In March of 1995, a limousine carrying Ted Koppel, the host of ABC-TV's “Nightline”
pulled up to the snow-covered curb outside Morrie's house in West Newton, Massachusetts.
Morrie was in a wheelchair full-time now, getting used to helpers lifting him like a heavy sack from the chair to the bed and the bed to the chair.
He had begun to cough while eating, and chewing was a chore. His legs were dead; he would never walk again.
Yet he refused to be depressed. Instead, Morrie had become a lightning rod of ideas.
He jotted down his thoughts on yellow pads, envelopes, folders, scrap paper.
He wrote bite-sized philosophies about living with death's shadow: “Accept what you are able to do and what you are not able to do”;
“Accept the past as past, without denying it or discarding it”; “Learn to forgive yourself and to forgive others”;
“Don't assume that it's too late to get involved.” After a while, he had more than fifty of these “aphorisms,” which he shared with his friends.
One friend, a fellow Brandeis professor named Maurie Stein, was so taken with the words that he sent them to a Boston Globe reporter,
who came out and wrote a long feature story on Morrie. The headline read: A PROFESSOR'S FINAL COURSE: HIS OWN DEATH
The article caught the eye of a producer from the “Nightline” show,
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색