When my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer I never believed he would die. Even when, a few months later, the doctors ushered us into what was plainly a bad news room and told us he was going to.
Despite being a completely glass-half-empty person who always expects the worst, I utterly uncharacteristically transformed from Polly into Pollyanna.
My dad would confound expectation, defy the prognosis, be the exception to the rule. Of course he would. He had to.
