Morrie was focused. There were good days and bad days now. He was having a good day.
The night before, he had been entertained by a local a cappella group that had come to the house to perform,
and he relayed the story excitedly, as if the Ink Spots themselves had dropped by for a visit.
Morrie’s love for music was strong even before he got sick, but now it was so intense, it moved him to tears.
He would listen to opera sometimes at night, closing his eyes, riding along with the magnificent voices as they dipped and soared.
“You should have heard this group last night, Mitch. Such a sound!
Morrie had always been taken with simple pleasures, singing, laughing, dancing.
Now, more than ever, material things held little or no significance.
When people die, you always hear the expression “You can’t take it with you.” Morrie seemed to know that a long time ago.
“We’ve got a form of brainwashing going on in our country,” Morrie sighed.
“Do you know how they brainwash people? They repeat something over and over.
And that’s what we do in this country. Owning things is good. More money is good.
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