One of the things that I have never talked about is when I told my son that I had cancer. I think that was the hardest conversation I had at the time it was happening, more so than telling my parents and friends. When my doctor diagnosed me with breast cancer, I called my ex-wife to tell her the results. We both broke down crying because we knew that our son, Vincent, would suffer knowing that I had cancer. As I write this, I am tearing up. I told my ex-wife that she would have to tell our son. I couldn’t. Not yet. I know that was a lot for her to take on, but I just couldn’t do it. I was heartbroken because society has taught us that the word cancer means death. At least that is what I thought at the time. I didn’t know any better. I really thought I was going to die. I was uneducated. I was with my son one day at my parents' place, and we took a walk. I asked him if he had any questions about my cancer. He thought for a second, and then he asked. I wasn’t prepared for the question. He said, “Dad, will you be around to see me grow up?” That broke me.