I suppose having terminal illness is like going on a long journey with unknown start date. On one hand, you don't want to face it unprepared. On the other hand, it is impossible to live on your tiptoes among fully packed suitcases... What is the compromise? I don't know... Possibly, a small stack of postcards hidden somewhere close to your heart - with your last goodbyes and words of consolation to those you love most dearly. And you can only hope that your journey, before it starts, will give you enough time to attach the stamps and sneak quickly to the nearest letter box.