Being a therapist was great, but doing it online? Not my cup of tea. Since I love being around people, I decided to pick up a barista job also—it’s the perfect way to chat with others while making their coffee. I started working every Monday at this cozy breakfast spot in Kberg. It’s not the busiest or trendiest place, but it’s just right for connecting with people and listening to their stories. On one of those manic Mondays, when everyone is racing to catch up after the weekend, I finally found a moment of calmness. I was tidying up my station when I noticed a woman with a bright smile walking in.

I know that smile, I thought! As she got closer, I realized it was her. “Oh my god, Ulrike, is that you?” I asked, as she was confused. “It’s me, Malisa, the roommate from the hospital.” Her reaction was a mix of joy and surprise. “This is fate, Malisa,” she said. I stepped out from behind the bar to hug her, feeling that warmth only she can give. It was unexpected to see her in that place, especially if you live in the big and messy city of Berlin. She was just stopping by for a fresh juice before her facial appointment. I hesitated a bit but had to ask, “How are you doing?” Ulrike took both my hands and shared her news:“I’ve been diagnosed with abdominal cancer.”

My heart sank, and tears started to flow. “Come, let’s sit for a bit,” she said, taking me to the closest table. She told me she had decided not to pursue any treatment.“The doctors offered surgery and chemotherapy, but I don’t want to spend my remaining days in hospitals. I want to live as fully as I can, celebrating life, and when my body can no longer keep up, I’ll choose a peaceful end. Thomas, my husband, has been incredibly supportive. My parents still don’t know anything; I don’t want to burden them in their old age. Plus, I am the only child they have. It might sound harsh, but I hope they pass before my illness worsens.” I was in total shock! Struggled to process her illness, her decision, and the pain her parents one day would feel.

Talking about death was something my culture avoided since day one, and her openness was overwhelming for my brain. When I was a kid, the only time I would hear the word "death" was only if someone passed away. Not that they were careful with sharing the news, as they would give every little detail of the person dying, but still, they were not discussing it. My mom was on her deathbed, and we never talked about it—neither my siblings nor I. Left alone, my dad. We all acted as if she is going to live and celebrate the next ten birthdays of hers and ours. Yet here was Ulrike, speaking about her situation with such calmness. “But Ulrike, you said this wasn’t part of your universe, remember?”

I said, trying to hold back my tears. She smiled. “You’re my destiny; that’s what I know. Meeting you at the hospital and then here means so much. I was worried about causing you more pain, especially since you just lost your mother four months ago, but this moment feels important. I want to keep you in my life from now on!We are directing a classic music premiere soon with Thomas, and I’d love for you to come and see what I do. After that, we’re going to New York for my first premiere there—something I’ve always dreamed of, Malisa.”

Hearing someone diagnosed with a terminal illness speak so excitedly about following their dreams in the future was something my very conservative mind struggled to digest. I wasn’t used to this kind of openness about death, unthinkable the idea of embracing life so fully in the face of it. It challenged everything I had been taught to believe about illness, fear, and the inevitability of loss. "I know you’ve got plenty of people around, but please, count on me if you ever need anything—even if it’s just a walk and some silly jokes to lighten things up," I said after I finally got my shit together and said something useful at that table without having tears in my eyes. The café started to fill up again, and my colleague called for help. I wasn’t ready to leave her.

“I need to get back to work, but we will write to each other, okay?”We hugged one last time, and she left. I went back to making coffee, with my heavy heart and tears still in my eyes. The pain I felt was all too familiar, reminding me of the heartache I experienced almost a year ago when my mom was in a similar situation. The raw emotions and the sense of helplessness were almost identical, bringing back the deep sorrow of that time. “Could you try and do something from there to save at least her, Mom?” I asked as I looked at the sky one more time from the café’s window and hoped she would receive the message—sooner or later.

Notes

Endless existence and everlasting love.