Dov Siporin changed the way thousands of people think about death. Read more about this superhero who lived life to the fullest, even while facing terminal cancer.

My hope is not footsteps on the beach,

Nor a life-jacket tossed to my awaiting arms.

My hope is not a promise after the storm.

My hope does not whisper sweet things,

It does not lead me gently through pain, through suffering.

It is not grace,

it is not beauty,

it is not sweetness,

it is not light.

No,

My hope is a dirty thing

His lip split open, his eye swollen shut He is covered in bruises, old and new.

My hope fights in the mud, in the shit,

knuckles raw,

sweat running down his face.

My hope stands with me

in the gutter and growls.

My hope is covered in scars,

his bones have broken and mended

and broken again.

My hope laughs at me when I give up, when I surrender, he’s been through too damn much, he knows me better.

My hope gets up,

again and again

and again.

And In the night,

In the dark,

My hope smiles,

My hope swears,

My hope spits blood,

clenches his fists,

and my hope...

My hope roars.

- Dov Siporin