In 1997, my father was diagnosed with Melanoma; a very serious type of cancer. At the time of his diagnosis, doctors told him that there was nothing that could be done because his cancer was so advanced. The Cancer cycle has different stages that start at one and go up to five, and his cancer was already at a stage three. When my family and I heard this news, we knew that we could not live with this. We could not accept no as an answer.

About a month later, my father started the treatment process. Although the cancer appeared not to have spread, the treatments didn’t seem to have any affect on the cancer. Then, in 1999, it seemed that our prayers had been answered. I will never forget the message that my dad had left on my answering machine. He was full of excitement and crying tears of joy to inform me that his cancer has gone in to remission.

He went in for his six month checkup and everything was still great. No cancer had been detected in his body at all. Then,

Then, on February 26, 2002, I had received a phone call from my father telling me that the doctors had given him three months to live, and that the cancer had spread to his brain. When I heard this news, I did not know what to do. The first person I called was my best friend, Blake, who was with me throughout most of this terrifying experience.

Although I knew there was nothing that Blake could do, I would call him night after night crying, not knowing if my dad would be alive when I awoke in the morning. Blake was the best person for me to share my feelings with because of his understanding and supportiveness throughout this tragic situation. I could call him, knowing that he would be there for me. I could tell him anything and trust that it was safe in his hands.

They admitted my father to the hospital, but they were unable to treat the stroke because of the cancer in his brain. He stayed in the hospital until Tuesday, March 5,

On March 1, 2002, my dad skipped one of his treatments so he would feel good the next morning so we could make a trip to Camp Snoopy at the Mall of America. The next morning, March second, I called his house. My grandma answered the phone to notify me that my father was in the hospital. When my father awoke in the morning, he was unable to move the left side of his body. My father had suffered a stroke during the night. The stroke was caused by the cancer that had spread to his brain. When I heard the news, my brother, my sisters and I went down to the hospital. Only two of us could go back to see

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