"My doctors tell me that at least my cancer is in my second most important organ,"

Ken quipped the first time we met. "How about for you?"

For someone just diagnosed with breast cancer, Ken's comment sparked a welcome burst

of laughter. It was the first of many laughs, and a few tears, we shared about the disease.

Ken faced brain cancer with determination, bravery and humor, and applied his natural curiosity as a journalist to learn all he could about the disease. In the process, he helped others. Shortly after we met, Ken quietly contact his nutritionist to ask what kind of diet might be best for someone undergoing treatment for early-stage breast cancer. (Suffice to say it didn't involve Ken's prescription of 40 grams of fat a day.) I don't know that I ever thanked him, and for that I am sorry.

I also regret that it was cancer that brought us together. Ken and I had much in common: we were both journalists with a deep belief in justice, equity, and the role of a thriving free press in a strong democracy. We spent too little time talking about that and too much time talking about cancer.

I'm thankful for the short year I knew him, and for getting to know Beatriz Elena and Eddie. One of my greatest hopes is that in Beatriz Elena's lifetime, and certainly in Eddie's lifetime, medical researchers will find a cure for the awful disease that robbed his family and friends of a special man.

Kirsten B. Mitchell