“What it comes to, I think, is the knowledge that you are not God…And the very real regret that you cannot be.” –Diana Gabaldon, Voyager

At work, I am faced with death on almost a daily basis. The death of horses, that is. Don�t get me wrong, we don�t have horses die every day at our hospital. We are, in fact, in the business of healing sick horses. But the horses that we deal with are not happy, healthy and normal. They are the sick, old, broken and ailing. And that is what I mean by facing death every day.

Death is obvious, if not imminent in these horses. Sickness has a way of breaking down the barrier that hides death within each of us. It proves our mortality. As a twenty-something year old, my mortality really isn�t high on my list of daily considerations; yet the issue is forced on me due to my work.

Even from the beginning, my career choice has proven to be a difficult one. The very first day that I volunteered at an animal hospital, three dogs were euthanized. Kind of like, “Just in case you thought this was a warm and fuzzy job–perfect for the animal lover in you!” So I learned early on to create some calluses. It happens, but I can�t allow it to affect me too much. As a medical professional, I hold the box of tissues, but I�m not the one that gets to break down.

All this to say, I have lived and worked among it for so long, yet I have still maintained the ability to say, “This won�t happen to me.” It�s that easy, isn�t it? Until it does happen to you. And when it does, all the calluses that you have built up are torn off and the reality of death�s sting is allowed to press close to the open sore. Watching my beloved dog cry in agony over the pain inside of her brought me closer to breaking down in an animal hospital than I have ever been. And now death has taken her. She is gone, along with the gorgeous white shepherd that wasn�t trustworthy, the loyal old retriever that had finally served enough days, the mutt that didn�t stop licking my hands until it was over, the colicking horse that I led, stumbling out of the barn, too dazed with pain to see where she was going, the foundered horse that we nursed and loved for over a year before his end came, and so many countless others. Some are more vividly burned into my memory than the rest, but they are all there.

And where does this leave me? Feeling helpless. Feeling hopeless. And, more often than not, feeling angry. If only I had� If only I could have� Why didn�t they just� Why did it have to happen? I know that people have struggled with the subject of good and evil in regard to God for a long time (to say the least). And recent events have gotten me thinking about death in regard to God. Although mankind has fought for life its entire existence, death has still overcome. And because of that, it has become something that is not polite to talk about in public, like sex. We, as humans, are ashamed that we don�t have an antidote for death, no matter what form it comes in. And as I am faced with its reality every day, I am frustrated that I can�t change it. However, despite my frustrations, the fact still remains that I cannot. My finite power is not enough. So the next question is, do I strive and moan after what is impossible (cheating death), or do I accept the fact that I am not God and never will be? The choice is mine every time I hold that trusting head while the doctor and I administer death. However unjust or wrong death seems to me, it is not a surprise to God. Although this knowledge doesn�t prevent me from doing what I know will help beforehand, it does allow me peace when considering what has happened.

Death will always bring the pain of loss and the regret of what we could not prevent, but the knowledge that we are not God should bring us what we need most: peace.