It was just coffee. Some might even argue it wasn't coffee because it was decaf. I had to switch when my anxiety levels peaked. At least it tastes the same.
She and I had dinner right after it happened and I was terrified. I didn't know what to expect and that fear of the unknown has always paralyzed me. I went anyway and it was fine. Nice in fact. We talked to each other as though we were finally friends. We parted ways with plans to meet again soon but soon turned out to be 3 months.
She asked how I was, I asked how she was, we hugged. There were a couple of pauses that felt weird and I wasn't sure what to think of them so I tried not to think about them at all. I rambled on about the wedding instead. About the dress and the people coming and all the little things I still had left to do. I tried not to see that her face changed when I showed her the picture of the dress and then with me in it. I told myself it didn't mean anything but there was a small hesitation before the compliment and it felt like hours. A million thoughts of 'I knew I didn't look good' flew around crashing into the earlier lovely thoughts of 'I look pretty good in this'. One of those pauses happened then as I sipped my drink. She looked at her phone to check the time.
She asked how my health was and I knew she had genuine concern but I couldn't explain so I turned the conversation to her. I'm really good at that. And she told me about her mother.
Her mother is in a home that caters to elderly folks suffering from Alzheimer's or dementia. I didn't realize the difference could be so slight but I could tell she'd asked that question long ago by the way she described it to me. I swallowed my own fears of Alzheimer's-it's the one thing I'm most afraid of happening. I would be nothing without my memories of who I was.
She talked about how each time she visits, her mom tells her she wants to go home. That she doesn't want to make friends with the other people there-that they aren't her family. Her mom misses her house, doesn't understand that she's in a locked facility and that when her daughter visits it hurts to see her that way and it scares her and it drains her when she's done.
I listened. I knew what it was like. It had been the same with my mom. Telling her it was time to go was terrifically painful. She would cry, tell us how unhappy she was, how much she just wanted to go home. But we couldn't. She needed the care she was getting but it was never enough. It wasn't me and my dad.
I told my friend that I understood. That I was so sorry she was holding on to all of that along with everything else. I thought about how when it was my turn I was barely functioning. I only went once a week and each time I needed 3 days to recover after. I needed the time to wade through the guilt and the sadness. I needed to grieve but I usually numbed myself instead. I told her I was proud of her.
Our chat ended soon after that. Bringing the subject back around to anything else just seemed unimportant. She looked at her phone again and I gave her the out. We stood up, hugged, and told each other how nice it had been to spend time together instead of making plans to do it again.
That's ok. It was just coffee.
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