It began as a dismal one for our family. My father, Galen Cocanour, was diagnosed with incurable cancer at the age of 83.

In August of that year he had moved into our Pittsburgh home from Olivesburg, Ohio. He stayed in the upstairs bedroom that had been our oldest daughter's before she went off to college.

Nicknamed "Pa," Dad was a life-long Cleveland Browns fan. Now he wasn't expected to live to see the first Browns-Steelers matchup of 2005.

A tumor had grown from golf-ball to softball size in less than a month. Pa opted for no medical treatments, but he had a positive attitude.

Pa had always loved television sports, so at our place he watched to his heart's content. Our Roethlisberger-aged son came home for games and sports talk.

But what about this Browns thing? When you live in Pittsburgh, how can you not be a Steelers fan?

Pa related to an underdog team, which the Steelers were in 2005. After all, when you have cancer, you're an underdog. But you never know when you might catch an interception. Life with cancer is like waiting for an immaculate reception, with each play in the hands of the opponent.

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Our days were filled with hospice angels, led by a nurse named Dan. Just as Roethlisberger began to connect with his receivers that year, Pa, too, had lucky breaks. Infections were a threat greater than the tumor. Antibiotics helped Pa get to the first Steelers-Browns match-up. The Browns lost, but he was thrilled just to be around to see it.

Pa started to catch Steelers fever as the team closed in on the Super Bowl. Life with cancer is like the long road to the playoffs. You know that at any moment it could all be over. So you cheer each small victory, each new day.

Amazingly, Pa had outlived his prognosis by the time the Browns lost for a second time to the Steelers.

"The Steelers really have a shot, don't they?" he said, sipping breakfast tea at a card table in his room where we ate each meal.

But the road to the Super Bowl is perilous. The day after the AFC title win over the Cincinnati Bengals, a blocked kidney stent threatened Pa's life.

"I'll start the prayer chain right away," said Pastor Bill, the minister of Dad's church in Ohio. A stent replacement was a success.

Pastor Bill read aloud my thank-you note to his congregation the Sunday before the Super Bowl. He ad-libbed a P.S.: "One more thing -- Janie wants us to pray for the Pittsburgh Steelers !"

Pa enjoyed the uproarious laughter on the tape recording of the service. Evidently, in a post-church discussion, the Browns' congregation and their Bengals-loving minister confessed they would have a hard time praying for a team that had robbed theirs of victory. As for Galen, though, they would forgive him. To make it easier, they renamed our team "Galen's Stealers." Every day, cheering cards arrived.

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Three days before the Super Bowl, it looked like my dad's game was over. One moment he joked about our "Terrible Cookies" -- cut-outs of a Steelers helmet -- for our younger daughter's second-grade class. Ten minutes later, he was pale, in great pain, and couldn't speak.

In anguish, I realized we might end up watching the Super Bowl at a memorial service, explaining, "Well, if Pa were here, he would want ..."

For some reason, just then I remembered that the water pump in Dad's Ohio home had stopped for some reason. So I called my cousin's husband, Scott, and asked him to call a plumber.

The following morning, Pa's nurse, Dan, told him that his blood count was very low. "If there's something we can do, let's do it," Pa replied.

Pa received fresh blood at a nearby hospital as he prayed for people "worse off" than he was, including a young man who had just been paralyzed in an accident.

By that time, Scott had diagnosed the plumbing problem and headed to town for parts. Strange, he thought when he returned, a pick-up truck sat in the driveway. Then he saw two startled men -- one cradling a DVD player like a Football -- dashing from Pa's house. The driver of the pick-up sped away, leaving her companions behind.

As the thieves ran across farm fields, the entire community kept the sheriff's office informed. One farmer gave ATV rides to the trackers and their dogs. It added to our family's Super Bowl excitement when Capt. Larry Faith called as the Steelers knelt in locker-room prayer to tell us the crooks had been caught.

We huddled in Pa's room for the big game, with me wearing the No. 83 Miller jersey we had bought for him. (Pa insisted.)

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Every season comes to an end, but Pa's post-season continued through the Winter Olympics and the Cleveland Cavaliers' run to the NBA playoffs.

As spring turned to summer, doctors determined that Pa's softball-sized tumor had shrunk to the size of a baseball. We were in Super Bowl frenzy mode all over again. But antibiotic options were running out.

During baseball's All-Star break -- two days before the All-Star Game at PNC Park -- my dad had a massive stroke. Ten days later, on July 18, 2006, Galen Cocanour passed to glory with his grandson by his side talking of fishing memories and the All-Star home-run derby. Football training was about to begin, again.

And so, as we don our black and gold each year, I remember the victories of Galen and his Steelers, especially the extra-large memories of Super Bowl XL when the Olivesburg Stealers ended up behind bars and the Pittsburgh Steelers won one for the thumb.