ALS (MND) is a terminal disease for which there are no effective treatments. Within a few years, it gradually suffocates and kills its victims, first fully paralyzing them while leaving all sensation and cognition untouched.

This illness stills my legs and quiets my hands, forcing me to write the words you read here using only my eyes. It places me like a stone in this lingering twilight between darkness and dawn. Yet, this rare and terrible gift has opened me to what many rush past unnoticed in their time. As my body fades, my vision has grown bright.

This journal is my message in a bottle to you from a strange shore that you must also someday cross.

Open it and remember death, yes. But in remembering death, remember life. Let mortality sharpen your senses, widen your mind, deepen your loves, kindle your wonder. For we all dance with death. Some just hear the music more clearly.

Due to the upcoming publication of What Remains is Radiant (Godine Press), which will include much of this blog’s content, some original posts are no longer available on the site.

Please stay tuned for updates on when the print and audiobook editions will be available for purchase. These will feature the complete collection of 18 journal entries per season in a beautifully produced volume. In the meantime, if you found a particular post especially meaningful that is no longer accessible, feel free to contact me directly—I’d be glad to assist you individually.

I have also added several new posts to the blog that will not appear in the published book, and I hope you find them worthwhile.

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Radiant Book Giving is a nonprofit founded by Bill and his close friends to provide brand-new books to hospitals, hospice centers, care facilities, shelters, and prisons—offering comfort, connection, and inspiration to those facing hardship. Request books, volunteer, or donate to help us continue this vital work.
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A jisei, or jisei no ku, is a beautiful Japanese tradition: a poem composed near the end of life, a quiet reflection from the threshold. I, too, must seem to step away for a moment now. But we will soon recognize each other again, laughing and running like children through the tall, bright grass. -Bill
I was asked six questions about living with ALS. What came out wasn’t answers—it was something closer to a way of seeing. This reflection is about loving what is, even when it breaks you. About changing the channel from fear to something wider. About realizing that nothing is separate—and that how we act shapes everything. Not despite this life. Because of it.
Five years ago, I was told I had two left. This morning, I sit by the fire, sunlight touching snow, whispering my goodbyes. This reflection is not about dying. It is about seeing clearly. About choosing love over fear. About discovering that what remains is radiant. If these words find you in your own hard season, know this: There is nothing to fear.
December 13th marked Santa Lucia Day— the quiet celebration of a child carrying light into the dark. This reflection is about waiting, tending, enduring. Not rushing to joy, but honoring the long night that makes it necessary. The small flame matters most before it becomes a fire. This season, don’t skip to the ending. Carry the candle. Sit with the dark.

Over the past five years of living with illness, I’ve developed a renewed appreciation for the value of books— audio and print—as companions, counselors, teachers, and friends. This appreciation is especially relevant for those of us living with conditions like ALS, and to individuals in hospitals, long-term care facilities, rehabilitation centers, emergency housing, correctional settings, […]

One year ago today, I began this journal. Today I finish, while I have the strength to do it well. The year’s circle is complete. My final reflection is about the freedom of release. About how letting go becomes the blessing. About how, in the unclenching, we discover what remains. And what remains is radiant.