Did you watch NBC's Farrah's Story?  It replayed last night to honor Farrah, who died this week of cancer--which of course you already know.

I didn't watch it this week, but I did when it aired originally last month. On the one hand, I wanted to see it because it's Farrah and it's cancer and both have been in my life (Charlie’s Angel and Me) for awhile now. Farrah I didn't mind, cancer I sincerely hate.

But having burst into tears as the credits rolled, I'm not sure I should have watched. It was beautiful and awful and amazing and difficult to watch and funny and horrendous and I am grateful to Farrah Fawcett and all of her family and friends for showing us this important documentary.

There were moments I cringed for her—like as she’s on the table about to have this huge scary treatment, and the German doctor asks her which movie she’s done that she likes best. I could have reached back into time and dope-slapped him. I know he was trying, but seriously, when you’re flat on your back and strangers are about to invade your body with tools that hurt and pain that makes you cry out, in order to kill a demon that’s trying to kill you, what was your favorite movie? Let me tell you buddy her mind was so far from her favorite acting moment—but she rallied, racking her brain and coming up with three. And he comes back with “not Charlie’s Angels?” I just so felt for her in that place—that place of “please don’t treat me like a star, treat me like a scared frightened patient, because that’s what I am right now.”

There were moments I cheered for her—like when she heard the tumors were gone (they came back later) and she was so happy. She was laughing and overjoyed—and I know that feeling. I know it like my own name, because when you hear your cancer isn’t there anymore you feel like you get your own name back—from cancer patient back to Ann, back to Susie, back to Paul, back to Jenny, back to….. Farrah. I couldn’t help but be happy for her, too.

And then the other things, the things I can’t really relate too but I was horrified all the same—the paparazzi and the stealing of her information and leaking it to the tabloids—all while she’s trying to battle her illness? Tremendously disheartening what some people stoop to in this world.

So to me, Farrah’s story was an amazing gift. And people tell me my film is a gift, but this one—my word, the woman whose name is synonymous with gorgeous hair lost hers to chemo—and showed her bald head for all to see. That takes guts, that takes strength, and that take class; anyone who knows Farrah Fawcett must already know all this. But to me--who has only ever seen the public side, it was beyond anything I expected to see. I felt almost honored to watch it. That’s kind of a strong word, but in this case it fits.

But the hard side of Farrah’s Story to me is the huge reminder of what still haunts me--me and anyone else who's had cancer. What if it comes back? What then?

That’s a thought I live with and all cancer people live with--but somehow you file that somewhere in your day as you run to get the kids to school, fill the tank with gas, pick put the shirts, have a latte with a friend, go to your job, or just try to fall asleep at night. I have to put it away, or else it will scare me, taunt me, ruin me--the fear of more cancer is a terror I can't begin to explain.

But Farrah's story did a great job of doing just that; explaining what this disease is, what it can do, what it can't do, and why any of us, indeed all of us, should care. And talk about putting it all out there—that takes integrity, character and a burning desire to sit up and fight or else drag cancer down to the mat with you and duke it out. That’s what I did with mine. That’s what she did with hers. Fight to the end, winner take all.

And this week winner took all when Farrah lost her fight.  But this documentary she’s done will live one. It will inspire, teach, shock, enlighten, act as an intimate history for her child and be there for anyone who needs to understand. And that would be just about everybody.

 I so desperately wanted Fawcett to make it through all this. But she didn't.  She kept saying through the film "it is time for a miracle" so I kept thinking that too--come on, God, a quick miracle for a girl who still says Grace before every meal.

But that didn't happen for her.  So now  I ask the same for the rest of us—hey God, how about a miracle for an estimated 1 million, 4-hundred-seventy nine thousand people? That’s the estimate from the American Cancer Society of cancer cases in the US in the year 2009. That’s 1,479,000 too many.

We have to not only cure this ugly insidious disease, we have to ask why---why is this happening? Why does the American Cancer Society say that women have a 1 in 3 chance of developing some form or cancer in their lifetimes, and men have a 1 in 2 chance?

Yes we are living longer—but really, living longer to die of cancer is not my idea of living longer. So what’s going on? Where’s the dialogue? Can we talk?

And ultimately that’s what Farrah’s Story is doing—I hope—last month and this week and in the months and years ahead—making us talk. Making us think about cancer and where it’s coming from—so that we can make it go away. Soon, and for good.

Farrah’s Story had no scripts, no makeup, no hairstylist, and at the end, no Farrah hair: but its honesty, bravery, fight and love brought me to tears. I am so grateful she gave it up like that, so honest, so heart-breaking and so real.

I think Farrah’s Story will always be the best and most poignant piece of Farrah Fawcett’s long and storied career. Forget the halo and the high heels and the hair that everyone wanted: this kind of work is what true celebrity is all about.

And I bet if I could ask him, that German doctor would agree with me.