She's Still Here
A couple of weeks ago I wrote about an older woman at my local cafe. She’d become Cosmo’s favourite person in Pyrmont, she’d chosen voluntary assisted dying, and I’d said goodbye to her on what was meant to be her last day.
On Sunday I walked into the cafe like I always do, and Cosmo started pulling. Hard. Towards the spot where she used to sit.
I couldn’t work out why. She wasn’t going to be there. I had to stand and look around for a while before I saw her.
And there she was. Sitting. Not at her usual spot but a couple of tables over. Obviously, I went over and greeted her. She asked me to take a seat and said she owed me an apology and told me what had happened.
She hadn’t gone through with it. Before the final step, the doctors picked up something they’d missed, something that changed the picture, and after some time getting the right help, she’s doing better. That’s her story to tell, so I’ll leave it there.
I’d love to say my first reaction was pure joy. It wasn’t. I was shocked. I was surprised. And, if I’m being completely honest, I felt something close to betrayal.
I know how that sounds. It’s not something I’m proud of. But I’d said goodbye. I’d hugged her and told her I understood. I’d walked away with ten dollars for Cozzie’s treats and spent days thinking about her, and then written it all down so I could let it go. My head had closed the chapter.
I’ve thought about it since, and I don’t think the betrayal is really about her. Nobody owes me a particular ending. It’s that I’d put a lot of feeling into a goodbye, and the goodbye got undone without warning. That’s a strange place to be. I am glad she’s alive, but I am unsettled at the same time.
She asked if we could make Sundays a regular thing, a catch-up with Cosmo. I’ve been honest with myself about that too. I like her. I’m happy to see her. But I’m a guy who gets coffee with his dog, and I can’t be responsible for someone else’s recovery. If she’s there when we’re there, she’ll get all the Cosmo time she wants. I just can’t promise every Sunday.
Does that make me a bad person? I’ve asked myself that a few times this week. I don’t think it does. I think caring about someone and being responsible for them are different things, and it’s okay to know where that line is.
What I keep coming back to is Cosmo. He didn’t need to process anything. He didn’t feel shocked or betrayed or confused. He just saw his friend and pulled towards her, the same way he always had. He knew before I did.
Maybe there’s something in that. She’s still here. That’s the good news. The rest I’m still working out.