Day after day he would slide his solid 6-foot-5 frame into the fiberglass scull. He then would spend hours going through the motions along the Savannah River and Langley Pond, his mind and his heart a million miles away.

``All I could do was just get back in the boat,'' says Young, part of a men's quadruple sculls team that will represent the U.S. at the Atlanta Olympics. ``I kept going along the river. I didn't know where I was going half the time or what I was doing. I just rowed. I just kept going.''

His teammates knew some- thing was wrong, but they were hesitant to say anything. What do you tell someone who has just lost his father to pancreatic cancer?

Dr. John Young had been the picture of health. A radiation oncologist at Hahnemann University Hospital in Philadelphia, he led an active and fruitful life.

Though he and his ex-wife, Dr. Barbara Young, had split when their three boys were young, he would join his sons for long bike rides and jogs. He would lift weights with Tim, the youngest of the three, and share his wonder at the young man's rapidly developing rowing career.

``He was my best friend,'' says Young, a 27-year-old research assistant at Medical College of Georgia. ``We did everything together. He was the guy that kept me going. He was the guy I rowed for. I wanted to make him proud.''

John Young was the type who was always too busy taking care of others to worry about himself. Long after most of his colleagues stopped making house calls, Dr. Young would stop by a patient's home for afternoon tea and a quick inquiry into the person's recovery.

Late last August, though, Dr. Young finally took the time to investigate a problem of his own. Troubled by a persistent fever, he underwent tests while Tim was in Finland at the World Rowing Championships. When Tim returned home to Moorestown, N.J., proud of his team's sixth-place finish in the 2000-meter quadruple sculls, he took one look at his father and his heart sank.

He immediately knew something was drastically wrong.

John Young said he had three weeks to live. The cancer was too far along to save his life. At age 56, he spent his remaining days and energy getting the final details in order.

Wills. Funeral plans. Burial plans. It was all a blur. And before Tim Young could get a grip on this thing, his father was gone.

``I've never seen anybody face death so bravely,'' Young says as his eyes turn to liquid. ``He said he had to take care of his family, and he did. That was really inspiring for me.''

But first came the haze. Days and nights ran together. The sun never seemed to shine bright enough. Young came to appreciate the practice sessions. There, he could push himself to the point of physical exhaustion. There, he began the process that would enable him to escape his pain.

``Why did it have to be him?'' Young kept asking himself. ``Why couldn't it be me?''

Barbara Young saw what her son was doing to himself. Despite her background in professional psychoanalysis, she, too, struggled to find the right thing to say.

``I was pretty concerned about Tim,'' Dr. Barbara Young says. ``The death occurred so rapidly; no one was prepared for it. I think it took a lot for Tim in particular to refocus himself.''

Rowing helped him get past those unanswerable questions. By the Christmas holidays, Barbara Young could see a change.

``We were all able to spend the holidays together,'' Dr. Barbara Young says. ``Tim said he was starting to get his focus back. Frankly, I wasn't sure whether he would continue with rowing.''

In February, Young traveled to San Diego with seven other scullers. For six grueling weeks at the Olympic Training Center, Young fought for a spot on the U.S. rowing team. In the end, he secured a place on the 2000-meter quad.

He joined teammates Brian Jamieson, Jason Gailes and Eric Mueller on a group that will try to claim the first Olympic medal in that event in this nation's history.

The unabashed opera buff - ``The level of athleticism in opera is pretty impressive,'' he says. ``The top tenors and sopranos can really belt.'' - smiles and tells you the quad will have an extra member. He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

``This sounds kind of eerie but I really think he's pushing me, giving me a boost,'' Young says, speaking of his late father. ``I don't know if he's holding the other boats back or pushing mine, but he's out there. I can feel him.''

Young laughs at the thought, but the look in his eye tells you he's serious. Sometimes the bond is so strong between two people, not even death can keep them apart.

``It's not like he's a ghost, but I know that he's there,'' Young says. ``Hardly a night goes by when I don't see his face in my dreams. I have good conversations with him in my dreams.''

They talk about medical school, which Young still plans to attend, perhaps at MCG. They talk about family matters. They talk about rowing. Sometimes Young doesn't even need to sleep to talk to his father.

``I have this fantastic picture of him on my night stand,'' Young says. ``After I got home from the Olympic trials, I was lying in bed at night and I looked over at that picture. I said, `Well, I finally did it.'°''

Somewhere, Dr. John Young was proud of his boy. Very proud.