BoomerGirl Diary

Overland Park, Kan. — When my friend Richard was headed for chemotherapy, I heard two words, "Show up." I call it a God whisper. Some call it intuition.

Prayer books label it a "still, small voice." Occasionally profound, but more often practical, this voice guides me to the next right action, like a life compass.

In this case, I wanted to shake the compass. I thought, "I can't show up ... I'm terrified of all things medical. ... Why can't I just send a casserole?"

But the voice inside me was clear and strong, like Richard. So off I went to St. Luke's, where they allow one visitor at a time. Richard's wife, Kimberly, graciously allowed me to take her spot for a while and pointed the way back to the chemo room.

I froze. The voice nudged, "Put one foot in front of the other and breathe."

So I did.

There sat Richard and about eight others in a circle of comfy recliners, each patient tethered to a contraption of tubes and liquids. I was surprised to see this sort of thing done in a group when the voice reminded me, "We are never alone."

Nobody in the circle needed anything more than a cup of water or a light blanket. So why did I need a flatter belly, people to behave differently and life to be fair? I leaned back in the recliner and the voice spoke gently, "All we have is all we need."

Richard and I allowed the quiet between us to speak volumes. I felt grateful to be by his side. In the year leading up to now, he has become softer and more openhearted. He has begun to share his gifts with the world. Stunning photographs he has taken over the years are making their way from boxes in his basement to gallery walls. Just like my words are finding their way to this page.

These days Richard freely says, "I love you." And now I seem to, also. My inner voice whispered, "Friends are beautiful teachers."

My breathing was deep and full as I relaxed into a peaceful state. And I knew - there in the chemo room was exactly where I was meant to be.