Patrick Swayze was not a great actor, and his movies generally sucked.

But he should be admired, not for his body of work, but for the way he generally carried himself in his life. He was not generally tabloid fodder, having had a long and happy marriage. He made mistakes, and he often humbly admitted them. He was hard working, even in the face of terrible odds.

When he announced his diagnosis of pancreatic cancer, he was forthright and honest about how his smoking probably played a role in his fate. He showed a lot of character in moments like that, far more so than any of his roles ever could. He seemed like a decent person with a positive outlook who was cut down far too early.

Sad. 

Even sadder than Swayze’s passing was the disrespectful way he was treated by the paparazzi and the tabloids. They did everything except barge in on him while he suffered through chemo. Did we really need to see weekly and daily glances at his withered, skeletal frame?

Imagine how awful it would be to deal with such a traumatic illness under the ever flashing gaze of photographers. I can barely stand going to the grocery store when I have a zit on my nose … what Swayze endured was beyond reason.