The year was 1986. A Colorado kid growing up on 320 acres of ranch land and an equal amount of dry land farm ground in the extreme Northeast corner of the State, in a town called Sterling. My Grandfather ran this small farm. A 5'8" frame of about 150 pounds is all that carried this hardworking man, his skin weathered from long hours working outside in the fields everyday. I always remembered him stereotypically dressed in a straw cowboy hat, snap buttoned western shirt, Wrangler jeans and bull-hide cowboy boots; all purchased from the local ranch supply store. This staunch man was sometimes gruff in his demeanor...not a man to show a lot of emotion. Yet, he was a good man; honest, hardworking and well respected by his friends and neighbors. A man who took care of his family as best he could, he had a good wife, four grown children and 10 grandchildren. He lived an honest life that anyone could be proud of.

One evening, after another long day of his ranching chores, Grandfather noticed a dull pain and discomfort in his lower back. He thought to himself, "I probably lifted too many bails of hay today." Not carrying much health insurance, and not one to be fond of going to the doctor, he continued to go about his usual business working the land and tending to the animals.

A few weeks went by. He realized the pain had not gone away, and in fact, had intensified. Even more concerning, he noticed a pink hue in his urine. After confiding the news to his wife, and a lot of family coaxing later, he reluctantly agreed to have the family physician check it out. In those days, the diagnosis based on a small town physician's limited medical resources was sometimes questionable. The doctor thought the cause of the pain and bleeding could have been as simple as kidney or bladder stones but, to be sure, wanted him to travel 100 miles away to a bigger city and see a specialist. He was reluctant to make the trip, because he knew it meant spending money that he couldn't really afford. After some coaxing from his wife and family, he finally agreed to make the trip some weeks later.

Disaster! After several series of tests, he was given the bad news... he had cancer of the prostate. Even worse, the cancer was in a very advanced stage, meaning that by that time, it had spread throughout his pelvis and lower spine. We finally had an explanation for the pain he had been feeling, but there was little that could be done. His options were surgery and radiation treatments. Neither of which were very effective for advanced prostate cancer, and both were very expensive. My Grandfather decided to go back home and live out the remainder of his days breathing the air from the homestead he often called "God's Country."

Unfortunately, it was not long until the aches and pains in his bones became more widespread. Unable to work, he was ultimately confined to his home. His wife of over 40 years worked as a nurse in her younger years and was able to attend to him fairly well at home as he became more and more incapacitated, submitting to a disease much stronger than he was. His appetite had diminished and he needed strong medications to deal with his pain. A hospital bed was rented and set up in the spare bedroom that was closest to the bathroom, as it had become harder for him to cover much distance unassisted.

I remember one particular winter afternoon when the family gathered for a Sunday meal. The mood was somewhat somber, but everyone tried to make the best of the situation and have a good afternoon together. After lunch, television and visiting it was time for everyone to head home and get ready for the upcoming week. The relatives said their usual goodbyes, one by one, and headed out the door. All as he sat somewhat indignantly on a portable toilet (a blanket to cover himself) in the living room, because it had just become too hard to make it all the way to the one bathroom at the other end of the house. That was when I approached him to say goodbye for the day. I looked at the man, who had always been this strong, staunch figure. And that's when it happened...........our eyes met...and at that instant I saw into my Grandfather's soul, and saw his pain. It was then that I truly understood the gravity of the situation.

This was the very moment that I realized that my Grandpa was going to die. And the hurt must have been apparent on my face, because his guard came down. He reached over and rubbed the top of my head, his voice cracked, and a tear rolled slowly down the left side of his face as he said, "Aw Kiddo...it's going to be alright". Tears welled up in my eyes, because we both knew that wasn't true.

He was gone three weeks later - and those words have haunted me ever since. The saddest part is that of all the memories I have of him, both good and bad, the utterance of those words are my most vivid memory of him to this day . It truly is unsettling to be there at the very instant when a person comes face to face with their own mortality. It's a moment I don't wish on anyone.

Cancer had taken my grandfather's strength and his will to live...and for me, it continued to take.

Cancer took away having him there when I made All-State in high school football, and when I won the State championship in wrestling.

Cancer took away the chance for him to see me graduate near the head of my class and receive a good scholarship to college.

Cancer took away another chance for him to see me graduate from college, get married and have children of my own. Not to mention a million other moments I would have liked to share with him.

I was raised to believe we can hope that something good will come from a bad situation. In hindsight, I now believe the same cancer that took him away from me, also gave something to me. Though, it took many years for me to realize it, something was locked in the depths of my mind, my heart and my soul. Cancer gave me inspiration.

Cancer gave me the desire to want to fight back for the sake of family, friends, and even strangers.

Cancer gave me the mission to do everything in my power to make sure that not another grandchild, child, spouse, friend, etc... EVER has to hear words similar to those that took so much from me.

Cancer gave me the drive to become a Director of Clinical Research at the University of Colorado Cancer Center, Division of Urologic Oncology, which is one of the leading facilities for prostate cancer research in the world - Right here in Colorado.

Cancer gave me a challenge - and I have accepted it. Consequently I helped found a non-profit organization called Progress for Prostate™ (www.progress4prostate.org) to support prostate cancer awareness, treatment, outreach, and support programs for the people of Colorado!

I hope my Grandpa is looking down...I hope he's proud, and I hope he's saying, "Way to go Kiddo, way to go"!

In Loving Memory of Thomas Green

Spencer D. Green, of Parker, is the director of clinical research for the Department of Urologic Oncology at the University of Colorado Cancer Center and founder of Progress 4 Prostate.