One of my dear friends died of colon cancer this year at the ripe age of 33. It happened so fast: she died 4 months after she was diagnosed. Prior to that, she had been healthy, and her only symptom (and the reason she went to the doctor) was bloating. I look at her picture every night before bed because I don’t want to forget her or to forget that I’m here and she’s not. It still doesn’t seem real. It’s no one’s business, really. When you talk about that (referring to plans for marriage, family, and life outside of acting), you become a whole different type of celebrity. Your personal life bleeds into your professional life. I’m an actor, and you know me from who I play. You get a sense of who I am, but you don’t know everything.
You know what? At least he battled through it and left his mark behind. He was diagnosed in 2016 and still filmed the movies that propelled him into a superstar but more importantly made him an absolute hero and icon to minorities everywhere. The message in the BP movie will resonate all the more for this I lost two friends to aggressive, invasive, quick-spreading cancers this past July. Both went from diagnosis to hospice to go in under a week. I have two friends under 40 battling colon cancer right now. Cancer is a goddamn motherfucker and I am tired of it taking all the best people. I mean, fuck. Enough already.