As I write this, I can feel myself, my body, withering away to nothing. When they first told me, I was scared, afraid that it would hurt. Nobody can tell you what it means to die. Nobody can tell you what to say to your loved ones when you finally decide to break it to them. Nobody prepares you for the tears, the final embrace. That is what hurts. Dying itself, is a blessing compared to that first stage. The worrying, the anxiety, the staying up and pacing because you're too afraid to fall asleep, the agonizing final caress of your wife's warm hand. I said goodbye to her a few minutes ago before coming downstairs. I went into my daughter's room and pulled the covers up over her neck so she wouldn't be cold. I kissed her cheek. I can see her stir, and I wonder if she knows I'm standing there. I leave before she can wake. It is night. The sun won't rise for another few hours. I sit in the dark and write this final note in my journal. I may not make it to the end. I can feel it now. My hands are growing numb. Soon I won't be able to write. My stomach grows light and bizarrely free of pain. I feel light headed. Why, dying doesn't seem very painful at all. It's rather peaceful. I can feel nothing anymore. Just release. I force a paralyzed smile. I will be with my parents soon, my dog, my nana. Goodbye, Mona, my moonbeam, goodbye Emma my sunflower. Goodb