“Well, I have to look at life uniquely now. Let’s face it.”
I can’t go shopping, I can’t take care of the bank accounts, I can’t take out the garbage.
But I can sit here with my dwindling days and look at what I think is important in life. I have both the time—and the reason—to do that.
So, I said, in a reflexively cynical response,I guess the key to finding the meaning of life is to stop taking out the garbage?
He laughed, and I was relieved that he did. As Connie took the plates away,
I noticed a stack of newspapers that had obviously been read before I got there.
“You bother keeping up with the news?” I asked. “Yes,” Morrie said.
“Do you think that’s strange? Do you think because I’m dying, I shouldn’t care what happens in this world?”
Maybe. He sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t care.”
“After all, I won’t be around to see how it all turns out. But it’s hard to explain, Mitch.”
Now that I’m suffering, I feel closer to people who suffer than I ever did before.
The other night, on TV, I saw people in Bosnia running across the street, getting fired upon, killed, innocent victims...
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