We only knew each other for a short time, but our illness connected us. I arrived here, at my new home, you were already there. You didn’t have the same thing as me, but your illness punished you, just like mine punished me.
A few days passed before you accepted me. But then, when we got along better, it worked out pretty well. You were funny, the illness made you patient and gentle, you often said “yes” even when you meant “no”. I learned who of the people you liked better, who understood you better or with whom you were more stubborn because you felt misunderstood.
I have known that when you close your eyes and rest in your bed, it doesn’t have to mean you are calm and content – you often find it hard to communicate. I have often felt with you. Everything for what you made a pretty face must not have been in your sense.
We often played together, you were often calm even though I knew it was not like that.
How hard it must be to bear this fate, how hard it must be, is often misunderstood – although everyone here meant well with you.
I watch your farewell with mixed feelings. I am saddened by the fact, even though I wish you peace now, that you are the man you have always wanted to be, that your body obeys you and that you can express your wishes simply and clearly – wherever you are.
Dear Peter, I – all of us here – miss you, even if I hardly knew you and also from a side that neither of us were in our lives…
Have a good trip, good bye!