but I was impressed with, perhaps even a bit envious of, all the friends that Morrie seemed to have.
I thought about the “buddies” that circled my orbit back in college. Where had they gone?
“You know, Mitch, now that I’m dying, I’ve become much more interesting to people.”
You were always interesting. “Ho.” Morrie smiled. “You’re kind.”
No, I’m not, I thought. “Here’s the thing,” he said.
“People see me as a bridge. I’m not as alive as I used to be, but I’m not yet dead. I’m sort of... in-between.”
He coughed, then regained his smile. “I’m on the last great journey here—and people want me to tell them what to pack.”
The phone rang again. “Morrie, can you talk?” Connie asked.
“I’m visiting with my old pal now,” he announced. “Let them call back.”
I cannot tell you why he received me so warmly. I was hardly the promising student who had left him sixteen years earlier.
Had it not been for “Nightline,” Morrie might have died without ever seeing me again.
I had no good excuse for this, except the one that everyone these days seems to have.
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