Cathy

It was my second week at rehab. It was becoming old hat. I knew what was expected of me and as I am a perpetual people pleaser, I complied. Thursdays were graduation days. The girls leaving that week would get up and give a little tear-filled graduation speech and then they’d pack up their bags, be given back their “contraband” (minus any unapproved substances of course), and they’d be released back into the real world.

We were all so jealous of the girls that got to leave, but then scared for them as well. The disease was waiting for us right out in the parking lot. What would it be like to see it again? Sometimes we got to hear stories when the girls would return for the alumni meetings. They would tell us how it was going and they’d say they were doing really well. The fear in their faces told another story, but they acted tough. That Thursday, there were 12 girls graduating. One was from the long program. Three months. Not very many of us stayed for three whole months. That was for people with money. Her name was Cathy. I had never talked to her because I was in the 30-day program. She was small and maybe mid 40’s-ish. Shoulder length shiny brown hair and glasses. She looked kind. She got up in front of the group of us, maybe 50 or 60 people including family members. She was smiling. Glowing even. She wasn’t nervous like I thought I would be. She was excited, you could hear it in her voice. Of course she thanked all of the counselors and techs. She said she felt “blessed” and that she had learned so much during her stay. Then she said that she didn’t want to make a long speech, that she wanted to wait until she had a year and then come back and tell us about her recovery. And with that, she sat down. We all clapped. Like we did for all of the girls. Hopeful that they would go out and stay sober giving us each more hope that we ourselves could stay sober when it was our turn to leave.

I saw Cathy a few times after I left rehab. She was at some of the meetings that I went to. She was boisterous and fun with a loud and distinctive laugh. She radiated positive energy. Her mouth moved a mile a minute, but I liked her. It turned out we knew people in common. From the outside world. I can’t remember what she did for a living, but she had some big career. Or she had had the big career before rehab and now she was trying to figure out what to do with herself. I didn’t know a lot about her and I didn’t really ask. And then I didn’t see her anymore. We hadn’t been close so I hadn’t thought to miss her.

It was five years later and I was now six years sober and volunteering in a homeless women’s shelter. Well, not exactly a shelter. It’s a church. We bring in a group of homeless women, feed them breakfast and then help them pick out some clothes. I had been going there every Monday for several months. I thought it would be sad, but the women are generally pretty happy and most of them very kind. It was the last Monday in October and I had just finished helping an older woman pick out some pants when I heard that laugh. Cathy’s laugh. I looked over and there she was being helped by my friend Amy. I was almost positive it was her, but I asked Amy her name and she told me “Catherine.” It was definitely her. I didn’t follow her. I think I froze. I told Amy I knew her and she held my hands and asked if I was OK. The way she asked, with tears in her eyes, was so loving and compassionate. I wondered why I didn’t feel like crying. We finished helping the ladies and cleaned everything up. I drove towards home, but decided to go to a noon AA meeting instead. I really wanted to be around my people. The meeting was good, a few people shared about some people not ever getting this thing. Isn’t that the truth? I talked to a couple of friends after the meeting and told them about seeing Cathy. They hadn’t known her, but we all shared that same knowingness. That same fear that it could be us. I wanted to think of all the reasons that this must have happened to her and why it couldn’t happen to me. I couldn’t come up with any.       

The next week, I was back at the church. I looked for Cathy at breakfast and saw her sitting with a table of young women. I knew I wanted to say something to her, but I didn’t know how to approach her. We got to work “shopping” with the ladies. I had Becky first. I'd been seeing her coming in for a couple of months. She was always so sweet, saying “God bless you” over and over. She said she was looking for warm clothes for her vacation to California. I asked when she was going and she said any day now, she was just waiting for the police to let her know when they would be taking her. I felt sad for her, but she just seemed so happy. I shopped with a few other women and then went up to get my next client. It was Cathy. My words sort of tripped over themselves trying to get out of my mouth. I asked her if she remembered me. I told her we knew each other from treatment. She squealed and said of course she remembered me. She gave me a huge hug and then asked how I was. Was I still sober? Where was I going to meetings? I asked her how she was. She told me she had gone through a very bad relapse. A horrible relapse. I asked her if she was sober now and she said she had just returned from a six-month rehab program in Uvalde, Texas. She had been working there and it was going well, but she needed to come back to Austin because her son was here. She hugged me several times while we talked. She said she wanted to try to go back to AA, once she got over her shame. I assured her that she would be welcomed back anytime. She said she was living at the Salvation Army. And she seemed really happy. We picked out some clothes for her. She found a great rust colored cardigan and a couple of lovely blouses. She said she was working with a case-worker to help her find a job. That she was going to her storage unit to get some of her things. She was friendly with one of the other homeless women that was trying on clothes. A tiny blond woman with a black eye. I guess they watched out for one another. Cathy told her to definitely try on the black and red plaid blazer from Talbot’s. It was a winner. Another hug goodbye and we agreed to try and keep in touch. I hope we do. I hope she stays sober. I hope we all do. Because we deserve that.

After she left, another volunteer, Nicky, asked me how I knew Cathy. I don’t often share my past with people, but something made me tell her that we got sober together, but she didn’t stay sober. Nicky walked over and touched my arm and whispered, “I wish my son could get sober.”     

I talked to a friend on the way home, I wanted to try and get out what I was feeling. My friend told me that I had been Cathy’s angel and she mine. I don’t know that I could possibly figure out all of the thoughts going on in my head. Fear, but also great gratitude. I do know that Cathy will never know how much she did for me.

(This essay was originally written in November 2014. I have not seen Cathy since and I do not know what happened to her. I hope she's doing well.)