and I just started to cry. I feel their anguish as if it were my own.
I don’t know any of these people. But—how can I put this?—I’m almost... drawn to them.
His eyes got moist, and I tried to change the subject, but he dabbed his face and waved me off.
“I cry all the time now,” he said. “Never mind.” Amazing, I thought. I worked in the news business.
I covered stories where people died. I interviewed grieving family members. I even attended the funerals. I never cried.
Morrie, for the suffering of people half a world away, was weeping.
Is this what comes at the end, I wondered? Maybe death is the great equalizer,
the one big thing that can finally make strangers shed a tear for one another.
Morrie honked loudly into the tissue. “This is okay with you, isn’t it? Men crying?”
“Sure,” I said, too quickly. He grinned. “Ah, Mitch, I’m gonna loosen you up.”
One day, I’m gonna show you it’s okay to cry.” “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Yeah, yeah,” he said.
We laughed because he used to say the same thing nearly twenty years earlier. Mostly on Tuesdays.
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