He said: "I have a disease that will eventually kill me. I'm not afraid, because this disease is slow in working its wonder. It isn't written on my face so sharply that anyone who knew me would know that I am ill. I walk among healthy people who do not turn around to give me a second look or a second thought. I am becoming ill a little bit each day, yet I am the only one who knows. Me, and the doctors who attempt, vainly, to cure me. I am becoming comfortable at the idea of death. Maybe it will be a welcomed relief when it comes. But, for the moment, for today I am as well as I can be and that is a gift. Looking at your smile is a gift. The touch of you hand is a gift. This breath that I breathe is a gift. The comfort of friends is a gift. Even remembering is a gift now. I am ill, but I possess many gifts and as long as you grant me that, I will be a lucky man."

Stumble It!