The Saddest Question

A few weeks ago, I called Julie’s vet to ask a question I’ve been dreading. 

Since COVID, veterinary offices have limited access to their buildings. I have not set foot inside a vet’s office since 2019, even though I’ve made far too many trips to them by now. They instead offer curbside service. When you arrive, you call to let them know you’re there. They come out to your car, collect your pet, and go inside. You wait in the parking lot for however long it takes. 

Makes an already miserable experience that much worse.

I began to wonder what will happen when the day comes that I take Julie in to be euthanized. Will they let me inside? Surely they will. 

So I called my local vet to ask. 

“Of course,” I am reassured. “We let you inside for that. We always have.”

“And I’ll get to hold her?” I ask.

“Yes, absolutely.”

I was this close to asking them to put that in writing. The lawyer in me, I guess. But I refrained. 

You see, back in 2011, my wife and I had a senior citizen rat terrier named Bandit. She had been Angela’s childhood dog. We adopted her in her old age, and Bandit and I became quite close. That November, my wife decided the day had come. It wasn’t that Bandit was sick, per se. But she was 18 years old, and her quality of life was not great. 

When we took her to the vet, for some reason, they didn’t let us hold her as she passed. We sat in the room and watched, but we didn’t touch her — and I’m not sure she could even see us there, given how blind she had become. Strangely, I did not question this at the time. We were both distraught. I was not thinking clearly. And they just made it seem like the routine. A few days later, I began to feel a righteous anger at this lost moment, this sadness made even sadder. It bothered me for months, years. I suppose it still bothers me as a I type this ten years later. I feel like I let my wife down. I feel like I let Bandit down. As the man, I should have stood up and said, “No.” I should have said, “We are holding her and that’s how it is going to be.” I don’t know why I didn’t do that. 

Of course, that will not happen with Julie. I would never conceive of her dying in any way but in my arms. But this memory aches, and the chance that the vet might not let me be there for it — well, it ached in me enough to make that sad, awkward phone call.