had come to visit Morrie, and Morrie told him of his cremation plans.
“And Al?” “Yes?” “Make sure they don't overcook me.”
The rabbi was stunned. But Morrie was able to joke about his body now.
The closer he got to the end, the more he saw it as a mere shell, a container of the soul.
It was withering to useless skin and bones anyhow, which made it easier to let go.
“We are so afraid of the sight of death,” Morrie told me when I sat down.
I adjusted the microphone on his collar, but it kept flopping over.
Morrie coughed. He was coughing all the time now. “I read a book the other day.
It said as soon as someone dies in a hospital, they pull the sheets up over their head,
and they wheel the body to some chute and push it down.
They can't wait to get it out of their sight. People act as if death is contagious.”
I fumbled with the microphone. Morrie glanced at my hands. “It's not contagious, you know.
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