It was the end of August 1997. I was invincible – just like any other 26 year old who had the world in the palm of her hand. I partnered in a family business with my father.  My husband, Pat, and I were married for nearly 6 years, and we were celebrating our son’s 2^nd birthday.  Life was good.  But life, as we knew it, was about to change.  Lance Armstrong was all over the headlines with his cancer diagnosis and I remember the media feeding frenzy covering his battle with testicular cancer. His face was on the cover of every magazine.  I remember thinking pitifully, “Wow... I didn’t even know you could get cancer there.......”.   And off I went in my merry little life. The next week my husband Pat went to our family doctor on a follow up visit for a groin injury. He went in because of an injury, and came out with an unexpected diagnosis: Testicular cancer.  In the next several months I know we aged well beyond our years. Our daily lives were filled with a new understanding of terminology we had heard before, but never actually understood: chemotherapy, staging, tumor markers, metastases, histology… the list goes on.  We were absorbed with “getting through today, deal with tomorrow when it comes.”  We were (and still are) thankful for the support of our family and friends.  Even our 2 year old son Skyler viewed life differently during this time. Upon arrival on any one of our regular visits to the hospital, Skyler would see the building and tell people : “My daddy lives up there. He has cancer owies.”, and he would point up high to his window on the 7^th floor. Pat underwent surgery and several harsh months of chemotherapy.  Due to complications we made numerous trips to the Mayo Clinic where the doctors there oversaw every step of his treatment. The sickness took hold, but he fought back –AND HE WON. Pat is cancer free today. Thank you God....... But, 2 years after Pat’s battle ended cancer struck my family again. This time it was my partner, my mentor, my friend: my dad.  The routine started again: more surgeries, more treatments, more new terminology.  More love, more support, more fighting with this terrible disease. It was a strange twist of life. He was my father – the one who looked out for me all my life; and here he was – needing me to help and support him.  My dad’s battle with cancer was by far the hardest thing I have ever witnessed. I have never felt so helpless - to watch someone you love so dearly suffer so much. To know that I was doing everything I could for him, but it wasn’t enough.  It was a different kind of battle this time, where in the end we were struggling to find him peace and comfort and an end to the suffering. After a tremendously courageous fight he finally found his peace; and surrounded by all of his loved ones, my dad passed away. He was 60 years young.  I mourn for him. I mourn for me and my 2 sisters and the void his absence leaves us with. I mourn for all of his grandchildren who never got to know first hand just how much he adored being a grandfather. I mourn for every person out there who has ever had to feel this sort of loss and helplessness. I am not, by nature, the type of person who sits by and let’s things happen. I am “involved” with everything around me. I volunteer at church and at daycare.  I volunteer in my kids’ activities whenever possible. I work (more than) full time running the business that my dad and I built. Yet I can’t sit still and let the world go by when I know that somehow, some way, I can make a difference.  My sisters introduced me to the Relay For Life after our dad passed away. Participating in the Relay For Life was a phenomenal experience– emotional beyond belief. I never knew something like this could touch a person so deeply. The sense of support and understanding was unbelievable amongst this new “family” of friends. I felt compelled to become more involved with this cause.  I am emotional and passionate about supporting the fight against cancer. My involvement with the American Cancer Society has inspired and empowered me to fight back and not give up.  Little by little, dollar by dollar, we are coming closer to a cure. It can be done. It will be done. And I make a difference.