The hibiscus plant behind his head was still holding on, small but firm.
“Mitch,” Morrie whispered. Uh-huh? I rolled his toes between my fingers, lost in the task.
“Look at me.” I glanced up and saw the most intense look in his eyes.
“I don't know why you came back to me. But I want to say this...” He paused, and his voice choked.
“If I could have had another son, I would have liked it to be you.”
I dropped my eyes, kneading the dying flesh of his feet between my fingers.
For a moment, I felt afraid, as if accepting his words would somehow betray my own father.
But when I looked up, I saw Morrie smiling through tears and I knew there was no betrayal in a moment like this.
All I was afraid of was saying good-bye. “I've picked a place to be buried.” Where is that?
Not far from here. On a hill, beneath a tree, overlooking a pond. Very serene. A good place to think.
Are you planning on thinking there? “I'm planning on being dead there.” He chuckles. I chuckle.
“Will you visit?” Visit? “Just come and talk. Make it a Tuesday. You always come on Tuesdays.”
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