When I die (and I sincerely hope I have a few decades left) I want it to be on this day Easter Sunday.

After my favorite aunt died from a heart attack right on the tennis court many Easter Sundays ago, all the relatives thought every Easter thereafter would be a sad reminder.

My cousin, John, a Catholic priest, speaking at her funeral set us straight. There was, he said, no better time to die than Easter, a season in which we celebrate life, death and rebirth. We would be happy, every spring, because we would remember Aunt Frances' life both earthly and eternal.

And on this Easter morning I, indeed, do remember my aunt happily.

I shared this story with a close friend Tuesday. His father died eight days ago after living with cancer for years.

"That's a nice thought," he said, the smile returning to his voice for the first time in the telephone conversation. "I will share it with my sisters."

Our call followed an e-mail that a colleague at our corporate headquarters had lost his 49-year-old wife to breast cancer the same day.

In between the e-mail and the phone call, a co-worker I never expected to see showed up on my door.

She had left The Star a year ago to fight her own battle with breast cancer.

As she stood before me, I saw it. The light had returned to her eyes.

She talked earnestly and excitedly about how the struggle changed her.

She had gotten married to her longtime companion, lost weight, renewed relationships and flipped her outlook on life.

She came to see me because she has returned to work in our advertising department. And if she comes to see you, I have a hunch you'll be a customer. The joy in her life spreads like ink on a blotter.

She is not the first I have known to emerge from a serious illness with a renewed sense of purpose, a view that the glass was actually half-full the whole time.

And I suppose that this is why this season has always been my favorite. (OK, when I was a kid, I'll admit I liked Christmas better.)

The setbacks, disappointments and injustices in our lives do not have to define us. Everyone suffers some of those. Some people allow those events to cast their lives into the shadow of despair.

Today, millions celebrate the resurrection of a man who, when hanging on a cross, turned to God and asked forgiveness for those who had beaten him, ridiculed him and hammered nails through his hands and feet.

They murdered him and he asked that they be forgiven.

When I think of that, my travails seem rather a trifle.

We must be "all in" for everything that comes with this life its cancers, its glorious days in the park, its unfairness and its barefoot walks on the beach.

Tim Gallagher is publisher of The Star and he can be reached by e-mail at tgallagher@VenturaCountyStar.com.