To illustrate the toll that cancer takes and how the American Cancer Society and Relay for Life can help, I have asked my friend, Gene, to tell me about being a caregiver for his dad, who passed away battling lung cancer. This is Gene's story:

I'm writing this article on what would have been my father's 72nd birthday. This was my very first experience – up close and personal – with cancer and it has forever changed me on a very fundamental level.

My father was 6 feet 5 inches tall and a robust 230 pounds. He was a weightlifter and a fisherman who loved his family and the outdoors. He would regularly schedule fishing trips all over the east coast. We were close, so close, in fact, that he was the best man in my wedding. My father had a positive attitude that enabled him to muscle through any negative situation that ever crossed his path. He understood what it meant to be a caring grandfather and lavished my two daughters with attention every chance he got. He retired in 2004 after a 40-year career as an engineer and remained active, spending the winter months in Florida.

When my father said he had lung cancer, he told the family doctors found it early and that he would need surgery. That sounded simple enough. Our family vowed to stick together and give him the support to beat this.

I accompanied him to several doctor appointments as we learned our options and decided on a surgeon. The doctor truly believed and convinced us that the cancer was caught so early that the cure would be almost routine.

When the day of surgery came, the surgeon was going to remove 2/3 of his affected lung and maybe a lymph node or two. After the surgery, a regimen of radiation treatments and chemotherapy would be done. My dad was told he had a great chance of being cancer free for the rest of his life.

Our family waited at the hospital while the surgery took place. The surgeon came to talk with the family when my dad was in the recovery room. Immediately, I noticed a change in his tone of voice. He told us the cancer was worse than anticipated. At some point in the conversation, I asked him for a "straight talk" prognosis. I'll never forget this. He said, "We're going to do everything we can to make your dad's remaining time as pleasant as possible."

What? No one had ever even alluded to "remaining time" in any conversation we had before! Needless to say, this news set me and my family back significantly.

My dad began his radiation and chemo treatments and it appeared as though maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He had his first chemo treatment on a Monday and he felt OK. We were relieved and encouraged. Then on Wednesday the chemo hit him like a ton of bricks. If he stood up, he would pass out. He didn't have the energy to get out of bed. He started to decline at a more rapid pace.

He went from being 100 percent independent to a person needing help. This weighed very heavily on his overall state of mind. As time went on, dad started to welcome the concept of death as a relief. To realize that he had turned that corner in his life was very hard for the family to swallow.

Dad wanted to pass away at home, not in a hospital or hospice bed. We immediately met with the hospice people where we learned the family members would be the primary caregivers. This was a total surprise to us as we assumed there would be a nurse to handle that. We have no experience in nursing.

Our family now had to be with him around the clock because he was unable to complete even the simplest personal task. My wife and I live in the area but my brother and his wife live in Delaware. They moved in with us for the next seven to eight weeks. We alternated shifts caring for my father so that he was never alone. His care was all consuming. Just staying on top of his medication schedule alone was mind boggling.

On top of feeling sick all the time, dad had significant pain as the cancer progressed. The doctors did their best to manage the pain with medication. This left him incoherent most of the time.

This was very hard on dad and our whole family – my brother, our wives and my two school-age daughters. We did our best to keep it together as much as possible while always having a brave face for dad.

As the time drew on, dad began to suffer from fits of rage called "terminal agitation" that was brought on by the slightest interaction and not within his control. All my life when my father would say "jump" I would ask him "is this high enough?" Now he was screaming at me in a rage and there was no logical reason or solution. Your mind struggles to reconcile this with logic but it can't. This brings on its own variety of emotional pain and a fear of being alone with your loved one. I used to say to my brother, "Put your helmet on and tighten your chin strap, let's go in and change him."

Dad was rarely able to get out of bed at this point and never without assistance. I recall one incident when I was helping him to the bathroom, steadying him as he tried to walk and maintain some shred of dignity, he passed out and I attempted to lower him gently to the floor. His dead weight and the awkward position we were in instantly caused a piercing pain in my back and numbness in my leg. I later learned that I had herniated a disc in my spine and a piece of it actually tore off and was pressing on my spinal cord, causing the numbness.

As the end of dad's life neared, we reached out to his friends and loved ones. We asked them to visit dad if they felt moved to before it was too late. As they came to visit, we worked to comfort each other. We all were dealing with the emotional stress of knowing our dad would pass and to deal with the upcoming grief we knew was coming. We experienced this brutal reminder each time a friend came to visit and reacted to the unbelievable decline of a man who they had known as independent and strong like a bull.

Mercifully, the end came somewhat peacefully not too much later. I held him as he took his last breath and told him I loved him and he was free to move on. This was painful beyond my ability to describe. In the coming days, we would bury him and attempt to go on with our lives, one man short.

Cancer is an evil force that took from me someone very special. Cancer transformed my father, the strongest force I ever knew, into a frail shadow of what he was in no time flat. While cancer was taking his life, it continued to kick him while he was down.

Cancer does not discriminate; it is an equal opportunity taker. It doesn't care how old you are, what color you are, how much money you have. It doesn't care if you are good or bad, loved or not so much. It exists only to take and to devastate.

I feel we have to do everything we can to eradicate this disease. I am convinced that a cure lies just over the horizon and if we all just give a little – whether by volunteering time or giving money, we can overcome it. This why I participate in the American Cancer Society's Relay For Life of Whitehall.

The Relay for Life of Whitehall also serves the Northampton and Catasauqua areas. If you, a friend, or a family member needs emotional support or cancer related information, call the American Cancer Society's 24-hour hotline at 1-800-227-2345. Knowledgeable and dedicated people will provide information and tools to help with treatment, help with insurance and financial questions and give emotional support.