Breast cancer awareness month: We dye fountains pink. We buy pink stuff. Pink is everywhere.

Yeah, we're aware that cancer exists, but what are we actually doing about it?

Not only that, but do you even realize how many different cancers there are? Breast cancer is not the only one that takes lives. All cancer takes lives and destroys many in their wake; and in the end, it's not one type of cancer that takes your life. It's the spread of the disease through the entire body, so can you can no longer function.

On February 28, 2015, I lost my father to cancer.

It started out as stage 3 colon cancer back in 2011. He had surgery to remove the tumor; it was supposed to go smoothly, and he would not have any life-changing effects. That succeeded for a time. However, he had to wear a bag on his side; god, he HATED that thing. I remember sitting in the waiting room of that hospital for 12 hours, hoping my father would be okay. I finally got to go into the room and see him. He had on an oxygen mask and was still groggy from surgery. And all I can remember, all that plays through my mind, is him lying there, murmuring:

"No bag, right?" And I burst into tears.

And you know, it wasn't bad. Yeah, he hated the bag, but he could still live. He worked and did his normal things. In about six months, the bag came off and my father was cancer free. I was so relieved that my father could be one of the survivors, and not one of the victims.

Then, in the summer of 2014, we found out it had come back. This time the cancer had already spread to his colon, some parts of his stomach, and parts of his liver. There was even a small spot on his lung. No one caught it. My father had had a shooting pain throughout his body for months, went to see countless doctors for it, and no one caught it.

I thought it was going to be like last time. My dad would go through some chemo, some surgery, and then everything would be okay again. And for a while it seemed like it would be.

Who knew it would be our last holiday season together?

On New Years Eve, we found out that his cancer was terminal. They gave him six months to a year to live, and I was crushed. Yet they were going to try one more round of chemo to try and help. There was hope, but it wasn't a shining light at the end of the tunnel.

I left for college in January. By the time I was able to come home in mid February, he was a shell of the man that I had left. He was all skin and bones. I don't say that as an expression: my father was literally skin, bones, and a distended stomach where his tumor had grown.

And the next weekend.... he was gone.

I wasn't there for it. It took me six hours to get home. By the time I got there, all I could do was sit and talk to him. I could always swear I saw him move. That somehow he wasn't really dead; that his eyes would open and the bright smile I loved to see would spread over his lips. But it never happened. He was never coming back.

My father's death has forever changed my family and I, though not all for the worse. I'm closer to my mother than I ever have been before. I realize now, more than ever, that she and I are very similar people. I have a great balance of her and my father within me. I realized how grateful I am that to be a wonderful mix of such hardworking, caring people. Not everyone can say that about themselves or their parents.

And I love my siblings, but they drive me insane. The more I'm around them, the more I realize what bullies they can be. They pick on my mother and I, and somehow I believe they always have. And I don't think they completely realize it, too. I think my father did the same from time to time.

But my point?

Yeah, I learned these great things from my father's death. I've learned to be strong and carry on, do wonders with my gifts of kindness and humor.

But.

I.

Don't.

Care.

I would trade any of my knowledge, any part of myself, to have my father back. There is a piece of my heart and soul that is missing, and I know that I will never get that back for as long as I am breathing. I had my father for the first 20 years of my life and I'm terrified to live the next 20 without him. And past 20? It's terrifying to think of a life where I've lived longer without my father than with him.

So instead of dyeing our fountains pink, buying bumper stickers and t-shirts, how about we actually donate our money to the cause? Lets go to school and become people who can make a difference in cancer research and help those affected by it.

Let's physically put a stop to the disease and raise money that goes directly to the cause. Let's make our loved ones and those we've lost proud of who we've become.

And, most importantly, let's never forget them.

Where is your money going? What awareness do you have for cancer, and other terminal diseases in general? Dumping ice water over your head and buying a pink t-shirt isn't going to help.

We need to do something. Something needs to be done. Donate to an actual cause. Help those in need.

Live while we have the chance to do something with our lives.