Frank Crowell was 52 years old in 2005 when he went to the doctor because of problems swallowing and tight chest pain. About two weeks later, he was diagnosed with Stage IV Esophageal Cancer. I did not know much about stages in cancer, but I knew enough to realize that this was going to be a battle. Looking back, I'm greatful we didn't know how horrible Stage IV was, because it kept my dad fighting longer and kept all of us hopeful...until we started researching this cancer. Dad was never sick growing up. Maybe a cold here or there, but he was always the toughest guy I've ever known and will forever be. This cancer business hit all of us so fast, my mom and I describe it as waking up in the middle of a nightmare and not knowing how we got there or how to get out. From the day of dad's diagnosis, he went into treatments as a warrior and as always, his humor helped to comfort everyone around him. I went up to chemo with him in Seattle and he had all of the nurses laughing. He wore his Santa hat that lights up and when he entered the waiting room, I swear there was a calmness that took over for everyone...like everything was gonna be ok. The first several months of treatment paid off when dad's doctor told him he was in remission. Remission...that might have been the best word I've ever heard. That summer was one of the best times of my life, because for awhile, I had my dad back and his excitment for life was contagious. The doctors wanted to give dad a three month break from treatments because in reality, his body couldn't take another round at that point. When he went back in for his CT scan after three months, it was the first time all of us realized how smart and aggressive this cancer is. It was back and had spread more throughout his lymph nodes, with his main tumor still in his esophagus. WIth no hesitations, dad started a combination of chemo and radiation that had my mom and him driving from Olalla to Seattle and back daily. At this point I was living back at home and I was shocked at how much the treatment had effected my dad. I was substitute teaching at that point, but tried to stay home as much as possible, to keep my dad laughing, watch the history channel with him and make sure he drank his ensure! He broke out in a horrible rash everywhere, couldn't eat anything because it either hurt like hell to swallow or it burned because of the way the drugs made his tongue and throat feel. He developed extreme pain in one of his legs and had difficulty walking and his feet burned. The only time he was comfortable was when he was in the bath tub. His weight dropped rapidly and towards the end of his journey on earth, water became difficult to get down. Dad never gave up on treatments and fought for over two years, until the doctors told him it would be best to stop treatments because the cancer was spreading and it was out of their hands. The last few weeks with dad were hard because of all of the heavy medicines he was on in order to keep him comfortable. The memories I have from that time are so hard to think about, because my hero was leaving and none of us could do anything about it. I hope I never have to feel that helpless again. The strength and courage that my dad had in his last few days was something beyond all of us. I'll end with the last journal entry I wrote: "Our daddy passed away peacefully early this morning, July 10th, 2007. Mom, Nick, Duke the Wonder Dog and I stayed up with him for hours, talking about good times and listening to the waves crash and the wind blow...just exactly how dad wanted to leave this earth."