I waited in line behind a guy with plaid shorts.
I noticed them for some reason as I stared and thought about the day;
One full of emotion while listening to the news; The world around me, swirling.
Being in line at the vet’s office was the last place I wanted to be.
The shorts guy needed pet medications.
He claimed his cat was “pooping all over the house.”
I exchanged a slight smile with my daughter, Alena, who sat holding our own cat:
A brief, lighthearted feeling moment, finally.
That is when I noticed her:
The woman by the counter, clutching an ancient looking dog that was obviously weak and blind, wrapped in a baby blanket.
The dog had clearly had better days, but I could tell by the way the lady kept pulling it gently up to her face for a kiss that some of that woman’s best days had been spent with it.
I studied her for a while.
I wondered why she was there.
I could tell she was alone, and then over the plaid shorts guy’s loud requests, as I watched her sloppily sign on a clipboard, I heard her barely whisper out,
“And that will…….cover the cremation?”
She pulled the dog in again, close to her face.
She finished her forms and turned to take her seat in the waiting area. As she did, her eyes caught mine, and it was as if I heard a voice that said,
“Maybe it’s not all for you today.”
So I did the thing I felt like I should do, and as she started to walk by I caught her attention and I mouthed, “I just want to hug you. Is that OK?”
Her lip quivered.
Immediate tears.
“Thank you…” she said, like she couldn’t believe…
My arm went around her.
Sometimes this world needs action without so much overthinking.
After my turn and my own forms,
I started to take a seat and noticed the seat beside hers was empty.
Not believing in coincidence, I gave Alena a look that I know she understood,
and instead of taking seat by her, I sat down next to the woman.
At first I didn’t say anything more.
I just cried with her.
I pet her soft little dog, and whispered,
“You look like you’re a good girl.”
“She’s the very BEST girl, “ the woman said, hushed.
I told her about my own dear Phoebe, and how I was not far behind in that decision.
I asked her how she had known it was time.
“You just know, “ she said, suddenly calmer. “I didn’t know three weeks ago,
but then something changed, and I just did.”
I could tell just answering that question gave her a little bit of peace,
reaffirming to herself that she was making the best decision.
I pushed past a lot of hesitation to do so, but that is when I reached out and patted her on the hand. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“Losing them is so incredibly hard, but loving them is one of the very best things.”
The nurse came, and the air went still after she called her name.
She looked at me pleadingly with tears dripping down her cheeks as she stood.
“You loved her well “ I nodded. “I can tell you gave her the very best life.”
“Seventeen years…..” She said, tears dripping still,
then she turned and walked into her room.
I prayed that she would be passed into gentle hands after me.
The nurse called our last name next.
We were led to the room right beside where they had taken her.
I tried to listen as we waited to see if I could hear the moment;
And, maybe for the best, I couldn’t hear a thing.
By the time we were done, her room was empty.
The woman: Nowhere to be seen.
My heart was heavy as I went to pay and pick up my cat’s medication,
and as I walked to the payment counter, I was suddenly face-to-face with a receptionist who I frankly just do not like;
To be honest, I completely dread, actually.
In 20 years of being patients at that office, she has never once cracked a smile.
She has never once made eye contact.
Her answers are short. Her voice is gruff.
She makes me feel like helping me is nothing short of torture.
“Not HER,” I thought. “Not now.”
But, then the voice spoke into my heart once again:
“Even her. Yes. Even her, too.”
I knew what I should do.
Even though it went against the grain of everything I was feeling as she sat there angrily typing and ignoring that I was standing in that window, I asked her softly,
“How are YOU doing today?”
And I held my breath as her eyes shot up to mine,
and then I watched them fill up with tears.
“I actually feel like I’m about to cry,” she surprised me by confessing.
I felt stunned by the sight of her soft underbelly.
And there was a break in the chain.
Just like that.
Because let me tell you: That lady started to talk, and talk a LOT.
Her day had been hard.
She had a really bad headache.
“She was reminding herself that she loved her job, because…”
Like a river of things no one had asked her to say.
I told her I was sorry, and that I understood,
that I have headaches, too, and that unless you have them you just don’t know.
I asked her if she would get to go home.
I genuinely told her that I hoped that she felt better soon, and that her day got better, and you know what?
That receptionist started calling me “Honey.”
Her whole demeanor changed.
I was struck with how often it is that the things we don’t like in people can be changed with just an act of kindness on our part, even when it seems hard at first.
I was reminded that the power to change the climate is often in our very own hands.
I walked to my car and cried behind my sunglasses,
in awe of how a simple unwanted trip to the vet had spoken into my heart in so many ways, reminding that it’s not all about us in our day-to-day.
It’s not all about our hard moment, or just our own upsetting situation;
Reminding that we are all supposed to be here for each other.
Sometimes that feels like a forgotten thing.
Sometimes the purpose of our own pain is to bind up someone else’s.
Our kindness is like a scaffolding.
Simple words spoken in kindness are what start the ripples of change so often when we find ourselves sitting sprawled in the dirt, begging for answers on where we can even go from here.
It is the hand on a hand.
The dropping of our weapons.
The lowering of our shields.
Trouble comes when we meet pain with pain.
A trip to the vet today kneaded at my heart in ways I was not at all expecting.
It caused me to deeply feel the God I love,
and listen for His heartbeat in the chests of people I would maybe normally overlook.
Who are we supposed to love?
Just the easy ones?
Just what looks like our own reflection?
Just the one who believes like we do?
Speaks like we do?
Lived in the places we know?
No.
All of them.
All meaning ALL.
I started this day feeling powerless.
But I ended it being raised back up;
Reminded, yet again, that
sometimes the soft place we tread
is the firmest place to stand.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
