There was a beloved animal in there somewhere. It was wrapped completely in a black fleece blanket, with both ends tucked in like a burrito. Three clean strips of thick clear tape secured the little bundle together. The man was dropping off his pet to be cremated at the vet’s office where I just brought my sick 18-year-old cat Nando, in his carrier howling and panting, for some fluids and an iron shot.
From my nearby seat in the waiting area, I watched the man pace a few feet back and forth in front of the registration counter, then look at the outline of the lifeless goods in his arms. I couldn’t tell if it was a cat or a small dog.
Finally, it came time for the man to hand over the little fluffy package that he so carefully put together. After it changed hands over the desk, I saw the man’s shoulders drop, his mouth wince, and his hand move toward his eyes as he fell back from the counter.
At that moment, I could watch no longer. I jumped up from the waiting area and went to the reception counter and hugged him. He half-hugged back, repeatedly saying, “Thank you.” I told him, “I’m going through it too.”
Here’s the shitty part. I started to feel shame: Did I violate his space? Did I bypass physical contact acknowledgment? Did I only do it because I needed a hug since, as I said, I’m going through it with my own cat? I immediately felt guilty and foolish. I am trying to sit with the fact that what I did was the most basic human thing my body felt compelled to do, and I couldn’t stop it. But that’s hardly an excuse.
Either way, complicating the emotions won’t help me any now. I felt that man’s pain in my heart like it was my own. I just know at that moment, when I saw him suffering, I couldn’t simply watch. And I couldn’t look away.
When I went back to my seat in the waiting area, some lady said a little too loud, “It died?!?” I motioned her to shush. The man at the counter waited for his invoice and then said, “Thank you. Good luck with yours,” as he walked out empty-handed.
In the reception area was another man seated across from me who had not seen the whole exchange as he was around the corner. He got his cockapoo in a cone brought to him on a leash and as he walked toward the exit, he gestured to Nando and said, “Sorry for your loss.”
I quickly tried to explain, “Oh, no, a man brought in his pet for cremation and--”
But he, too, was gone.
So it went from “good luck” to “sorry for your loss.” I don’t know which sentiment to carry at the moment. Maybe it’s not the words that matter at all, but in saying them, two people showed they cared. Just like I did.
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