April 15, 2001.  Easter Sunday.  For the most part, it was like any other Easter Sunday.  Except for one thing.  One week prior, my father went into hospice care.  Dad was, instead of sitting in a pew, he was limited to his hospital bed at home.  Our world, for six months, was turned upside down when it was discovered that Dad had prostate cancer.  And despite the amount of chemo or radiation he received, the cancer kept returning and each time more aggressive than before.

I remember sitting in the choir loft at church barely able to sing songs like “Up from the Grave He Arose” and “Because He Lives” without getting a lump in my throat.  It was all too surreal.  The music, the words, the prayers were all focused (rightly so) on the Resurrection.

I wanted to get home after church as soon as I could.  I was so worried that he would be gone.  But, thankfully, he was not.  It would be a long day of Dad going in and out of consciousness.  At times he would recognize where he was and who was around, at other times he wouldn’t.  It would be sometime in the 7pm to 8pm time frame he began to slip away.  He was talking with my PaPa, his father.  It was quiet and painless.  That evening, Easter Sunday 2001, Dad passed away.  He entered into resurrection.

My father lost his battle with prostate cancer.

Today is World Cancer Day.  A day designed to raise awareness, educate, and lobby for change.  A day to stand up to a disease that takes away close to 7 billion people.  Will you join me in lifting your voice and prayers to do something?