The figure above is not ET, but Sammy Basso posing for the camera in Roswell, New Mexico, where ET’s relatives hang out. Sammy died on October 5 in Italy. He was 28 years old but had already lived to be twice the age of other people afflicted with progeria. This disease affects 1 in 20 million people. It causes rapidly accelerated ageing and is accompanied by stunted growth, baldness, wrinkled skin, and hardening of the arteries. He was about 4 feet 5 inches tall (135 cm) and weighed about 44 pounds (20 kg).

None of this stopped Sammy from enjoying life. He founded a Progeria association to fund research; he graduated with a master’s degree in molecular biology; he travelled the world to promote awareness of his condition.

At his funeral in the northern Italian city of Tezze sul Brenta, the local bishop read his spiritual testament. Below is an edited version of the text.

* * * * * * * *

If you are reading this, then I am no longer in the world of the living. At least, not in the world of the living as we know it. I am writing this letter because, if there’s one thing that has always troubled me, it’s funerals. Not that there’s anything wrong with funerals—bidding farewell to loved ones is one of the most human and poetic things ever. However, whenever I thought about how my funeral would be, there were always two things I couldn’t bear: not being able to be there to say my final words and not being able to comfort those dear to me. Besides the fact that I wouldn’t be able to participate, but that’s another matter... 

I want you to know, first of all, that I lived my life happily, without exceptions. I lived it as a simple man, with moments of joy and moments of difficulty, with the desire to do good—sometimes succeeding, and sometimes failing miserably. Since childhood, as you all know well, Progeria deeply marked my life. Even though it was only a tiny part of who I am, I can’t deny that it greatly influenced my daily life and, not least, my choices. I don’t know why or how I will leave this world. Surely, many will say that I lost my battle against the illness. Don’t listen to them! There was never any battle to fight; there was only a life to embrace for what it was—with its difficulties, but always beautiful, always amazing. Neither a reward nor a punishment, simply a gift given to me by God. 

I tried to live as fully as possible, but I made my mistakes, like anyone, like any sinner. I dreamed of becoming someone who would be talked about in history books, someone worthy of being remembered by future generations, someone whose name, like the greats of the past, would be spoken with reverence. I don’t deny that, even though my intention was to be a great person for having done good, part of that desire was also due to selfishness. The selfishness of someone who simply wants to feel more important than others. I fought with all my strength against this unhealthy desire, knowing well that God does not love those who act for themselves, but despite this, I didn’t always succeed. I realize now, as I write this letter, imagining what my final moment on Earth will be like, that it is the stupidest desire one could have. Personal glory, greatness, fame are all fleeting. The love we create in life, however, is eternal, because only God is eternal, and love comes to us from God. 

In many things, as I have already told you, I was wrong! For much of my life, I thought there were no events that were entirely positive or entirely negative, that it depended on us to see the beautiful or dark sides of things. Sure, it’s a good philosophy of life, but it’s not everything! An event can be negative and be completely so! What is up to us is not to find something positive in it, but rather to act in the right way, enduring, and for the love of others, transforming a negative event into a positive one. It’s not about finding the positive sides, but about creating them, and in my opinion, that is the most important faculty we have been given by God, the faculty that makes us human above all.

I want you to know that I love you all, and that it has been a pleasure to walk the path of my life by your side. I won’t tell you not to be sad, but don’t be too sad. As with any death, there will be some among my loved ones who will cry for me, some who will remain in disbelief, and others who, perhaps without knowing why, will feel like going out with friends, being together, laughing and joking, as if nothing had happened. I want to be with you in this, and let you know that it’s normal. For those who will cry, know that it’s normal to be sad. For those who want to celebrate, know that it’s normal to celebrate. Cry and celebrate, and do it in my honour, too.

If you want to remember me, don’t waste too much time on various rituals. Pray, of course, but also take some glasses, toast to my health and yours, and be cheerful. I’ve always loved being in company, and that’s how I’d like to be remembered.

However, it will probably take time, and if I truly want to comfort you and leave this world in a way that doesn’t make you suffer, I can’t just tell you that time will heal all wounds. Because that’s not true. So, I want to speak to you frankly about the step I have already taken and that everyone must take at some point: death.