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 have a new friend who is a new breast cancer survivor. She is surviving a new diagnosis, a recent lumpectomy, and the moments leading up to another surgery to further investigate the margins surrounding the tumor removed from her breast. She is surviving the first phase of her breast cancer journey. A phase full of uncertainty and fear and panic. A phase so new and so fresh and so raw, her mind is whirling. A phase that has her grasping for any bit of direction she can find as she navigates a terrifying, unfamiliar road.

My friend is a young wife and mother whose worries are consuming her. She e-mailed me today and asked if I ever have moments when I look at my young children and worry that cancer will take me from them while they are young. She asked if I have always been so sure I will be okay. And so I replied with this candid cancer confession.

I ran into a neighbor the other day at the grocery store. She has breast cancer, has just finished her final chemotherapy treatment, and proudly displays her bald head as she enthusiastically takes on life. I introduced her to my husband, we all chatted, and then we parted ways. And soon after, my husband asked me if she is the neighbor whose husband we spoke with just recently about his wife's breast cancer journey. I told him this was a different woman -- another neighbor with breast cancer. Including me, that makes three of us with breast cancer in the same community of just 200 houses. And this shocked my husband -- that there are three of us in the same neighborhood with breast cancer. But I told him this really is not surprising, that it's probably not all that uncommon. And I told him there are probably more women with breast cancer residing in the houses on the streets that surround us. We just don't know them all.

I've heard many times that most people are personally touched by breast cancer in some way. It might be each of us with the diagnosis. Or it may be a family member. Or a friend. Or a co-worker. Or a neighbor. Because incidences of breast cancer have increased over the years, and in the United States, the rate of new cases has been increasing more than one percent per year since the 1940s. In the 1980s, the rate of new cases rose markedly -- perhaps due to increased and better screening -- and only recently have cases been leveling off. It is estimated that just over 200,000 new cases of breast cancer will be diagnosed in American women in 2006.

One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer at some point in her life. And that is startling. Which is why it is not so startling to me that there are three of us in my neighborhood with this common disease -- the second-leading cause of cancer death for women, after lung cancer.

City Slickers actor Bruno Kirby died on Monday in Los Angeles from complications related to leukemia, his wife shared in a statement concerning his death. Kirby was 57 and had only recently been diagnosed with the disease.

A veteran character actor, Kirby was known for roles in The Godfather: Part II, Good Morning Vietnam, When Harry Met Sally, and City Slickers. Most recently, Kirby appeared on HBOs Entourage as fictitious producer Phil Rubenstein.

Kirby's wife shared in her statement, "We are incredibly grateful for the outpouring of support we have received from Bruno's fans and colleagues who have admired and respected his work over the past 30 years. Bruno's spirit will continue to live on not only in his rich body of film and television work but also through the lives of individuals he has touched throughout his life."

And even though he has passed, Kirby will continue to touch lives -- because all contributions in his honor will be go to The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society in Los Angeles.

Several boxes containing injections of Neulasta have lined the bottom of my refrigerator for more than a year. They are left-overs from chemotherapy -- from a time when one needle pierced the skin on my arm after each chemo treatment to keep my blood counts in a safe range. I've looked at them day after day after day, and I've allowed them to sit in the same exact spot for all this time. But today, they are in the trash -- not because I made a conscious choice to throw them away but because water spilled all over the inside of my refrigerator and left them soggy and damaged. Surely I would not have used them in this condition, I thought -- so I tossed them. But really, I would not have used them anyway. They were old -- probably past their expiration date -- and I am not receiving chemotherapy anymore. I had absolutely no use for them. But I kept them for safety or comfort or some other impractical reason -- for the same reason I keep a basket full of old medication in my kitchen cupboard. It's all cancer-related -- most of it never touched because I don't really like taking medication, even when necessary. So this stock-piling tendency defies all logic for me. Until today -- when part of my past sits in a white trash bag, ready for the curb, and the rest of it is soon to be trashed. So I can continue moving forward. Away from cancer. For good.

There are many proud sponsors of the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation Race for the Cure -- American Airlines, Yoplait, Ford, Kelloggs, New Balance, Ultra Quilted Northern, Remax, Sun Chips, and Zeta Tau Alpha Fraternity. And new this year is Coldwater Creek -- a company that specializes in women's apparel, jewelry, accessories, and gifts. Tucked away in Sandpoint, Idaho, Coldwater Creek offers merchandise through a number of retail stores across the country, through direct-mail catalogs, and through their website too. And now they offer something more -- the IN PINK Collection. Ten percent of each purchase from this collection of clothing and accessories goes directly to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation. And for each visor purchase, 100 percent of the profits are donated.

At Coldwater Creek, more and more women are being touched by breast cancer -- employees, co-workers, family members, friends, and customers. Breast cancer is a widespread disease that needs widespread support. So those at Coldwater Creek are reaching out and joining the ranks of supporters. And they are giving back to the many women who have supported them over the years. One small step by one company can make a world of difference.