My job isn’t the best.

People wonder how I take it all in, manage to keep my lunch down, come home, have dinner, go to bed and do it all again the next day. Frankly, apart from the occasional blues, I don’t get overwhelmingly upset by the things I see at work, as I always try and focus on the good that comes of it. That more or less solves it for me.

Though there was this one day.

My memory of that day will remain etched into my brain for as long as I live.

After double-checking the address, I parked outside and got my gear ready.

Medical bag. Papers. A stethoscope slung over the neck.

I was received at the door by the gray face of a woman in her late 30′s.

“She’s sleeping over there.”

On the sofa lay a dog half-buried in cushions and sheets. Her snout poked out from under the covers, quivering as she fought for air. The disturbed rise and fall of her chest made it hard to look.

I set my things aside and began to pet her soft coat. Awakened by the touch, the dog looked up at me with wretched eyes that stung and plead to be shut once opened.

I could see she wasn’t ready to go; her soul wasn’t, at least.

She had lost sense of how it felt to be alive - fetch in the park, feeling the breeze through a car window, falling asleep in the lap of a loved one - but she hadn’t forgotten.

She longed to go back, to live a life free of suffering, but her body denied her the privilege. Some would call it a fate worse than death.

A terrible thought, yes, but this was all customary.

It’s what I stomached every day. I was doing them a favor.

A bundle of signed papers was placed onto the coffee table next to me.

“Would you prefer to hold her?” I asked.

“I’ll stay right here,” the woman sighed, sitting on the floor and resting her head on a pillow to face her.

I unpacked my things and laid them out on the table. This was the part where I had to explain to the client what to expect. A supportive, open tone and uncomplicated words were key here.

“First I’ll be giving her something to make her fall asleep, which will take about ten minutes to take full effect.”

I never liked watching people start to tear up, so I kept my eyes on the dog.

“Then I’ll just be here, you’ll have as much time as you need with her. And whenever you’re ready, I can...”

My voice trailed off as I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

A tiny boy no older than seven pranced over.

“What are you doing here?” the woman asked softly, clearly distressed. “I thought we agreed you’d come down when I called you for lunch.”

Wide-eyed and distracted, the boy made no response. He had been staring at me ever since he arrived.

“Hi, mister.”

“Hello, boy. Your mother and I-”

“This gentleman is here to help me out with some things. In the meantime, you-”

“Are you a doctor?” he gasped.

I looked down at my stethoscope, which was dangling just above his eye level.

“Look, kid-”

“You’re here to help Daisy, aren’t you?” he exclaimed.

Completely heartbroken from the task at hand, his poor mother could do nothing but watch her son, speechless.

“Daisy’s my best friend!” He nuzzled the dog’s cheeks. “We’d do everything together and have the most fun you could possibly have... But then one day she got all slow and sick and- I don’t know. She seems like she can’t do any fun stuff with me anymore. Now I get sort of lonely.”

Daisy let out a grunt, followed by a huff of clammy breath.

It was my turn to be speechless.

“Look, mom!” He poked at the bottles I laid out. “The man’s got all these- these potions for helping Daisy! She’ll be like her old self again!”

Mortified, his mother gave me a hopeless look that pleaded for my forgiveness.

“You’ll help her... right, mister?”

I spent every ounce of my willpower to avoid his gaping eyes. I knew that what he asked, I couldn’t give. Even if I wanted to. Yes, I was helping the dog, but not in a way he was old enough to appreciate. It would, in fact, be a loss to the boy, a loss of something irreplaceable in his life.

I never asked for this.

It was as if time had stopped, and I was being torn down the middle, and everything I once thought to be of value in life fell short at the feet of this boy and his dog.

My eyes stung.

“I’ll- I’ll try my best to help her,” I said, struggling to remember how to speak.

His face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Thanks, mister!”

The boy ran in and hugged my knees tight.

Pulling herself together, his mother got up to her feet, mouthing me an “I’m sorry,” to which I replied with an assuring nod. A nod was all I could muster.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

A tear rolled down my cheek as I looked back down at the boy, whose smile I could hear in his voice.

“She’ll be happy, I promise.”

We watched things cascade like a waterfall, starting with the first plate she broke. Standing at the counter, looking down at her phone instead of paying attention, she dropped it, scattering shards on the floor. You played it off even though your brain hates when the collections are incomplete, and swept it up, joking that she could be more careful. She barely heard you over her own giggling at a joke someone else made. Nevermind the mess. You just told us to stay out of the kitchen and put up the kiddie barrier, so we wouldn't be tempted to cut our feet and paint your perfect floor red.

It came out again the same night at dinner when you asked about her day and she ranted for nearly an hour about someone named David while you huffed and angrily stirred your spatzel even though they were already coated in paprikash. We heard your hushed reprimanding on deaf ears as we tried to sleep and Tina asked if everything was okay and I shrugged because I knew it was better to ignore it. Ignore your rising anger as our mother went on and on about other people that made her feel like you never could. Sit and watch as you made up people to compete because you couldn't stand that her life was moving and yours wasn't.

My sister and I watched it all happen like a reality show. A mild discrepance would drive you to the point of fighting whoever it involved and a hushed truce would be whispered in your room. Tina and I grew accustomed to going outside when the voices got too loud then staying out all night then only coming home when we ran out of clothes at our boyfriends' houses. Taking the car to escape. Feigned attempts at family therapy that left us teetering on another tier of cards that are a breeze from toppling. The cat became the reason you were together when Tina went to college. The grandkids wouldn't understand Grandma moving out. Your friends would talk, your morgage would skyrocket, your bed would be so cold... We just watched, signing to each other that something would give.

It finally did. David died and Mom was buried with hin. She sat in that one place, with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, watching the world pass by. Watching the kids learn to walk, then get jobs, then drive. You fumed silently as you always did until Thanksgiving when the kettle started screaming. It started with another broken plate, one you threw at the wall because she cried that you donated David's favorite blouse. The whole family watched as thirty years of words fumed from your fingers. You threw the blue plate she loved, then the yellow, then the red and green and slammed the matching bowls against the counters and attacked the stemware. The kids covered their ears as we did before. We retreated outside as always, my sister taking a smoke and signing that it'll end soon. It'll all blow over. This won't last.

My daughter helped Mom pick up the plates as she cried, and my husband tried to calm you down. He played Aretha Franklin and let you feel the calming vibrations. Mom bit her lip until it bled and picked the pieces up bare handed, staining the floor. She didn't seem to care. It was all over, we were convinced. We all left, murmuring goodbye and wondering what would happen. On Black Friday, you were both back sitting together on the couch, hand in hand, shouting at the Clemson game. Tina looked at me knowingly. It was better to just stay quiet and let you guys do what you did best.

"Hey, did you see that last episode of _____ ?"

"I don't have cable."

"Oh. Well, it's on ____ too ya know?"

"Mmm, don't have that either."

"Ah. Anyway, the last episode was really good, but I don't want to spoil it for you."

"Trust me - you won't. I'm never watching it. Please, gush on ahead. I'll pretend to show interest while I finish this up."

By the time you actually told me you liked me, it was too late.

I didn't need to know how you used to feel.

Because I still felt - still feel - that way.

Because by then you were so much more than just some stupid crush.

You said you felt like I deserved your honesty,

but honestly, what did I ever do to you to deserve so much pain?

She wrote a special poem for him she enclosed in wooden frame

The old man's life from here on out would never be the same

His wife of many years had passed and it was funeral time

The poem described their love and life in each and every rhyme

She stood up at the podium and read the prose aloud

Nervous at the people there in such a large crowd

A tender moment, people mourned the loss of Alice Creed

She was so respected always helping folks in need

She gave the poem to the man and graciously sat down

And then another man came up smiling like a clown

He stood up front, his time to speak he eyed us in the church

What he said was nothing good it made us all feel worse

"These children on the front row are not the only two

The child I raised for Alice, the one you never knew"

We were grieved and now were shocked but no one made a sound

Pretending we heard nothing as the asshole clown sat down