My grandson, Daniel, and I have always been very close. When Daniel's father remarried after a divorce, Daniel, who was eleven, and his little sister, Kristie, came to live with us. My husband and I were more than happy to have kids in the house again. Things were going along just fine until the diabetes I've lived with most of my adult life started affecting my eyes, and then more seriously, my kidneys . Then everything seemed to fall apart. Three times a week, I had to go to the hospital to be hooked up to a dialysis machine . I was living, but I couldn't really call it a life -- it was an existence. I had no energy. I dragged myself through daily chores and slept as much as I could. My sense of humor seemed to disappear. Daniel, seventeen by then, was really affected by the change in me. He tried as hard as he could to make me laugh, to bring back the grandma who loved to clown around with him. Even in my sorry state, Daniel could still bring a smile to my face. But things were not improving. After a year on dialysis, my condition was deteriorating and the doctors felt that if I didn't receive a kidney transplant within six months, I would surely die. No one told Daniel this, but he knew -- he said all he had to do was look after me. To top it off, as my condition worsened, there was a chance that I would become too weak to have the transplant surgery at all, and then there would be nothing they could do for me. So we started the tense and desperate wait for a kidney. I was adamant that I didn't want a kidney from anyone I knew. I would wait until an appropriate kidney became available, or I would literally die waiting. But Daniel had other plans. The time that he took me to my dialysis appointments, he did a little secret research on his own. Then he announced his intention to me. "Grandma, I'm giving you one of my kidneys. I'm young and I'm healthy ..." He paused. He could see I wasn't at all happy with his offer. He continued, almost in whisper, "And most of all, I couldn't stand it if you weren't around." His face wore an expression of appeal mixed with determination. He can be as stubborn as a mule once he decides on something -- but I've been told many times that I can out-stubborn any mule! We argued. I couldn't let him do it. We both knew that if he gave up his kidney, he would also give up his life's dream; to play football. It was all he ever talked about. And he was good, too. Daniel was co-captain and star defensive tackle of his high school team; he expected to apply for a football scholarship and was looking forward to playing college football. He just loved the sport. "How can I let you throw away the thing that means the most to you?" I pleaded with him. "Grandma," he said softly, "compared to your life, football means nothing to me." After that, I couldn't argue anymore. So we agreed to see if he was a good donor match, and then we'd discuss it further. When the tests came back, they showed Daniel was a perfect match. That was it. I knew I wasn't going to win that argument, so we scheduled the transplant. Both surgeries went smoothly. As soon as I came out of the anesthesia , I could tell things were different. I felt great! The nurses in the intensive care unit had to keep telling me to lie back and be quiet -- I wasn't supposed to be that lively! I was afraid to go to sleep, for fear I would break the spell and wake up the way I had been before. But the good feeling didn't go away, and I spent the evening joking and laughing with anyone who would listen.
Output: What would giving up a kidney mean to Daniel, according to the passage?