When his breathing approached normal again, I cleared my throat and said I knew he was tired,
so I would be back next Tuesday, and I expected him to be a little more alert, thank you.
He snorted lightly, as close as he could come to a laugh. It was a sad sound just the same.
I picked up the unopened bag with the tape recorder. Why had I even brought this? I knew we would never use it.
I leaned in and kissed him closely, my face against his, whiskers on whiskers, skin on skin,
holding it there, longer than normal, in case it gave him even a split second of pleasure.
“Okay, then?” I said, pulling away. I blinked back the tears, and he smacked his lips together and raised his eyebrows at the sight of my face.
I like to think it was a fleeting moment of satisfaction for my dear old professor: he had finally made me cry. “Okay, then,” he whispered.
Graduation
Morrie died on a Saturday morning. His immediate family was with him in the house.
Rob made it in from Tokyohe got to kiss his father good-byeand Jon was there, and of course Charlotte was there
and Charlotte’s cousin Marsha, who had written the poem that so moved Morrie at his “unofficial” memorial service,
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