“I’m not sure I want to know what happens if I stop chemotherapy, but at the same time I want to get it over with,” I confess. “What would you do?” “I’d go to work,” he says, and I realize the weight of what he is saying. His office is plain and sensible, which confirms something I already know about him five minutes into our conversation. He has suffered and is there to work. In what were the worst moments of his life, he put one foot in front of the other. He tasked himself with a series of responsibilities that ultimately gave me back this year. And maybe many more. But what I loved more
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