Once this thing hits my lungs, talking may become impossible. I can’t speak for too long without needing a rest now.
I have already canceled a lot of the people who want to see me. Mitch, there are so many. But I’m too fatigued.
If I can’t give them the right attention, I can’t help them.”
I looked at the tape recorder, feeling guilty, as if I were stealing what was left of his precious speaking time.
“Should we skip it?” I asked. “Will it make you too tired?” Morrie shut his eyes and shook his head.
He seemed to be waiting for some silent pain to pass. “No,” he finally said. “You and I have to go on.
“This is our last thesis together, you know.” Our last thesis. “We want to get it right.”
I thought about our first thesis together, in college. It was Morrie’s idea, of course.
He told me I was good enough to write an honors project—something I had never considered.
Now here we were, doing the same thing once more. Starting with an idea.
Dying man talks to living man, tells him what he should know. This time, I was in less of a hurry to finish.
“Someone asked me an interesting question yesterday,” Morrie said now, looking over my shoulder at the wallhanging behind me,
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