The guy was new.
You could tell. He took it personal, made it emotional. He was bawling his eyes out, apologizing profusely. He was neglecting his other commitments.
A vet would be cold, emotionless. A vet had seen it all, and learned that these things happen, not to get too attached. And then you move on, like life. And you never apologise. You have done nothing wrong.
The wife and daughter came first, the curtain drawn around them. You couldn't hear them, that was the worst. The loud ones were preferred, the ones that announced their feelings to the whole ward. The quiet ones, they tore you up. For a vet, it was easy with time to distance one's self, but for the quiet ones this was personal. It was almost un natural(SP?) , and either a sign of inner strength or estrangment (SP?).
The mother came. Now she was a wailer. Her screams echoed along the corridors, as she was gently guided by her children. Now this, this was good. This screeching was common, you could block it out, it drowned out all else. No awkward silences. Blissful noise fillng each creavce (SP?).
They held a vigil. They always do that. So pointless, it's just a shell. It won't hear or care, it's beyond that now. But they always do that. They all become quiet and solemnly say meaningless nothings to something that cannot care. Because it was a something, not a someone anymore.
And then they file out, to their homes, and continue the process, of which one is not a part. One just carries on, to the next. Within a week, if that, it's someone else and last week's trials are forgotten.
A vet just lives day to day. Weeks are immeasureably long, who cares what happened a week ago? But this guy, he cared. He remembered. He probably went with the family after shift, consoling them. It was probably his first. Those are never easy, it is a rite of fire for most. But this guy, he was taking it harder than most.
You could tell.
The guy was new.