It can be different for different people. For one person, it was facing a surprise attack of approximately 40,000 fellas charging out of the woods of Tennessee, guns blazing, rebel yell deafening. For another, it was getting the call to assume power at 10 Downing Street in May of 1940, on the very day that the then-largest military operation in recorded history commenced as a cross-channel foe went roughshod on the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, and France. Those are grandiose situations with a life-or-death tint to them. For me (at least thus far), it is Stage Four Colon Cancer.

When the doctors told me the news, three thoughts ran through my mind. Firstly, I felt for my wife. In a way, this is worse for her because she must bear the news and the brunt of whatever extra work this will require as it pertains to caring for me and raising the kids. Secondly, I felt for my mom. No parent wants to see their kid sick or have even the smidge of a hint of the idea that they may have to bury them. By no means do I think my mother will have to bury me, but something like cancer of the stage four variety increases the volume on such a lousy prospect. Thirdly, I thought of the cancer itself, and what I would say to it if it were a person, “take a number.”

Life and death is constant, and even the most disease-free person could die at any time for a gazillion different reasons under a gazillion different circumstances. When something like illness knocks at the door, and it comes with the legendary-if-not-hideous title “Stage Four Cancer,” it certainly ups the ante on Grim Reaper talk. The big game is always in play, but never does it appear more underway than when the Grim Reaper is visibly in attendance. Sure, ol’ Grimmy is spectating my life, but it is my firm belief the spectator title is as close as it will get—for now. I am not afraid of the big game. In fact, I embrace it.

Some have lamented over the years how I often talk about what has gone wrong in my life, and while they are not wrong for feeling like I discuss it a lot, they have missed the point. We live in a world where people demand “positive,” even if it is as fake as a serial sinner going to church every Sunday while browbeating the rest of us about God. This cancer diagnosis does little to hurt me compared to that cold metal of the chain link fence on my back years and years ago. I was waiting with excitement for my name to be called to play ball. One by one, each of the kids standing alongside me filed in behind the growing teams as they heard theirs. Before long, the teams were squaring off while I was the only one standing at the fence. I stood there cheering, because leaving would have meant I was alone; I was alone enough already. The kids eventually invited me to be the cheerleader, and so I took up the role thinking it might win them over and afford me an opportunity to play. Instead, it opened a door to an increased level of harassment well beyond basic physical contact. As just one instance of an extensive list of stuff like that happening over the course of my life, cancer ought to be jealous that it has to go to the back of the line.

Society lectured the hell out of me about “America” and how it is the best or worst place and to serve and to do things a certain way. Cliques of people rambled on about how they are better, or how they are victims, and how I need to do “this” or “that.” Well, I did “this” or “that,” to include going to the nerve center of this entire constitutional-republic operation, Washington, DC. I gave a decade-plus of myself to that place before being run out of town rather unceremoniously. Even the people who acknowledged the raw deals were prone to lecture about what I did wrong. Behavior is a language. Mine was of constant availability, warmth, laughter, and an obscenely high tolerance level for harassment, because just like the little boy whose back was against that fence, I was certain that people would wise up and cooperation if not friendship would occur (at some point, any point!) and things would go a better direction. It was all for naught. Great people acknowledge reality and carry on as their great selves no matter what. Hope takes a back seat to the indomitable drive to go the distance. After all, the big game is underway. This current period is about embracing cancer, facing cancer, withstanding cancer, and overcoming cancer. No fear.

My current predicament has only lit a fire under my [fill in the blank] to ensure I make every minute really, really count. This life has been one helluva ride and I have no intentions of leaving the saddle. To continue is to push evermore towards the light. The beauty of remembering all that has happened in its purest form is that it leaves the path ahead, no matter how hard it may seem or appear, wide open for beauty, greatness, glory, love, and VICTORY. This cancer will have to step down and shake my hand. I have dealt with worse.

You may ask, “what about the kids?” Well, should this whole deal go south and I leave earlier than anticipated, my heart will be with them. They already have the best mother in the world. As it stands, they are aware of the changes happening, but they also have the benefit of natural ignorance to the magnitude of what is going on. The level of bliss they possess is something for which I am personally grateful. My soul is resolute in its desire to continue here on this Earth for a long time to come. Strong—as in my caliber of love for them—is as best of a word as I can come up with.

It all comes down to those majestic words:

Let’s go win!