I have angels. Two angels. Chemo angels.  One lives in Indiana and the other lives in California. They are both women, with families and jobs and busy lives of their own. And while I don't hear from them much anymore, they showered me with love and compassion during my aggressive chemotherapy for breast cancer last year.  They sent cards and letters and gifts. They brightened my days and lifted my spirits during a difficult time.  Every week when I checked my mailbox, there was something waiting for me from my angels – a token of empathy, a distraction from the madness of cancer.

My angels are volunteers with Chemo Angels, a volunteer organization dedicated to brightening the days of those experiencing treatment for cancer.  Their mission is to correspond with patients through the mail with the understanding that they may never hear a word from their recipients who are expected to merely soak up the pampering without any responsibility of returning the favor.  No thank you notes.  No return letters.  No obligation.  Angels and patients can become pen pals if they mutually agree to do so but otherwise, this is a one-way relationship.  A gift for the cancer patient.

I have graduated from my own chemotherapy, and my angels have moved on to help others in need. They continue to check on me now and then and their loving spirits are still fresh in my mind. I have saved their notes and presents and written warm wishes.  Reminders of their angelic ways.

I hope to become a chemo angel once my own medical journey slows down and I can give my full attention to the care and support that my angels shared with me. I want to be someone's angel.  Some day.