His name is not really Brian -- that's just the character actor Barry Watson plays on the ABC TV show What About Brian that just ended its season on March 26.

I really like this show. The network calls it a contemporary, heartwarming ensemble drama that continues to tell the stories of a group of close-knit friends in various stages of romantic relationships and friendships living in Los Angeles.

This is exactly why I like it. But there's an underlying story not written into the script that has compelled me to watch -- and truly enjoy -- this show.

Barry Watson, best known for his role as Matt Camden on the long-running WB series 7th Heaven, is surviving cancer. Diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma in May 2002, he received treatment and reported in April 2003 that he was in remission. And he's been working hard ever since.

Watson is not only an actor. He is a husband -- his wife is Tracy Hutson of ABC's Extreme Makeover: Home Edition -- and he is a father. But most important in my book, Watson is a cancer survivor. And more than anything, this is what inspires me every time I watch What About Brian.

I just finished reading the words of Mark Raymond Clements -- and the words of his wife, Marianne, written when Mark was too ill to comment. I am overcome and overwhelmed with emotion because each string of sentences filling the pages of the Clements family homepage has touched me, inspired me, and saddened me all at the same time.

Clements was diagnosed in October 2005 with cholangiocarcinoma, a rare cancer of the bile duct normally found in people in their 70s.

"There is no known cure," writes Clements. "It does not respond well to chemotherapy. It is fast moving."

And fast moving it was. Surgery -- rarely a good option for this cancer -- was attempted but without success.

"After they opened him up, they discovered that the cancer had just spread too far," Marianne writes. "They closed him back up."

Chemotherapy came next and while there were some hopeful moments -- "overall distribution of the disease has decreased" -- the overwhelming course of Clement's disease continued on a fast track. And by June 2006, Clements realized, "the cruel reality of CANCER hits like a brick wall," when a CT scan revealed the presence of as many as 20 new tumors in his liver.

The Clements family never abandoned hope and were steadfast in their faith as cancer continued to dominate their lives. In October -- one year after diagnosis -- when Marianne believed doctors were sending a let's make you as comfortable as we can message, the family began pursuing alternative methods. But by December, when it had become clear treatment of any kind would no longer help, Mark Clements was welcomed by the loving arms of hospice -- where he remained until he passed away on January, 19, 2007. He was 40 years old.

On the very day of her husband's death, Marianne writes, "I know I am not alone in feeling complete anguish at this time. I know it will lessen over time. I know I will not understand 'why' until I'm with him again, but what I do know is that Mark loved me. He loved his children. He loved his family and friends. He will be waiting for me with our loving Father in Heaven. And we will be together again. Our Father in Heaven is aware of our pain and will comfort us still as he has through this past year."

And these are just some of the words that have has touched me, inspired me, and saddened me all at the same time.

I've been reading her blog ever since Kristina Collins first wrote about her. I've been reading about her battle with leukemia -- for the second time -- and about the bone marrow transplant she received just recently. I read about her brother who became her bone marrow donor and her family and friends who became fierce supporters and cheerleaders for this young woman sure to beat cancer six years after she first conquered the disease.

Courtney Nicole did not win this battle. Just days ago, in the midst of her bone marrow transplant process, Courtney's body was infected with a bacteria that forced the removal of one leg. It turned out the bacteria was not confined to her leg -- it had invaded her entire body -- and it became clear that the fighting spirit of this woman was needed not here on Earth, but in the heavens above.

On November 14, 2006, Courtney earned her angel wings. In the words of her sister, "she will be young and beautiful forever and always." Indeed, she will.

I was present for death only one time in my 36 years of life. I consider this both a bad and a good thing. It's bad because I did not want my grandmother to die -- and watching it happen made it so real, so vivid, so painful. I don't think I would have ever chosen to watch my grandma die -- to watch her slip from consciousness to coma, to observe her altered body once death arrived, to witness the movement of her body on a stretcher as it was wheeled out of the house from the bedroom I still see every time I visit my mom's house. But I think I am lucky really -- and this is the good part -- because I got to be with her during her final moments. I got to watch her body as it lay still, peaceful and calm and still breathing. I got to talk to her and although she could not respond, I believe she could hear my words. And it makes me happy to know my grandma may have known I was with just prior to her flight to heaven. And after her flight, I got to touch her cool hands. I got to feel the power of the passing of one life -- a long life -- and I got to feel the comfort of a death that was not ugly or painful or difficult. It was sad -- it's still sad -- that my grandma died three years ago. But what a privilege it was to be part of the day she left this world.

Susan DeWilde left this world in much the same way -- with loved ones by her side. She was a fighter and had conquered several rounds of breast cancer, a tumor in her spinal cord, uterine cancer, lymphatic cancer, and then leukemia, which took her life at the age of 53. I don't know this from Susan herself but from her friend, Christy Mack -- who helped her accept her death and guided her into her own final moments so that she could escape her pain and die peacefully. Christy writes about her beautiful friend and her empowering death in an article that appears in the August 2006 Oprah Magazine. Titled Friends to the End, Christy's story details how she soothed her friend, cradled her hand, and talked her through her last breaths. She helped her on her way during a time her friend feared most. Christy writes, "What she and I shared the night she died was a precious gift of friendship, emotionally profound and sacred in its perfection. It broke my heart. It strengthened my soul."

This I understand.