Husband, father, son, brother, friend, CIBC communications officer. Born Dec. 20, 1971 in Sudbury, Ont. Died Oct. 28 in Toronto, of acute myeloid leukemia, aged 31.

It's not only my husband's young age that makes his death a tragedy, it was his fun-loving, larger than life, indomitable spirit; it was his incredible loyalty, commitment and unwavering passion for his wife, two young children, family and friends. At the risk of sounding clichéd or colloquial, James was one of a kind. A man larger than life; a man never to be replicated, never to be forgotten.

In December, 2002, after a couple of months of feeling slightly under the weather, James decided to dig up his health card and go to a walk-in clinic (he didn't have a family doctor; why bother, doctors were for sick people) to get some blood tests done.

What the clinic found forever changed our lives: his blood-work results were abnormal. James was sent to Princess Margaret Hospital on a Monday afternoon, diagnosed with leukemia in the evening and started chemotherapy 24 hours later. We were bound and determined to fight. And fight James did.

Through two rounds of intensive chemotherapy, James kept laughing. He laughed at reruns of The Simpsons, he laughed with his friends and family, and he laughed when his kids called to sing to him on the phone. He told me he felt fine, would fight with every ounce of strength in his body. Despite the failure of both attempts at attaining a remission, James plowed ahead. We took a vacation, we spent our tax-return refund on landscaping, and we bought the gourmet barbecue of our dreams. He didn't think about the cancer. He looked forward, never back.

After another two rounds of experimental, highly toxic chemotherapy, James kept laughing. He hosted dinner parties at our home, he took his kids to Wonderland, he frolicked in the lake with his friends (even with a catheter line inserted into his chest), and we bought the luxury car of our dreams. He didn't think about the cancer. He looked forward, never back. And even with no immune system to speak of, he braved more than 400,000 people and attended the SARS concert at Downsview to see his favourite band, Rush. All this against the advice of his doctors. He looked forward, never back.

Through 11 months of treatment, he spent only three months at home. But I never saw this mountain of a man give up once. He kept the spirit of all those around him alive by continuing to joke even in the worst of times. In his final months of life, he attended hockey games, basketball games, went out to many five-star restaurants and lived life like a healthy man full of vitality although it turns out he knew he was terminally ill.

Two weeks prior to his death, he wrote our two beautiful children a letter, to be read by each on their 18th birthday. In this letter he passed along his life lessons and wishes for his children knowing that he wouldn't be around to deliver love and guidance in person. He distilled his values into one beautifully written, eloquent letter. I got the chance to read this after he passed away and was reminded again of my husband's incredible character.

In his final hours of life, he called all those he loved to his bedside, one by one, to tell us how he felt; to tell us how we had changed his life, why he loved us and how to move on with his memory. To keep smiling, to be brave, to always remember and to never give up hope. In his words: "Don't cry, we had great times." My husband gave me a lifetime of beautiful, loyal, cherished memories as well as two blue-eyed angels who remind me of him each and every day. As James said on our wedding day, "Forever is a good thing."

Robin is the spouse of James Dinneen.