Page 30 - CF Roundtable - Winter/Spring 2026

PIECING LIFE TOGETHER WHEN WE
By: Matison Deaton
MEET AGAIN
I met my younger self for coffee today.
I was on time.
She came in ten minutes late, the backpack with her portable oxygen weighing her shoulders down.
I wore my hair down, freshly washed, natural auburn strands draping loosely past my shoulders.
Her hair was faded purple, still braided from two days earlier, loose pieces blowing across her forehead.
I wore a long, flowing skirt with a sleeveless knit top framing my torso.
She had on a sweatshirt and pajama pants, both soft and perfectly worn in, with faint stains from her tube feeds.
She sat across from me, staring open-mouthed, searching inside for the memory of the stranger in front of her.
I remembered everything she felt.
She looked down at her mocha, sharing that she’d just moved back in with her mom.
I untangled my fingers from around my latte, watching her intently as I showed photos of the life we live in
San Francisco, of the apartment we love that’s become our safe space.
She broke down, describing through tears I could somehow feel on
my own cheeks how scared she was to live with another denial for
the lung transplant she needed to survive.
I smiled faintly, placing my warm hand on top of her chilled one,
softly telling her next week is our two and a half-year lung transplant
anniversary.
She snapped that she doesn’t want to hear any details,
the sting of thrashed hope still splintering her future.
“I know.” I remembered. I understood.
She said she’s been thinking of giving up.
I reassured her that being afraid to keep going,
of what’s coming, isn’t the same as wanting to give up.
She asked if one day it would be worth all of this pain.
I told her she will never think the pain had a purpose. She will never make sense of it.
But one day, the grip on her chest will loosen. She’ll let go of the breath she’s holding.
Her ground will feel even again.
We stood up together, my hand finding its way to her forearm.
I drove her home, walked her to her front door, shouldering her portable oxygen and the weight of her fears
for just those steps.
She thanked me for the coffee, shutting the cherry red door.
I waved goodbye, left to wait for when we meet again.
This piece is inspired by the poem, “I Met My Younger Self for Coffee,” from Deep in My Feels by Jennae Cecelia.
It’s a reflection on survival, grief, and hope, drawn from my experiences with cystic fibrosis, through end-stage lung
disease, and now navigating life post-transplant. Reimagined through the voice of Matison Deaton, February 2025.
30 CF Roundtable Winter/Spring 2026