My dad passed away July 5th, 2020 from pancreatic cancer.  He was my hero. He wasn't my hero because he was diagnosed with a terminal illness.  He wasn't my hero because he beat the odds and lived 4 1/2 years post diagnosis.  He was my hero because of how he lived during that period of time.  

My father, a retired doctor was 82 years old when he received his diagnosis. That first year included an aborted attempt at surgery followed by 8 months of crippling chemotherapy and finally a successful whipple surgery.  During this time he never complained. My father refused to stop living life, sailing, sitting on his boat, reading, spending time with friends and family, and fulfilling the role of patriarch, Papa, handy man and all around Mayven (man who knows all).  

Most people diagnosed with a terminal illness spend time planning for the end.  He spent his time planning how he was going to continue to live.  He never looked at himself as a victim and refused to accept that there wouldn't be a tomorrow.  He wasn't in denial.  He simply chose not to waste the time he had worrying about what couldn't or wouldn't be.