies instead of being cold and in shock. That unsettling thought made my feet turn around and quickly make their way back to the creek where I washed my hand thoroughly in the water.

You know, just in case.

It was then when the worst thought of all came washing over me: Maybe I didn’t save the thing’s life at all—maybe I just pulled it out of the water so it would die a slow and painful death on shore. Maybe instead of letting it drown quickly in the water I was merely prolonging its pain.

What if I was really a villain instead of a hero?

The thought haunted me for quite some time and I couldn’t help but try and make an application to people who are in so much pain they would rather be dead. Though they yearn for it and would welcome it with open arms, family, friends and doctors do everything they can to keep the person alive and kicking, no matter how poor the quality of life may be.

Even if the person would rather just give up—even if the person would rather just die than live in such excruciating pain.

Doesn’t it seem…I don’t know, a little cruel in some way and on some level? Are we merely prolonging their pain? Are we actually dooming them to spend the rest of their lives—however long or short—in agonizing pain?

How—exactly—is that compassionate?

If you’re wondering whether I’m a closet fan of Jack Kevorkian, I’m not. Just the opposite, in fact.  So no need to worry.

And yet…now, today, I think I better understand the other side of the argument.

Just saying.

"Why did I not perish at birth, and die as I came from the womb?
Why were there knees to receive me and breasts that I might be nursed?
For now I would be lying down in peace;

I would be asleep and at rest.”1

1  Job 3:11-13