I think I'm going to know when I'm going to die. I wasn't bad enough that I was going to die at Christmas. I knew I hurt real bad, but I didn't feel bad enough. I wasn't even going to die at Easter, I knew I wasn't. For one reason it was, the pain had stayed the same for so long. It hadn't gotten any worse, it just stayed the same. God tells you, or your Guardian Angel tells you. I'll know. I think everybody does. I keep asking him, when am I going, but he won't tell me.