CJ

Today, I was at Panera mostly minding my own business when I overheard a woman behind me having a conversation with her husband and dad. It went something like this...

"I guess I need to go tomorrow and get my hair cut, she said it would be falling out in the next week or so."

"Well, honey, don't jump the gun- do everything when you're ready."


Cancer, I thought. My heart dropped into my stomach.

I pretended to continue working on my computer while I listened to the rest of their conversation. They'd talk about the uncertain future in between the numerous phone calls from family and friends, updating everyone on the day's events--the first day of chemo, I'd learn later. Over and over a voice was yelling in my head. "Morgan! Turn around and talk to this girl, at least let her know you're a weirdo that's been listening long enough to know she needs prayer. Just say hello, and let her know you're praying- it's the least you can do."

I turned around and patted her on the back.

"Hey there," I said."I just wanted you to know I overheard your story and it sounded like you're newly diagnosed. Just wanted you to know I was praying for you, I know things can get scary."

"Ooh, wow!" she said "What a sweet thing to say, although, honestly-- I thought you were going to tell me of a good hair stylist around here, I could use one!"


We laughed and talked about her diagnosis and mom's diagnosis & relapse story for what seemed like an eternity. I listened as she told me about all of the things she did to protect herself from getting cancer. A 40-year-old volleyball player and vegetarian; she never drank or "abused" her body, practiced healthy living habits with her two young boys and never missed a doctor's visit. She showed me her styling new port, and teared up as she explained how this nightmare started five short days ago.

When she got up to leave, we exchanged email addresses and gave a tight squeeze.
"Take it slow," I said. "And pull the cancer card every chance you get!" We both laughed, and then she was gone.

And although I left her with a reminder to use this opportunity for all of it's benefits-- our meeting was a secretly planned reminder, set in place to ground me. A reminder that cancer knows no boundaries, and none of us are exempt from it's grasp. But the more important lesson is that although people are in the very early stages of diagnosis, or they've experienced a family member's untimely death, or just lost their very best friend-- having the right words to say is unimportant.

Just say something. Anything.

Being cognizant of each other is the most important lesson in life-- carrying each other's burdens, even when it seems like it's none of our business. That was the voice that screamed in my head- "Acknowledge her, Morgan!" I, for one, needed to be reminded that other people want to know that I care. That I sympathize. And even if we're perfect strangers-- we have something in common.

The life you live is the lesson you teach; being aware of others, it's a lesson I think we could all stand to learn.